secret lines (and bound so tight), 3/3
It was a few days before they spoke again, but each night Brendon kissed his cheek when he came to bed. It wasn't unusual for Brendon to shake him awake when his dreams made him toss and turn and cry out; Ryan figured it was mostly because he was keeping him awake, but that didn't change the fact that Brendon always stayed after so he was touching Ryan, comforting enough that they both fell back to sleep with ease. When they weren't asleep, Brendon spent most of his time squirreled away in the attic, working on the wings; Ryan wanted to ask if he'd made any progress, if he was still planning to test them out, but he didn't want to be the one to break the silence.
Ryan took to visiting the town during the day. There was a library where he ended up spending the better part of his first week in Little Cereidum, poring over books with a fascination he hadn't felt since he was in school. "You're quite the reader," the librarian, a friend of Greta's named Ashlee, said one day as Ryan checked out the book of verses he was halfway through.
Ryan shrugged. "I used to be. It's just that-" There's nothing better to do, he thought, but he cut himself off before he could insult the librarian's livelihood and her town in one fell swoop.
She smiled shrewdly. "It's a good escape, isn't it? You can hide out in here all day, and you can take your books home with you and forget about everything that's going on. Maybe about how quiet your house is?"
"How do you know?" he asked, staring at her, and her smile widened.
"You just told me, but it was an easy guess all the same. If I were on my honeymoon with the man I'd just married, I doubt I'd be spending it by myself in a library."
"Good point," Ryan said. "It's not - we didn't want to be married. Our families."
"Families," she echoed, sounding thoughtful. "My father wanted to do the same. I'm not really sure why, since he arranged my sister's marriage and that ended horribly, but he still tried all the same."
"What happened?" he asked.
"I left," she said. "I came here with barely enough money for a week's stay at the inn, and found out the librarian here had just left for the city. It all turned out okay."
"You're lucky," he said, not without a trace of bitterness - he should have done something similar, not been so afraid of being disinherited he ended up trapping himself and Brendon in this mess.
She said something else, but he was distracted by another patron leaving - the weird man from the other night at Greta's. "I have to go," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, I just - there's something wrong."
Ashlee frowned, watching as the door closed behind the stranger. "With that guy? I'd believe it. He's been in here three times this week, always looking at books about poisons. I ended up taking all of them off the shelf and telling him they were all checked out."
"I'll talk to you later," he said, grabbing up his book and hurrying out the door. He was afraid for a moment that he had lost the man, or that he was on his way to the house (with poison, fuck), but he saw him walking down the road headed toward the tavern, and he relaxed a little. It was suppertime, after all, and it was hardly surprising that he would be headed there. Ryan followed him in, sitting down at the bar and ordering a drink.
The stranger sat at the other end of the bar and did the same; he left after one drink, and Greta frowned after him. "Weird," she said, looking down at the handful of change he'd paid with. There was a slip of paper among the coins. "It's got your name on it," she said, shrugging and handing it to Ryan, who unfolded it.
Stay away from Urie if you value your life, it said, and he shivered. "I've got to get home," he said, leaving some money on the bar and rushing out.
The man was nowhere in sight, and Ryan headed home, relieved when he got back to find Brendon sitting in the kitchen, eating supper. "Look," he said, holding out the note to Brendon, who looked surprised; he belatedly remembered that they hadn't said so much as a word to each other for nearly a week, but that didn't matter now. "That weird guy we saw that night. He left this for me at the tavern."
Brendon read it, brow furrowing. "It's just a joke or something," he said uncertainly. "Probably someone I know from school saw me in town and decided to play a joke on me." He sounded bitter, and Ryan remembered what school meant for Brendon: being picked on, being alone. He'd been so happy to find Ryan and Spencer, to actually have friends - that is, until Spencer left for the academy and Ryan, well. Ryan just left. "Anyway, it's not your concern," Brendon said decisively.
Ryan snorted. "Okay, yeah, it's just a death threat that involves both of us, no big deal."
"It's not a death threat!" Brendon insisted. "It's..." He blinked, looking at the note again. "I know that writing."
"Who is it?" Ryan asked, and Brendon shook his head, looking annoyed and a little relieved.
"Just this jackass I dealt with a few months back. He was another inventor, and he freaked out when I opened my shop because he didn't want to deal with the competition. I think he ended up shutting down after awhile, but that had more to do with his shitty machines than anything I did. I doubt he's much of a threat."
"Except he apparently followed you here," Ryan pointed out.
Brendon shrugged. "He's probably on holiday, or opening a new shop or something. Seriously, Ross, stop worrying."
Ryan didn't stop worrying, but he didn't mention it again, either.
*
They reached an unspoken truce after that, their conversations stilted but friendly. Brendon still spent most of his time working and Ryan still spent his days at the library, but they talked over meals and around the house and it was good, Ryan thought. Brendon still kissed him before bed each night, and that was good too, even if it drove him crazy, wondering why he didn't kiss him for real. They were married, after all, and it wasn't like either of them particularly wanted to be (or at least that was what Ryan was telling himself), but it only made sense that they make the best of things.
Brendon cooked dinner one night, a pasta recipe a friend had taught him, and they cleaned up the dishes together. Ryan laughed to himself as he scrubbed a plate, remembering something funny Ashlee had told him earlier. He told the joke, but Brendon didn't laugh, and when he looked up from the dishes, Brendon was biting his lip.
"What?" he asked, and Brendon raised his eyebrows.
"You talk about her a lot," he said. "Are you two -"
Ryan felt suddenly, irrationally annoyed. "It's not your business. We agreed that this marriage didn't mean anything, didn't we? You have your life and I have mine."
"I don't want another fucking scandal so soon," Brendon snapped.
"Well, you married the wrong person for that," Ryan snapped, and Brendon laughed a little meanly.
"I guess so, since you can't even keep it in your pants for a couple of fucking weeks -"
"Oh, fuck you, you don't get to act all self-righteous with me," Ryan said, tossing down the forks he'd just picked up. He stormed off - well, he tried to storm off, at any rate, but ended up tripping over a chair and fell flat on his face.
Brendon laughed, sounding far less mean than before, and Ryan joined in, unable to help it. He pulled himself up and pressed his palm to his face. He'd cut his cheek in the fall, apparently, and Brendon shook his head, laughing again. "Sit, if you think you can manage to do it without falling over," he said.
He left the room and returned with a washcloth and a basin of cold water. Kneeling on the floor in front of Ryan, he dabbed gently at the cut. "It's not bad," he said, holding the cloth to his cheek with steady pressure. "Barely a scratch."
Ryan nodded. "I'm sorry," he said.
Brendon looked away. "Me too," he said. "I was out of line. You're free to do as you like."
"She's just a friend," he said, not sure why he still felt the need to explain himself, and not sure why the corners of Brendon's mouth curved upwards for a moment before he stifled the expression.
"Okay," he said, dropping the cloth into the basin and using the back of his hand to gently rub some of the water away from Ryan's face. "The bleeding's stopped," he said, dropping his hand.
"Thanks," Ryan said, and neither of them moved for a moment. Brendon's gaze had dropped to his mouth, and Ryan's only thought was finally as he dipped his head down to kiss Brendon like he'd been wanting to do for days. He moved slowly, giving Brendon time to get away, but not really expecting him to take the opportunity to escape. He was surprised when Brendon stood abruptly.
"I, uh, I need to work," he said, and he hurried out of the room, leaving Ryan staring after him in confusion.
That night, though, Brendon got into bed and kissed Ryan's cheek, then hesitated before leaning in again and kissing him quickly, properly, just a firm press of their lips before drawing back. Ryan glanced at him, eyes questioning, and Brendon shrugged. "I'm not - I don't know. It's just... this whole thing is weird, and I want, but... I don't know, yeah."
"Yeah," Ryan echoed. "I want - can I kiss you again?" Brendon nodded, and Ryan pushed forward, cupping the back of Brendon's neck with his palm as he brought their lips together. It was nothing like it had been in the bar during the spring festival, and definitely not like that time years ago. It was slow, unhurried, and when Ryan gently bit down on Brendon's bottom lip, Brendon sighed, his lips parting, letting Ryan lick inside.
Brendon pulled back, and Ryan felt absurdly proud when he saw his dazed expression. "Let's just - I'm tired," he said, and Ryan nodded, pulling away and leaning out of bed to extinguish the flame of the lamp on the bedside table. When he moved back, Brendon curled around him, warm against his back; it took awhile for him to fall asleep, but when he did, he didn't dream.
*
Brendon was quiet the next morning, but he lit up when Ryan asked how his work was coming along. "I think I've worked out the problem with the springs," he said. "Do you want to see?"
"I'll pass," Ryan said, remembering how uneasy the wings had made him. "Do you want to do something today, though?"
"I could probably stand to get out of the house," Brendon admitted. "Want to go walk around the woods?"
Walking around the woods lost its charm after they end up hopelessly lost, but they finally managed to make their way out and ended up near the river. "We should have brought food," Brendon said, flopping down on the grass near the water, and Ryan sat beside him.
"Next time," he said, and Brendon glanced up at him, smiling.
"Hey, so, I think Sophie's starting to like me better," Brendon said, launching into a story about how he'd managed to get her to fly to the grocer's to leave an order. Ryan privately doubted the tale, given that the grocer hadn't actually delivered any food, not to mention the fact that getting Sophie to do anything was a pain. Ryan had learned that the other day when he'd tried to teach her to bring him a napkin. She'd tipped her head critically as she looked at the napkin, then shredded it decisively with her beak, triumphantly flying over with the remnants when she was done.
"Liar," he said, grinning, and Brendon glared.
"You're lucky the water's just out of reach and I'm comfortable, or I'd totally be splashing you right now," he said, and Ryan laughed.
"Try it," he said. "I dare you."
"Fine," Brendon said, eyes sparkling, and he darted up, catching Ryan by surprise and tackling him, sending them both tumbling into the stream.
"Oh my god, I hate you," Ryan said, spitting out a mouthful of water. The river was shallow, but it was deep enough that his clothes were soaking wet.
Brendon just smiled at him. "No, you don't."
It might have been the perfect time for another insult, but Ryan found himself smiling back. "No," he said. "I don't."
Brendon looked a little surprised by Ryan's statement, and Ryan took advantage of his disbelief, splashing him in the face. "Jackass," Brendon sputtered, and Ryan couldn't help laughing.
Brendon moved to retaliate and Ryan darted away; as he tried to evade him, he noticed a figure watching them from the riverbank. "Fuck," he said. "Brendon, is that -"
"Shit," he said, standing up and getting out of the water; Ryan followed, anxiety stirring in his stomach for the first time that day. Just like he'd thought, the guy watching them was the man from the tavern, and Brendon seemed to know him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
The man smiled. "Not going to introduce me to your handsome young man, Urie? That's a little rude."
Brendon rolled his eyes, but he looked apprehensive. "Ryan," he said, sounding almost cordial, "this is Brandon Flowers, the man I told you about before." The name triggered a memory - Brendon's sister talking to Ryan at the wedding, mentioning his problems with flowers. He'd thought she meant the roses, but she must have meant this guy.
"I got your letter," Ryan said, and Flowers scoffed.
"Didn't listen to it, apparently," he said.
"Stay the fuck away from us," Ryan said.
"I'll be happy to leave, provided your husband gives me the project he's working on now."
"Excuse me?" Brendon said.
"You owe me," he said. "You drove me out of business and I need something big to get my name out there again. Those wings should have all the customers running back to me, instead of wasting their money on your worthless garbage."
"And why would I just hand my invention over to you?" Brendon said, and Flowers smirked, pulling a pistol from his pocket.
"Because I'll just be taking it anyway," he said. "You might as well cooperate."
"Fine," Brendon said, stepping back and holding his hands up, palms forward. "It's at the house. Ryan can go get it and bring it back here," he said, but Flowers was already shaking his head.
"You think I'm stupid? He'll just go get that policeman friend of yours. No, we'll all go together," he said.
"We won't go to Patrick," Brendon said. He put a weird emphasis on the last few words, and Ryan was confused for a moment before he saw Sophie flying off into the trees. It was a gamble - the last time Brendon had told Sophie to do something, she'd landed on his head instead and settled down in his hair - but Ryan hoped it would work.
Flowers didn't seem to have noticed either Brendon's strange tone or Sophie's departure, his attention caught by a sound nearby. "Come on," he said. "Into the woods."
He marched them back through the forest. The gun was pressed into the small of Ryan's back; he kept shivering, afraid that it would go off by accident, or that Flowers would realize that there was no way he'd get away with this if he let them live. It was a long walk, and Ryan tried to keep his attention on Brendon, who was walking just ahead of him.
"Hey!" someone called from nearby, and Flowers whirled around, looking around before glancing back to Ryan and Brendon.
"Don't make a sound," he said, the gun now fixed on Brendon. His finger tightened on the trigger. "You sent them after me, didn't you?" His eyes were wild, utterly crazy, and Brendon shook his head.
Another shout came from nearby, and Ryan knew that voice. Brendon, apparently, did too, because he called out, "Patrick!" at the top of his lungs. Ryan saw what was going to happen before it actually did, and maybe that was what Maja had meant, you'll know what to do when it happens; the gun was going off, and Ryan moved without thinking, trying to shove Brendon out of the way.
They went tumbling to the ground, and then Patrick and one of his recruits were there, their own guns fixed on Flowers. "Drop it," Patrick said, and after a moment where it looked like there might be a shootout, Flowers set the gun on the ground and stepped away, hands up.
"Are you all right?" Patrick asked, and Brendon nodded, pulling himself up.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Me too," Ryan said, though his shoulder was aching from the fall.
"Ryan," Brendon said, looking horrified, and Ryan looked down; the pain wasn't from the fall at all.
"Oh," he said, staring dumbly at the red stain spreading across his shirt. "Oh, fuck."
"Ryan needs help," Brendon said to Patrick, sounding panicked, and the constable nodded in agreement.
"Joe, take this guy into the station. I'm need to get Ryan to William right now."
"I'm fine," Ryan tried to say, but the words were too faint to be heard. Brendon and Patrick helped him up, propping him up between them, and started walking back through the woods. Ryan kept stumbling, but Brendon kept him upright, arm tight around his waist.
"Sophie found you," Brendon said to Patrick, who shrugged.
"Is that the bird? I figured she was yours. She nestled down in my hair and wouldn't get out until I followed her."
Ryan laughed, then cringed when it sent twinges of pain through his body. "Ryan," Brendon said, sounding panicked.
"I'm okay," Ryan said, though his vision was swimming. "And hey, I told you that guy was creepy."
Patrick didn't lead them all the way into town, for which Ryan was grateful; his whole body hurt, and he didn't think he'd be able to make it much further. "We're here," he said as they approached a shack at the edge of the forest, and Brendon looked at him dubiously. Patrick didn't notice, knocking on the door of the hut and calling out, "William! Open the fuck up, come on."
The door swung open just as Ryan started to black out; the last thing he heard was an unfamiliar voice saying, "Well, there goes my lunch break."
*
He woke up in his own bed at the house with Brendon sprawled beside him, and for a moment he thought he'd dreamed the whole thing. Then he moved, and his whole side erupted in pain. He cried out, and Brendon was awake instantly.
"Hey," he said. "Are you okay?"
"Um," Ryan said, looking down at the bandages that covered him. "Apparently not. What happened?"
"You were shot," Brendon answered. "Patrick took you to this guy William and he got the bullet out and made sure you were okay."
"Right," Ryan said. "How did I get here?"
"We carried you back," Brendon said, shrugging. "It wasn't far, and William thought you'd be more comfortable here."
"Oh." He tried to sit up, moving as cautiously as he could, but even the most tentative movements sent pain throbbing down his arm.
"Here," Brendon said, helping him sit before for a bottle on the bedside table. "William gave me this. He said it should get rid of the pain for awhile, but you still need to be careful."
The potion was blue and fizzy; Ryan looked at it suspiciously but swallowed it down, cringing at the way it made his throat burn. Within a few moments, though, the pain in his arm had died down, though he didn't dare move it. "Thanks," he said, shifting to get comfortable. Brendon was giving him a strange look, his eyes bright, and Ryan raised his eyebrows. "What?"
"What do you mean, 'what'?" Brendon said. "You're such a fucking idiot, Ross, just leaping in front of me like that."
"I wasn't trying to leap in front of you," Ryan said. "I just kind of got in the way."
"It figures," Brendon said, laughing shakily. "You act like a klutz and end up a hero."
He was trembling, Ryan noticed. "Come here," he said, moving as much as he could without putting any weight on his arm, trying to get closer to Brendon. It didn't take much coaxing; Brendon closed his eyes and let Ryan kiss him until they were both breathless and exhausted.
"You should get some more rest," Brendon said, and Ryan nodded, his eyes already closing. Brendon was uncomfortably close, his breath hot against Ryan's cheek, but he still drifted off anyway.
*
His dreams were no better now that danger was out of the picture: Ryan kept dreaming about Brendon dying, slow and painful. When he mentioned it in the morning, Brendon rolled his eyes. "Wow, really? You're not sure why you're having nightmares the day after you were shot?"
"Oh, shut up," he said, and Brendon's expression softened.
"Hey," he said. "You saved me, come on. Stop worrying."
"That's true," Ryan said, lighting up a little. "I was pretty awesome."
"Yeah, it was totally awesome the way you got yourself shot."
"Be nice," Ryan said, and Brendon smirked, though he looked less confident than he probably would have liked.
"I can be nice," he said, sliding his palm up Ryan's thigh, not much more than a tease, but Ryan froze.
"I thought you didn't -"
Brendon didn't meet his eyes. "I'm just - I've never done this before."
"Oh," Ryan said. "Oh. We don't have to do anything," he said, and Brendon shook his head.
"I know," he said, something determined about the way his features were set.
"No, stop," Ryan said, and Brendon drew back. "Just - I don't want you to do this because you feel like you owe me, or whatever. Plus there is that whole part where I can't really move right now."
Brendon sat back, looking a little ashamed. "Sorry," he said. "I was - this is all really weird," he said, and Ryan nodded in agreement.
"You've seriously never -?"
"Never," Brendon affirmed.
"How come?"
"I just never wanted to," he said.
"Yeah, bullshit," Ryan said, and Brendon laughed.
"Well, yeah, I did, obviously, but it - it wouldn't have meant anything, so I just... didn't."
"Would it, um." Ryan had no idea how to phrase what he wanted to ask: would it mean something if it were me? was far too telling, but in the end he went with it anyway.
"Maybe," Brendon said, a slow smile dawning on his face, some of his earlier bravado restored. "Why?"
"No reason," Ryan said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, because I'm tired and you should make me breakfast."
Brendon laughed, punching him lightly in his good arm. "Really? And why should I do that?"
"I took a bullet for you, Urie. That at least earns me an omelet."
"Fuck," Brendon muttered, "You're going to use that against me forever, aren't you."
Ryan just smiled, settling back against the pillows.
*
The problem with William's draughts was that they were so strong he couldn't have more than one a day, but their effects lasted only hours. By mid-afternoon, Ryan was in such pain he could hardly move. Trying to lie back down was too much effort, and he was doubled over, trying to keep his body utterly still. "Hey," Brendon said when he came to check in on Ryan, and then, "Oh, shit, Ryan, are you okay?"
"Obviously not," Ryan said, gritting his teeth. "How long until I can have another draught?"
"Not until tonight," Brendon said. "Can I get you some water or something?"
"Okay," Ryan said, although he highly doubted water would make him feel better.
Brendon returned a few minutes later with a glass. Ryan only managed a few sips before nausea overwhelmed him. "Thanks," he said, holding the glass back out for Brendon to take.
"Here," Brendon said, reaching out to help Ryan lie back down. He stretched out next to him, reaching up to card his fingers through Ryan's hair. "Want me to sing you a song?" he asked.
Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"
Brendon shrugged. "It's what my mother used to do when I was sick. It always made me feel better."
"If it can cure bullet wounds, than by all means," Ryan said, wincing when Brendon's fingers tugged at a stray lock of hair. "A song might be nice, though," he said, and Brendon's fingers resumed their ministrations.
The song Brendon launched into wasn't a song at all, not really. Ryan groaned, recognizing it immediately. "I don't know what's worse, the fact that you remember something I wrote when I was sixteen or the fact that you set it to music."
"I've got a good memory," Brendon said, smirking. "Would you rather I sang something of Pete's?"
"I don't care," Ryan said, rolling his eyes, but he was happy when Brendon started singing something wholly unfamiliar. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the song and trying to ignore the pain. He wasn't able to sleep - he doubted he'd be able to sleep without the aid of the draughts for quite some time - but lying there was a lot more tolerable with Brendon's voice in his ear.
*
Several days passed in that manner, Ryan recovering far more quickly than he had thought possible, thanks to the potions that William sent down. He was still in no way well enough for a long carriage ride and they decided to extend their stay in Little Cereidum, as Ryan was still unwilling to travel by air.
"You can go, though," he told Brendon. "I mean, you've already been away from your business for so long."
"Dallon and Ian can handle everything," Brendon said. "If there was a problem they would have written me, and I'm sure they can keep things running for another week or two. Besides, I'd just worry about you if you were all on your own up here."
Ryan was rarely alone for a moment, though; Brendon was always around, singing and talking and doing whatever he could to distract Ryan from the pain. He usually only left Ryan's side to allow him to rest, and even then, Ryan could hear him up in the attic workshop, working away with his tools and making all manner of strange noises. It was reassuring, really, knowing Brendon was so close all the time.
Aside from Brendon, Ryan had several visitors. Greta kept stopping by and bringing them meals, and Patrick dropped by a few times, keeping him occupied with stories from his work, most of which amounted to feuding neighbors trying to get each other thrown in jail. Ashlee had stopped by the night before to bring him some books, and he'd been able to persuade her to read to him. Brendon had curled up beside him on the bed to listen, and Ryan had managed to fall asleep as she read, the first time since the shooting that he'd fallen asleep without the aid of the potions.
Brendon had yet to object to the constant stream of visitors, which was why Ryan was a little confused one morning when Brendon came into the bedroom, looking out of sorts. "There's someone here to see you," he said, frowning, and then Alex pushed past him and into the room.
"Hey," he said. "How's tricks, Ross?"
"Oh, you know how it is," Ryan said. "Getting shot by crazy guys, the usual."
"Par for the course," Alex agreed, sitting down on the side of the bed.
"What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you, obviously. We've all been beside ourselves in your absence, pining away to nothing."
"Right," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "I bet you say that to all the boys."
Brendon was hovering around by the door, which was strange; every other time they'd had guests, Brendon had either left them to talk to Ryan or else he'd joined in the conversation himself, but this time he was just watching them darkly.
"How long are you in town for?" Ryan asked, opting to ignore Brendon's sudden lapse in manners.
"Just for a few hours," Alex answered. "I'm on my way to Finchton for business."
"If you don't need to be there until tomorrow, you're welcome to stay in the guest house," Ryan began, but Brendon shook his head.
"That's probably not a good idea, since we never did get the lock repaired."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "It should be fine, Brendon. I doubt there are any more psychopaths out to get us."
"I should probably be on my way as soon as possible anyway," Alex said, waving his hand dismissively. "Anyway, has Z written you yet? She had some news she wanted to share."
"No," Ryan said. "You'd better fill me in."
Brendon remained in the doorway the whole time Alex was speaking, looking a little uncomfortable, and Ryan began to feel bad. After all, Brendon didn't know most of the people they were talking about. "You don't have to stay," Ryan offered.
His expression grew darker, and he shrugged, walking out and slamming the door behind him. Alex looked after him, raising an eyebrow. "So, I take it marriage isn't as blissful as it's rumored to be?"
"It's been okay," Ryan said. "I don't know what's wrong with him today."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"Stay," Ryan said. "I've been bored to tears the past few days."
"You just missed me, don't even lie."
"Obviously," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "Now come on, tell me more about this Tennessee girl Z's all worked up about."
*
Alex stayed for another few hours before he had to leave. "Do me a favor?" Ryan asked as Alex stood. "Help me out to the porch? I need some air."
They managed to get down the stairs with minimal difficulty; his shoulder was aching by the time they made it down, but it was nice just to be moving again. "Thanks," he said as they made it out to the porch. Brendon was there, sitting on the steps, and he glanced up as they came outside. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"
"If you're lucky," he said. "Later, Ross. Urie," he said as he passed Brendon on the steps, and Brendon nodded.
Ryan leaned on the railing of the stairs. "You want to go for a walk?" he asked. "I could do with some air."
"Okay," Brendon said. "Are you sure you should be up and about?"
"I'm fine," he said. "Come on, give me a hand."
They walked down to the river in silence, moving slowly, Ryan leaning on Brendon. They stopped to rest on the riverbank, and Ryan finally asked, "What was all that about earlier?"
"All what?"
"Being a complete asshole to Alex," he said.
Brendon was quiet for a few moments before blurting out, "You and him, you were, I mean. You were together," Brendon said, the words slipping out so quickly Ryan barely caught them.
"We weren't," he said. "The papers thought we were and we thought it was funny, so we didn't bother to deny it."
"Right," Brendon said. He didn't sound as if he believed him. "I don't care, Ryan. We said we were going to live our own lives, didn't we?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. "Yeah, we did, but that doesn't mean -"
"Don't. Just... just don't, okay?"
"I'm not sure what you want me to say," Ryan said helplessly. "Fuck, Brendon, would you just tell me what it is I'm supposed to be doing here?"
Brendon didn't answer, and for lack of a better idea, Ryan leaned in and kissed him, but Brendon pulled back just as their lips touched. "I thought you said you didn't want this," he said.
"I didn't say that," he said, earning him a skeptical glare.
"Close enough. You were the one who said you didn't want me to feel like I owed you," Brendon said, and the words hurt him like he'd been slapped. He'd thought - well, he'd thought wrong, apparently.
"I'm sorry I crossed a line or whatever," he said flatly.
"Crossed a line," Brendon repeated, incredulous. "Right. Look, if you're so desperate to get laid, go out and find someone else."
"Oh, fuck you," Ryan said.
Brendon started to say something and then stopped, looking exhausted. "You know what? This is - I don't even care if my family disown me. This isn't worth it." He took the wedding band off his finger and, after a moment's hesitation, tossed it as far as he could before storming back into the house.
Ryan looked after him for a moment, then back to where he'd thrown the ring. He was pretty sure it had landed just inside the copse of trees nearby. "Fuck," he muttered, and slipped into the trees to start his search.
*
The sun was setting by the time he managed to find the ring; he'd almost given up, writing it off as a lost cause, but when he'd sat down on a log to rest, he'd seen it glittering nearby, catching the last few rays of the sun.
Brendon was sitting on the steps of the porch when he returned. He was hunched in on himself, knees drawn up close to his chest. He looked so unhappy it made Ryan ache a little. "Hey," Ryan said, and Brendon glanced up.
"Hi," he said. The fight seemed to be gone out of him, and he looked ashamed. "I shouldn't have left you to walk back on your own," he said.
"I managed all right," Ryan said.
"I shouldn't have said what I did, either."
"It's okay," Ryan said, but Brendon shook his head.
"It's really not," he said. "I'm just... hell, I don't know. I'm not used to this."
"Me neither," Ryan said, anger flaring up suddenly. "You act like you're the only one who has to get used to this, but in case you forgot, this is all pretty new to me, too."
"It's different," Brendon said, not quite meeting Ryan's eyes. "You've been with people before, you've - you know how all of this feels."
Ryan's anger drained away as quickly as it had appeared. He sat beside Brendon on the step and tentatively reached out a hand, lacing their fingers together when Brendon didn't pull away. "Not really," he said. "It's not that different."
This time, Brendon didn't move back when Ryan kissed him.
*
The great thing about quarrelling with Brendon was that now Ryan could kiss him to shut him up. "You know you can't just try to end every argument like that," Brendon said, breaking away, though he looked utterly pleased.
"You know you don't need to start an argument in order to get me to kiss you," Ryan countered, and Brendon let out a loud, startled laugh.
"Yes, obviously you breaking my screwdriver was an attempt on my part to start an argument. You're insufferable."
"A little," Ryan admitted, and Brendon grinned.
"You're lucky I-" he said, then froze.
"I'm lucky you what?" Ryan asked.
"You're lucky I married you," he said after a long pause. It wasn't what he was going to say and Ryan knew it, but he let it go, even though he wanted to know how that sentence was going to end. You're lucky I love you, maybe, but Ryan didn't want to hope; he didn't even know if he did hope.
"I know I am," he said. Brendon's smile was slower than before, a little guarded, and he changed the subject to one of the novels Ashlee had left with them. Ryan's mind drifted as Brendon talked; he thought about Brendon's wedding ring, still tucked away in the pocket of one of his jackets, and he thought about the way Brendon kept absently touching his ring finger like there was something missing.
*
Ryan's recovery was faster than he'd hoped, mostly due to the draughts that William sent over regularly, and they were able to set a date to return to Lanverne. Brendon arranged for the carriage to pick them up in two days' time, and Ryan began the painstaking task of packing up their belongings.
"I'm glad we've still got tomorrow," Brendon mentioned conversationally as he helped fold clothes. He was tossing them carelessly into the trunk, both of their things all mixed up together. "I'd like to test the wings before we go."
Ryan had almost forgotten about those godawful wings. "You're kidding, right? One near-death experience not enough for you?"
"It'll be fine," Brendon said. "I'll finish tuning them up tonight and then you can give me a hand with them tomorrow."
Ryan did help, complaining the whole time. It was difficult to get them set up; the wings were impossibly heavy, and Ryan didn't see how Brendon even expected to get off the ground, given that he could barely lift them. "Carriages are heavy and they move," Brendon said, as if that was any kind of explanation.
"Because horses pull them," he said pointedly, and Brendon waved off the comment.
"It'll work," he said absently, preoccupied with the buckles and straps he needed to harness himself into the wings. "Here, lock me in," he said, and Ryan blinked.
"Why do you need a lock?"
"To keep from falling out of it," he said, utterly calm, as if falling wasn't that much of a concern. Ryan gulped, turning the key in the lock at the center of the contraption. He tried to give Brendon back the key, but he shook his head. "I don't want it falling out of my pocket," he said. "Hold onto it for me."
Ryan wasn't sure what he expected to happen, but Brendon took a deep breath and then turned a switch on the wings, and suddenly he was lifting off. "It works," he said, delighted.
"Fuck," Ryan breathed, watching as Brendon hovered in mid-air, shifting around awkwardly as he tried to figure out how to move properly.
It took some time, but the end result was amazing to watch; he was soaring, though there was no way it should have been able to work. "This is awesome," he called down to Ryan, a few feet below him.
Ryan laughed, amazed that the machine had actually worked - that is, until it stopped working. Brendon kept getting higher and higher, though he was trying to angle himself down toward the ground. "What's happening?" Ryan called up to Brendon.
"Something's jammed," he said, voice tight. "Fuck, it's not -" He shifted, trying to land, but it just made him go higher. Then, with a weird wrenching sound, the wings stopped working altogether.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for a crash that never came. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Brendon had managed to angle himself so he landed on the roof of the house. The weight of the wings kept dragging him down; he was clinging to the chimney, but it looked like he was barely able to hang on.
"I need the key," he said, and Ryan looked up; there was no way his arm could hold support his weight enough for him to climb all the way up there, and if Brendon let go of the chimney to try to catch the key, he'd probably end up tumbling right off the edge of the roof and though it wasn't much of a distance to fall, the wings were heavy enough to crush him.
"Hold on," Ryan said, tearing inside. He remembered seeing a ladder up in the attic, though he had no idea if he would actually be able to carry it. Sure enough, it was propped against the wall, but after struggling with it for a moment he realized it was too heavy, and the pain in his shoulder was blinding. Frustrated, he stepped back and took a look around, frantically trying to find something he could use to help.
A tiny peep sounded behind him and he whirled around, an idea coming to him. Sophie had never listened to him before, but she'd saved them once before and it was worth a try. "Get this to Brendon," he said, tucking the key into her clawed foot. She chirped, tilting her head. "He's in trouble," he added. "Up on the roof. Come on, go," he said, and she chirped again and flew out the window.
Ryan ran back down the stairs and out the door, just in time to see Brendon unlock the harness. The wings slid off the roof and fell with a resounding crash, splintering apart. Ryan swallowed hard, thinking of how easily Brendon could have shared the same fate.
Brendon waited for a few moments, regaining his composure, before climbing down shakily. "Fuck," he said, looking sadly at the mess. "At least I've got another pair back in the city. I've just got to work out the kinks."
Ryan laughed in disbelief. "You're fucking crazy," he said, and Brendon grinned at him.
"Maybe. Come here," he said, grabbing hold of Ryan's hand and pulling him close, pressing a quick kiss against the corner of his lips.
"Is that for saving you?" Ryan asked. "Because Sophie's the one who saved you both times, really, so you should probably kiss her, too."
"That's so inappropriate I don't even know what to say to you," Brendon said, laughing.
His hands were still shaking a little, and Ryan reached out without thinking, covering them with his own. "I'm - I'm glad you're okay," Ryan said, and Brendon sighed, leaning his head against Ryan's chest for a moment. I love you, Ryan thought, and the idea wasn't as frightening as it had been before.
*
They woke late the next morning and had to scramble to get ready to go back to Lanverne. Ryan wasn't particularly keen on leaving; he missed the city and his friends, but things between him and Brendon were only just starting to get settled. He wasn't looking forward to attempting to adjust to marriage while living out their normal lives.
Even so, it was time to leave, and he did his best to help Brendon with their belongings, though he could hardly carry much. They got all the trunks and bags outside and, after ensuring all the house was locked up, sat down on the porch to wait for their carriage.
The remnants of the wings were still there beside the house, shining bright in the morning sun, and Ryan caught Brendon looking regretfully at the wreckage. "Leave it," Ryan said.
"But I can salvage at least part of it."
"Seriously, no more wings," Ryan insisted.
"Fine," Brendon said, dragging one of his trunks over to the mess and sitting down beside it. "But I'm not letting perfectly good materials go to waste." He began to sort through the pieces, tossing cogs and sprockets into his trunk. Ryan knelt beside him, helping him find pieces that didn't look to be irreparably damaged.
They were still sitting there when the carriage drew up, and Brendon closed the trunk and stood, calling out a greeting to the driver, who hurried over to start loading their luggage into the carriage. Ryan stayed on his knees, and when Brendon offered a hand to help him up, Ryan just grabbed hold and didn't let go.
He turned Brendon's hand over in his and trailed his fingers down his palm, glancing up nervously when he heard his breath hitch. Slowly, slowly, carefully watching Brendon's expression, Ryan slid the ring back onto his finger. "I know all of this didn't happen like it should have," he said, "but I - I like being with you, and I know I'm not always easy to be with, but -"
"Ryan Ross," Brendon said, biting back a smile. "Are you asking me to marry you? Because that ship has sailed."
"I'm not saying I love you," Ryan said quickly. "I mean, it's too soon, and sometimes I hate you."
Brendon laughed. "Believe me, it's mutual. But you're seriously -"
"Yeah," he said, finally daring to glance up; Brendon looked utterly delighted. "I want to try this."
"In that case," he said, his smile bright as he tugged Ryan close to kiss him. "I do," he said a little breathlessly when Ryan pulled away to catch his breath.
"We already said that," he pointed out.
"So what am I supposed to say?"
"I don't know. Yes?"
"Same difference," Brendon said.
The carriage driver was probably getting impatient - his horse certainly was, Ryan thought, judging by the way he could hear it stomping its foot and whinnying - but Ryan didn't care, not when Brendon was looking at him like that. He leaned in to kiss him again, only drawing back when Brendon squeezed his hand. "Come on," Brendon said, pulling back. "Let's go home."
*
Master Post
Ryan took to visiting the town during the day. There was a library where he ended up spending the better part of his first week in Little Cereidum, poring over books with a fascination he hadn't felt since he was in school. "You're quite the reader," the librarian, a friend of Greta's named Ashlee, said one day as Ryan checked out the book of verses he was halfway through.
Ryan shrugged. "I used to be. It's just that-" There's nothing better to do, he thought, but he cut himself off before he could insult the librarian's livelihood and her town in one fell swoop.
She smiled shrewdly. "It's a good escape, isn't it? You can hide out in here all day, and you can take your books home with you and forget about everything that's going on. Maybe about how quiet your house is?"
"How do you know?" he asked, staring at her, and her smile widened.
"You just told me, but it was an easy guess all the same. If I were on my honeymoon with the man I'd just married, I doubt I'd be spending it by myself in a library."
"Good point," Ryan said. "It's not - we didn't want to be married. Our families."
"Families," she echoed, sounding thoughtful. "My father wanted to do the same. I'm not really sure why, since he arranged my sister's marriage and that ended horribly, but he still tried all the same."
"What happened?" he asked.
"I left," she said. "I came here with barely enough money for a week's stay at the inn, and found out the librarian here had just left for the city. It all turned out okay."
"You're lucky," he said, not without a trace of bitterness - he should have done something similar, not been so afraid of being disinherited he ended up trapping himself and Brendon in this mess.
She said something else, but he was distracted by another patron leaving - the weird man from the other night at Greta's. "I have to go," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, I just - there's something wrong."
Ashlee frowned, watching as the door closed behind the stranger. "With that guy? I'd believe it. He's been in here three times this week, always looking at books about poisons. I ended up taking all of them off the shelf and telling him they were all checked out."
"I'll talk to you later," he said, grabbing up his book and hurrying out the door. He was afraid for a moment that he had lost the man, or that he was on his way to the house (with poison, fuck), but he saw him walking down the road headed toward the tavern, and he relaxed a little. It was suppertime, after all, and it was hardly surprising that he would be headed there. Ryan followed him in, sitting down at the bar and ordering a drink.
The stranger sat at the other end of the bar and did the same; he left after one drink, and Greta frowned after him. "Weird," she said, looking down at the handful of change he'd paid with. There was a slip of paper among the coins. "It's got your name on it," she said, shrugging and handing it to Ryan, who unfolded it.
Stay away from Urie if you value your life, it said, and he shivered. "I've got to get home," he said, leaving some money on the bar and rushing out.
The man was nowhere in sight, and Ryan headed home, relieved when he got back to find Brendon sitting in the kitchen, eating supper. "Look," he said, holding out the note to Brendon, who looked surprised; he belatedly remembered that they hadn't said so much as a word to each other for nearly a week, but that didn't matter now. "That weird guy we saw that night. He left this for me at the tavern."
Brendon read it, brow furrowing. "It's just a joke or something," he said uncertainly. "Probably someone I know from school saw me in town and decided to play a joke on me." He sounded bitter, and Ryan remembered what school meant for Brendon: being picked on, being alone. He'd been so happy to find Ryan and Spencer, to actually have friends - that is, until Spencer left for the academy and Ryan, well. Ryan just left. "Anyway, it's not your concern," Brendon said decisively.
Ryan snorted. "Okay, yeah, it's just a death threat that involves both of us, no big deal."
"It's not a death threat!" Brendon insisted. "It's..." He blinked, looking at the note again. "I know that writing."
"Who is it?" Ryan asked, and Brendon shook his head, looking annoyed and a little relieved.
"Just this jackass I dealt with a few months back. He was another inventor, and he freaked out when I opened my shop because he didn't want to deal with the competition. I think he ended up shutting down after awhile, but that had more to do with his shitty machines than anything I did. I doubt he's much of a threat."
"Except he apparently followed you here," Ryan pointed out.
Brendon shrugged. "He's probably on holiday, or opening a new shop or something. Seriously, Ross, stop worrying."
Ryan didn't stop worrying, but he didn't mention it again, either.
*
They reached an unspoken truce after that, their conversations stilted but friendly. Brendon still spent most of his time working and Ryan still spent his days at the library, but they talked over meals and around the house and it was good, Ryan thought. Brendon still kissed him before bed each night, and that was good too, even if it drove him crazy, wondering why he didn't kiss him for real. They were married, after all, and it wasn't like either of them particularly wanted to be (or at least that was what Ryan was telling himself), but it only made sense that they make the best of things.
Brendon cooked dinner one night, a pasta recipe a friend had taught him, and they cleaned up the dishes together. Ryan laughed to himself as he scrubbed a plate, remembering something funny Ashlee had told him earlier. He told the joke, but Brendon didn't laugh, and when he looked up from the dishes, Brendon was biting his lip.
"What?" he asked, and Brendon raised his eyebrows.
"You talk about her a lot," he said. "Are you two -"
Ryan felt suddenly, irrationally annoyed. "It's not your business. We agreed that this marriage didn't mean anything, didn't we? You have your life and I have mine."
"I don't want another fucking scandal so soon," Brendon snapped.
"Well, you married the wrong person for that," Ryan snapped, and Brendon laughed a little meanly.
"I guess so, since you can't even keep it in your pants for a couple of fucking weeks -"
"Oh, fuck you, you don't get to act all self-righteous with me," Ryan said, tossing down the forks he'd just picked up. He stormed off - well, he tried to storm off, at any rate, but ended up tripping over a chair and fell flat on his face.
Brendon laughed, sounding far less mean than before, and Ryan joined in, unable to help it. He pulled himself up and pressed his palm to his face. He'd cut his cheek in the fall, apparently, and Brendon shook his head, laughing again. "Sit, if you think you can manage to do it without falling over," he said.
He left the room and returned with a washcloth and a basin of cold water. Kneeling on the floor in front of Ryan, he dabbed gently at the cut. "It's not bad," he said, holding the cloth to his cheek with steady pressure. "Barely a scratch."
Ryan nodded. "I'm sorry," he said.
Brendon looked away. "Me too," he said. "I was out of line. You're free to do as you like."
"She's just a friend," he said, not sure why he still felt the need to explain himself, and not sure why the corners of Brendon's mouth curved upwards for a moment before he stifled the expression.
"Okay," he said, dropping the cloth into the basin and using the back of his hand to gently rub some of the water away from Ryan's face. "The bleeding's stopped," he said, dropping his hand.
"Thanks," Ryan said, and neither of them moved for a moment. Brendon's gaze had dropped to his mouth, and Ryan's only thought was finally as he dipped his head down to kiss Brendon like he'd been wanting to do for days. He moved slowly, giving Brendon time to get away, but not really expecting him to take the opportunity to escape. He was surprised when Brendon stood abruptly.
"I, uh, I need to work," he said, and he hurried out of the room, leaving Ryan staring after him in confusion.
That night, though, Brendon got into bed and kissed Ryan's cheek, then hesitated before leaning in again and kissing him quickly, properly, just a firm press of their lips before drawing back. Ryan glanced at him, eyes questioning, and Brendon shrugged. "I'm not - I don't know. It's just... this whole thing is weird, and I want, but... I don't know, yeah."
"Yeah," Ryan echoed. "I want - can I kiss you again?" Brendon nodded, and Ryan pushed forward, cupping the back of Brendon's neck with his palm as he brought their lips together. It was nothing like it had been in the bar during the spring festival, and definitely not like that time years ago. It was slow, unhurried, and when Ryan gently bit down on Brendon's bottom lip, Brendon sighed, his lips parting, letting Ryan lick inside.
Brendon pulled back, and Ryan felt absurdly proud when he saw his dazed expression. "Let's just - I'm tired," he said, and Ryan nodded, pulling away and leaning out of bed to extinguish the flame of the lamp on the bedside table. When he moved back, Brendon curled around him, warm against his back; it took awhile for him to fall asleep, but when he did, he didn't dream.
*
Brendon was quiet the next morning, but he lit up when Ryan asked how his work was coming along. "I think I've worked out the problem with the springs," he said. "Do you want to see?"
"I'll pass," Ryan said, remembering how uneasy the wings had made him. "Do you want to do something today, though?"
"I could probably stand to get out of the house," Brendon admitted. "Want to go walk around the woods?"
Walking around the woods lost its charm after they end up hopelessly lost, but they finally managed to make their way out and ended up near the river. "We should have brought food," Brendon said, flopping down on the grass near the water, and Ryan sat beside him.
"Next time," he said, and Brendon glanced up at him, smiling.
"Hey, so, I think Sophie's starting to like me better," Brendon said, launching into a story about how he'd managed to get her to fly to the grocer's to leave an order. Ryan privately doubted the tale, given that the grocer hadn't actually delivered any food, not to mention the fact that getting Sophie to do anything was a pain. Ryan had learned that the other day when he'd tried to teach her to bring him a napkin. She'd tipped her head critically as she looked at the napkin, then shredded it decisively with her beak, triumphantly flying over with the remnants when she was done.
"Liar," he said, grinning, and Brendon glared.
"You're lucky the water's just out of reach and I'm comfortable, or I'd totally be splashing you right now," he said, and Ryan laughed.
"Try it," he said. "I dare you."
"Fine," Brendon said, eyes sparkling, and he darted up, catching Ryan by surprise and tackling him, sending them both tumbling into the stream.
"Oh my god, I hate you," Ryan said, spitting out a mouthful of water. The river was shallow, but it was deep enough that his clothes were soaking wet.
Brendon just smiled at him. "No, you don't."
It might have been the perfect time for another insult, but Ryan found himself smiling back. "No," he said. "I don't."
Brendon looked a little surprised by Ryan's statement, and Ryan took advantage of his disbelief, splashing him in the face. "Jackass," Brendon sputtered, and Ryan couldn't help laughing.
Brendon moved to retaliate and Ryan darted away; as he tried to evade him, he noticed a figure watching them from the riverbank. "Fuck," he said. "Brendon, is that -"
"Shit," he said, standing up and getting out of the water; Ryan followed, anxiety stirring in his stomach for the first time that day. Just like he'd thought, the guy watching them was the man from the tavern, and Brendon seemed to know him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
The man smiled. "Not going to introduce me to your handsome young man, Urie? That's a little rude."
Brendon rolled his eyes, but he looked apprehensive. "Ryan," he said, sounding almost cordial, "this is Brandon Flowers, the man I told you about before." The name triggered a memory - Brendon's sister talking to Ryan at the wedding, mentioning his problems with flowers. He'd thought she meant the roses, but she must have meant this guy.
"I got your letter," Ryan said, and Flowers scoffed.
"Didn't listen to it, apparently," he said.
"Stay the fuck away from us," Ryan said.
"I'll be happy to leave, provided your husband gives me the project he's working on now."
"Excuse me?" Brendon said.
"You owe me," he said. "You drove me out of business and I need something big to get my name out there again. Those wings should have all the customers running back to me, instead of wasting their money on your worthless garbage."
"And why would I just hand my invention over to you?" Brendon said, and Flowers smirked, pulling a pistol from his pocket.
"Because I'll just be taking it anyway," he said. "You might as well cooperate."
"Fine," Brendon said, stepping back and holding his hands up, palms forward. "It's at the house. Ryan can go get it and bring it back here," he said, but Flowers was already shaking his head.
"You think I'm stupid? He'll just go get that policeman friend of yours. No, we'll all go together," he said.
"We won't go to Patrick," Brendon said. He put a weird emphasis on the last few words, and Ryan was confused for a moment before he saw Sophie flying off into the trees. It was a gamble - the last time Brendon had told Sophie to do something, she'd landed on his head instead and settled down in his hair - but Ryan hoped it would work.
Flowers didn't seem to have noticed either Brendon's strange tone or Sophie's departure, his attention caught by a sound nearby. "Come on," he said. "Into the woods."
He marched them back through the forest. The gun was pressed into the small of Ryan's back; he kept shivering, afraid that it would go off by accident, or that Flowers would realize that there was no way he'd get away with this if he let them live. It was a long walk, and Ryan tried to keep his attention on Brendon, who was walking just ahead of him.
"Hey!" someone called from nearby, and Flowers whirled around, looking around before glancing back to Ryan and Brendon.
"Don't make a sound," he said, the gun now fixed on Brendon. His finger tightened on the trigger. "You sent them after me, didn't you?" His eyes were wild, utterly crazy, and Brendon shook his head.
Another shout came from nearby, and Ryan knew that voice. Brendon, apparently, did too, because he called out, "Patrick!" at the top of his lungs. Ryan saw what was going to happen before it actually did, and maybe that was what Maja had meant, you'll know what to do when it happens; the gun was going off, and Ryan moved without thinking, trying to shove Brendon out of the way.
They went tumbling to the ground, and then Patrick and one of his recruits were there, their own guns fixed on Flowers. "Drop it," Patrick said, and after a moment where it looked like there might be a shootout, Flowers set the gun on the ground and stepped away, hands up.
"Are you all right?" Patrick asked, and Brendon nodded, pulling himself up.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Me too," Ryan said, though his shoulder was aching from the fall.
"Ryan," Brendon said, looking horrified, and Ryan looked down; the pain wasn't from the fall at all.
"Oh," he said, staring dumbly at the red stain spreading across his shirt. "Oh, fuck."
"Ryan needs help," Brendon said to Patrick, sounding panicked, and the constable nodded in agreement.
"Joe, take this guy into the station. I'm need to get Ryan to William right now."
"I'm fine," Ryan tried to say, but the words were too faint to be heard. Brendon and Patrick helped him up, propping him up between them, and started walking back through the woods. Ryan kept stumbling, but Brendon kept him upright, arm tight around his waist.
"Sophie found you," Brendon said to Patrick, who shrugged.
"Is that the bird? I figured she was yours. She nestled down in my hair and wouldn't get out until I followed her."
Ryan laughed, then cringed when it sent twinges of pain through his body. "Ryan," Brendon said, sounding panicked.
"I'm okay," Ryan said, though his vision was swimming. "And hey, I told you that guy was creepy."
Patrick didn't lead them all the way into town, for which Ryan was grateful; his whole body hurt, and he didn't think he'd be able to make it much further. "We're here," he said as they approached a shack at the edge of the forest, and Brendon looked at him dubiously. Patrick didn't notice, knocking on the door of the hut and calling out, "William! Open the fuck up, come on."
The door swung open just as Ryan started to black out; the last thing he heard was an unfamiliar voice saying, "Well, there goes my lunch break."
*
He woke up in his own bed at the house with Brendon sprawled beside him, and for a moment he thought he'd dreamed the whole thing. Then he moved, and his whole side erupted in pain. He cried out, and Brendon was awake instantly.
"Hey," he said. "Are you okay?"
"Um," Ryan said, looking down at the bandages that covered him. "Apparently not. What happened?"
"You were shot," Brendon answered. "Patrick took you to this guy William and he got the bullet out and made sure you were okay."
"Right," Ryan said. "How did I get here?"
"We carried you back," Brendon said, shrugging. "It wasn't far, and William thought you'd be more comfortable here."
"Oh." He tried to sit up, moving as cautiously as he could, but even the most tentative movements sent pain throbbing down his arm.
"Here," Brendon said, helping him sit before for a bottle on the bedside table. "William gave me this. He said it should get rid of the pain for awhile, but you still need to be careful."
The potion was blue and fizzy; Ryan looked at it suspiciously but swallowed it down, cringing at the way it made his throat burn. Within a few moments, though, the pain in his arm had died down, though he didn't dare move it. "Thanks," he said, shifting to get comfortable. Brendon was giving him a strange look, his eyes bright, and Ryan raised his eyebrows. "What?"
"What do you mean, 'what'?" Brendon said. "You're such a fucking idiot, Ross, just leaping in front of me like that."
"I wasn't trying to leap in front of you," Ryan said. "I just kind of got in the way."
"It figures," Brendon said, laughing shakily. "You act like a klutz and end up a hero."
He was trembling, Ryan noticed. "Come here," he said, moving as much as he could without putting any weight on his arm, trying to get closer to Brendon. It didn't take much coaxing; Brendon closed his eyes and let Ryan kiss him until they were both breathless and exhausted.
"You should get some more rest," Brendon said, and Ryan nodded, his eyes already closing. Brendon was uncomfortably close, his breath hot against Ryan's cheek, but he still drifted off anyway.
*
His dreams were no better now that danger was out of the picture: Ryan kept dreaming about Brendon dying, slow and painful. When he mentioned it in the morning, Brendon rolled his eyes. "Wow, really? You're not sure why you're having nightmares the day after you were shot?"
"Oh, shut up," he said, and Brendon's expression softened.
"Hey," he said. "You saved me, come on. Stop worrying."
"That's true," Ryan said, lighting up a little. "I was pretty awesome."
"Yeah, it was totally awesome the way you got yourself shot."
"Be nice," Ryan said, and Brendon smirked, though he looked less confident than he probably would have liked.
"I can be nice," he said, sliding his palm up Ryan's thigh, not much more than a tease, but Ryan froze.
"I thought you didn't -"
Brendon didn't meet his eyes. "I'm just - I've never done this before."
"Oh," Ryan said. "Oh. We don't have to do anything," he said, and Brendon shook his head.
"I know," he said, something determined about the way his features were set.
"No, stop," Ryan said, and Brendon drew back. "Just - I don't want you to do this because you feel like you owe me, or whatever. Plus there is that whole part where I can't really move right now."
Brendon sat back, looking a little ashamed. "Sorry," he said. "I was - this is all really weird," he said, and Ryan nodded in agreement.
"You've seriously never -?"
"Never," Brendon affirmed.
"How come?"
"I just never wanted to," he said.
"Yeah, bullshit," Ryan said, and Brendon laughed.
"Well, yeah, I did, obviously, but it - it wouldn't have meant anything, so I just... didn't."
"Would it, um." Ryan had no idea how to phrase what he wanted to ask: would it mean something if it were me? was far too telling, but in the end he went with it anyway.
"Maybe," Brendon said, a slow smile dawning on his face, some of his earlier bravado restored. "Why?"
"No reason," Ryan said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, because I'm tired and you should make me breakfast."
Brendon laughed, punching him lightly in his good arm. "Really? And why should I do that?"
"I took a bullet for you, Urie. That at least earns me an omelet."
"Fuck," Brendon muttered, "You're going to use that against me forever, aren't you."
Ryan just smiled, settling back against the pillows.
*
The problem with William's draughts was that they were so strong he couldn't have more than one a day, but their effects lasted only hours. By mid-afternoon, Ryan was in such pain he could hardly move. Trying to lie back down was too much effort, and he was doubled over, trying to keep his body utterly still. "Hey," Brendon said when he came to check in on Ryan, and then, "Oh, shit, Ryan, are you okay?"
"Obviously not," Ryan said, gritting his teeth. "How long until I can have another draught?"
"Not until tonight," Brendon said. "Can I get you some water or something?"
"Okay," Ryan said, although he highly doubted water would make him feel better.
Brendon returned a few minutes later with a glass. Ryan only managed a few sips before nausea overwhelmed him. "Thanks," he said, holding the glass back out for Brendon to take.
"Here," Brendon said, reaching out to help Ryan lie back down. He stretched out next to him, reaching up to card his fingers through Ryan's hair. "Want me to sing you a song?" he asked.
Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"
Brendon shrugged. "It's what my mother used to do when I was sick. It always made me feel better."
"If it can cure bullet wounds, than by all means," Ryan said, wincing when Brendon's fingers tugged at a stray lock of hair. "A song might be nice, though," he said, and Brendon's fingers resumed their ministrations.
The song Brendon launched into wasn't a song at all, not really. Ryan groaned, recognizing it immediately. "I don't know what's worse, the fact that you remember something I wrote when I was sixteen or the fact that you set it to music."
"I've got a good memory," Brendon said, smirking. "Would you rather I sang something of Pete's?"
"I don't care," Ryan said, rolling his eyes, but he was happy when Brendon started singing something wholly unfamiliar. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the song and trying to ignore the pain. He wasn't able to sleep - he doubted he'd be able to sleep without the aid of the draughts for quite some time - but lying there was a lot more tolerable with Brendon's voice in his ear.
*
Several days passed in that manner, Ryan recovering far more quickly than he had thought possible, thanks to the potions that William sent down. He was still in no way well enough for a long carriage ride and they decided to extend their stay in Little Cereidum, as Ryan was still unwilling to travel by air.
"You can go, though," he told Brendon. "I mean, you've already been away from your business for so long."
"Dallon and Ian can handle everything," Brendon said. "If there was a problem they would have written me, and I'm sure they can keep things running for another week or two. Besides, I'd just worry about you if you were all on your own up here."
Ryan was rarely alone for a moment, though; Brendon was always around, singing and talking and doing whatever he could to distract Ryan from the pain. He usually only left Ryan's side to allow him to rest, and even then, Ryan could hear him up in the attic workshop, working away with his tools and making all manner of strange noises. It was reassuring, really, knowing Brendon was so close all the time.
Aside from Brendon, Ryan had several visitors. Greta kept stopping by and bringing them meals, and Patrick dropped by a few times, keeping him occupied with stories from his work, most of which amounted to feuding neighbors trying to get each other thrown in jail. Ashlee had stopped by the night before to bring him some books, and he'd been able to persuade her to read to him. Brendon had curled up beside him on the bed to listen, and Ryan had managed to fall asleep as she read, the first time since the shooting that he'd fallen asleep without the aid of the potions.
Brendon had yet to object to the constant stream of visitors, which was why Ryan was a little confused one morning when Brendon came into the bedroom, looking out of sorts. "There's someone here to see you," he said, frowning, and then Alex pushed past him and into the room.
"Hey," he said. "How's tricks, Ross?"
"Oh, you know how it is," Ryan said. "Getting shot by crazy guys, the usual."
"Par for the course," Alex agreed, sitting down on the side of the bed.
"What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you, obviously. We've all been beside ourselves in your absence, pining away to nothing."
"Right," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "I bet you say that to all the boys."
Brendon was hovering around by the door, which was strange; every other time they'd had guests, Brendon had either left them to talk to Ryan or else he'd joined in the conversation himself, but this time he was just watching them darkly.
"How long are you in town for?" Ryan asked, opting to ignore Brendon's sudden lapse in manners.
"Just for a few hours," Alex answered. "I'm on my way to Finchton for business."
"If you don't need to be there until tomorrow, you're welcome to stay in the guest house," Ryan began, but Brendon shook his head.
"That's probably not a good idea, since we never did get the lock repaired."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "It should be fine, Brendon. I doubt there are any more psychopaths out to get us."
"I should probably be on my way as soon as possible anyway," Alex said, waving his hand dismissively. "Anyway, has Z written you yet? She had some news she wanted to share."
"No," Ryan said. "You'd better fill me in."
Brendon remained in the doorway the whole time Alex was speaking, looking a little uncomfortable, and Ryan began to feel bad. After all, Brendon didn't know most of the people they were talking about. "You don't have to stay," Ryan offered.
His expression grew darker, and he shrugged, walking out and slamming the door behind him. Alex looked after him, raising an eyebrow. "So, I take it marriage isn't as blissful as it's rumored to be?"
"It's been okay," Ryan said. "I don't know what's wrong with him today."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"Stay," Ryan said. "I've been bored to tears the past few days."
"You just missed me, don't even lie."
"Obviously," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "Now come on, tell me more about this Tennessee girl Z's all worked up about."
*
Alex stayed for another few hours before he had to leave. "Do me a favor?" Ryan asked as Alex stood. "Help me out to the porch? I need some air."
They managed to get down the stairs with minimal difficulty; his shoulder was aching by the time they made it down, but it was nice just to be moving again. "Thanks," he said as they made it out to the porch. Brendon was there, sitting on the steps, and he glanced up as they came outside. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"
"If you're lucky," he said. "Later, Ross. Urie," he said as he passed Brendon on the steps, and Brendon nodded.
Ryan leaned on the railing of the stairs. "You want to go for a walk?" he asked. "I could do with some air."
"Okay," Brendon said. "Are you sure you should be up and about?"
"I'm fine," he said. "Come on, give me a hand."
They walked down to the river in silence, moving slowly, Ryan leaning on Brendon. They stopped to rest on the riverbank, and Ryan finally asked, "What was all that about earlier?"
"All what?"
"Being a complete asshole to Alex," he said.
Brendon was quiet for a few moments before blurting out, "You and him, you were, I mean. You were together," Brendon said, the words slipping out so quickly Ryan barely caught them.
"We weren't," he said. "The papers thought we were and we thought it was funny, so we didn't bother to deny it."
"Right," Brendon said. He didn't sound as if he believed him. "I don't care, Ryan. We said we were going to live our own lives, didn't we?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. "Yeah, we did, but that doesn't mean -"
"Don't. Just... just don't, okay?"
"I'm not sure what you want me to say," Ryan said helplessly. "Fuck, Brendon, would you just tell me what it is I'm supposed to be doing here?"
Brendon didn't answer, and for lack of a better idea, Ryan leaned in and kissed him, but Brendon pulled back just as their lips touched. "I thought you said you didn't want this," he said.
"I didn't say that," he said, earning him a skeptical glare.
"Close enough. You were the one who said you didn't want me to feel like I owed you," Brendon said, and the words hurt him like he'd been slapped. He'd thought - well, he'd thought wrong, apparently.
"I'm sorry I crossed a line or whatever," he said flatly.
"Crossed a line," Brendon repeated, incredulous. "Right. Look, if you're so desperate to get laid, go out and find someone else."
"Oh, fuck you," Ryan said.
Brendon started to say something and then stopped, looking exhausted. "You know what? This is - I don't even care if my family disown me. This isn't worth it." He took the wedding band off his finger and, after a moment's hesitation, tossed it as far as he could before storming back into the house.
Ryan looked after him for a moment, then back to where he'd thrown the ring. He was pretty sure it had landed just inside the copse of trees nearby. "Fuck," he muttered, and slipped into the trees to start his search.
*
The sun was setting by the time he managed to find the ring; he'd almost given up, writing it off as a lost cause, but when he'd sat down on a log to rest, he'd seen it glittering nearby, catching the last few rays of the sun.
Brendon was sitting on the steps of the porch when he returned. He was hunched in on himself, knees drawn up close to his chest. He looked so unhappy it made Ryan ache a little. "Hey," Ryan said, and Brendon glanced up.
"Hi," he said. The fight seemed to be gone out of him, and he looked ashamed. "I shouldn't have left you to walk back on your own," he said.
"I managed all right," Ryan said.
"I shouldn't have said what I did, either."
"It's okay," Ryan said, but Brendon shook his head.
"It's really not," he said. "I'm just... hell, I don't know. I'm not used to this."
"Me neither," Ryan said, anger flaring up suddenly. "You act like you're the only one who has to get used to this, but in case you forgot, this is all pretty new to me, too."
"It's different," Brendon said, not quite meeting Ryan's eyes. "You've been with people before, you've - you know how all of this feels."
Ryan's anger drained away as quickly as it had appeared. He sat beside Brendon on the step and tentatively reached out a hand, lacing their fingers together when Brendon didn't pull away. "Not really," he said. "It's not that different."
This time, Brendon didn't move back when Ryan kissed him.
*
The great thing about quarrelling with Brendon was that now Ryan could kiss him to shut him up. "You know you can't just try to end every argument like that," Brendon said, breaking away, though he looked utterly pleased.
"You know you don't need to start an argument in order to get me to kiss you," Ryan countered, and Brendon let out a loud, startled laugh.
"Yes, obviously you breaking my screwdriver was an attempt on my part to start an argument. You're insufferable."
"A little," Ryan admitted, and Brendon grinned.
"You're lucky I-" he said, then froze.
"I'm lucky you what?" Ryan asked.
"You're lucky I married you," he said after a long pause. It wasn't what he was going to say and Ryan knew it, but he let it go, even though he wanted to know how that sentence was going to end. You're lucky I love you, maybe, but Ryan didn't want to hope; he didn't even know if he did hope.
"I know I am," he said. Brendon's smile was slower than before, a little guarded, and he changed the subject to one of the novels Ashlee had left with them. Ryan's mind drifted as Brendon talked; he thought about Brendon's wedding ring, still tucked away in the pocket of one of his jackets, and he thought about the way Brendon kept absently touching his ring finger like there was something missing.
*
Ryan's recovery was faster than he'd hoped, mostly due to the draughts that William sent over regularly, and they were able to set a date to return to Lanverne. Brendon arranged for the carriage to pick them up in two days' time, and Ryan began the painstaking task of packing up their belongings.
"I'm glad we've still got tomorrow," Brendon mentioned conversationally as he helped fold clothes. He was tossing them carelessly into the trunk, both of their things all mixed up together. "I'd like to test the wings before we go."
Ryan had almost forgotten about those godawful wings. "You're kidding, right? One near-death experience not enough for you?"
"It'll be fine," Brendon said. "I'll finish tuning them up tonight and then you can give me a hand with them tomorrow."
Ryan did help, complaining the whole time. It was difficult to get them set up; the wings were impossibly heavy, and Ryan didn't see how Brendon even expected to get off the ground, given that he could barely lift them. "Carriages are heavy and they move," Brendon said, as if that was any kind of explanation.
"Because horses pull them," he said pointedly, and Brendon waved off the comment.
"It'll work," he said absently, preoccupied with the buckles and straps he needed to harness himself into the wings. "Here, lock me in," he said, and Ryan blinked.
"Why do you need a lock?"
"To keep from falling out of it," he said, utterly calm, as if falling wasn't that much of a concern. Ryan gulped, turning the key in the lock at the center of the contraption. He tried to give Brendon back the key, but he shook his head. "I don't want it falling out of my pocket," he said. "Hold onto it for me."
Ryan wasn't sure what he expected to happen, but Brendon took a deep breath and then turned a switch on the wings, and suddenly he was lifting off. "It works," he said, delighted.
"Fuck," Ryan breathed, watching as Brendon hovered in mid-air, shifting around awkwardly as he tried to figure out how to move properly.
It took some time, but the end result was amazing to watch; he was soaring, though there was no way it should have been able to work. "This is awesome," he called down to Ryan, a few feet below him.
Ryan laughed, amazed that the machine had actually worked - that is, until it stopped working. Brendon kept getting higher and higher, though he was trying to angle himself down toward the ground. "What's happening?" Ryan called up to Brendon.
"Something's jammed," he said, voice tight. "Fuck, it's not -" He shifted, trying to land, but it just made him go higher. Then, with a weird wrenching sound, the wings stopped working altogether.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for a crash that never came. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Brendon had managed to angle himself so he landed on the roof of the house. The weight of the wings kept dragging him down; he was clinging to the chimney, but it looked like he was barely able to hang on.
"I need the key," he said, and Ryan looked up; there was no way his arm could hold support his weight enough for him to climb all the way up there, and if Brendon let go of the chimney to try to catch the key, he'd probably end up tumbling right off the edge of the roof and though it wasn't much of a distance to fall, the wings were heavy enough to crush him.
"Hold on," Ryan said, tearing inside. He remembered seeing a ladder up in the attic, though he had no idea if he would actually be able to carry it. Sure enough, it was propped against the wall, but after struggling with it for a moment he realized it was too heavy, and the pain in his shoulder was blinding. Frustrated, he stepped back and took a look around, frantically trying to find something he could use to help.
A tiny peep sounded behind him and he whirled around, an idea coming to him. Sophie had never listened to him before, but she'd saved them once before and it was worth a try. "Get this to Brendon," he said, tucking the key into her clawed foot. She chirped, tilting her head. "He's in trouble," he added. "Up on the roof. Come on, go," he said, and she chirped again and flew out the window.
Ryan ran back down the stairs and out the door, just in time to see Brendon unlock the harness. The wings slid off the roof and fell with a resounding crash, splintering apart. Ryan swallowed hard, thinking of how easily Brendon could have shared the same fate.
Brendon waited for a few moments, regaining his composure, before climbing down shakily. "Fuck," he said, looking sadly at the mess. "At least I've got another pair back in the city. I've just got to work out the kinks."
Ryan laughed in disbelief. "You're fucking crazy," he said, and Brendon grinned at him.
"Maybe. Come here," he said, grabbing hold of Ryan's hand and pulling him close, pressing a quick kiss against the corner of his lips.
"Is that for saving you?" Ryan asked. "Because Sophie's the one who saved you both times, really, so you should probably kiss her, too."
"That's so inappropriate I don't even know what to say to you," Brendon said, laughing.
His hands were still shaking a little, and Ryan reached out without thinking, covering them with his own. "I'm - I'm glad you're okay," Ryan said, and Brendon sighed, leaning his head against Ryan's chest for a moment. I love you, Ryan thought, and the idea wasn't as frightening as it had been before.
*
They woke late the next morning and had to scramble to get ready to go back to Lanverne. Ryan wasn't particularly keen on leaving; he missed the city and his friends, but things between him and Brendon were only just starting to get settled. He wasn't looking forward to attempting to adjust to marriage while living out their normal lives.
Even so, it was time to leave, and he did his best to help Brendon with their belongings, though he could hardly carry much. They got all the trunks and bags outside and, after ensuring all the house was locked up, sat down on the porch to wait for their carriage.
The remnants of the wings were still there beside the house, shining bright in the morning sun, and Ryan caught Brendon looking regretfully at the wreckage. "Leave it," Ryan said.
"But I can salvage at least part of it."
"Seriously, no more wings," Ryan insisted.
"Fine," Brendon said, dragging one of his trunks over to the mess and sitting down beside it. "But I'm not letting perfectly good materials go to waste." He began to sort through the pieces, tossing cogs and sprockets into his trunk. Ryan knelt beside him, helping him find pieces that didn't look to be irreparably damaged.
They were still sitting there when the carriage drew up, and Brendon closed the trunk and stood, calling out a greeting to the driver, who hurried over to start loading their luggage into the carriage. Ryan stayed on his knees, and when Brendon offered a hand to help him up, Ryan just grabbed hold and didn't let go.
He turned Brendon's hand over in his and trailed his fingers down his palm, glancing up nervously when he heard his breath hitch. Slowly, slowly, carefully watching Brendon's expression, Ryan slid the ring back onto his finger. "I know all of this didn't happen like it should have," he said, "but I - I like being with you, and I know I'm not always easy to be with, but -"
"Ryan Ross," Brendon said, biting back a smile. "Are you asking me to marry you? Because that ship has sailed."
"I'm not saying I love you," Ryan said quickly. "I mean, it's too soon, and sometimes I hate you."
Brendon laughed. "Believe me, it's mutual. But you're seriously -"
"Yeah," he said, finally daring to glance up; Brendon looked utterly delighted. "I want to try this."
"In that case," he said, his smile bright as he tugged Ryan close to kiss him. "I do," he said a little breathlessly when Ryan pulled away to catch his breath.
"We already said that," he pointed out.
"So what am I supposed to say?"
"I don't know. Yes?"
"Same difference," Brendon said.
The carriage driver was probably getting impatient - his horse certainly was, Ryan thought, judging by the way he could hear it stomping its foot and whinnying - but Ryan didn't care, not when Brendon was looking at him like that. He leaned in to kiss him again, only drawing back when Brendon squeezed his hand. "Come on," Brendon said, pulling back. "Let's go home."
*
Master Post