Vertigo Part 2/2
Part 1
Vertigo 2/2
After that, Spencer stayed away from the office for a few days. He threw himself into finishing his other assignments and then pulled up the pages and pages of research on Brendon's office. He'd applied for a business license two years ago, enrolled in the city subsidy program six months later; he'd faithfully turned in the very basic accounting form the city required on revenue and patient numbers every quarter. He'd listed Ryan and William's salaries, both a bit lower than employees of other similar medical offices. Beyond the basic subsidy amount the city paid, he'd not declared his own salary.
Spencer had a list of some of the patients that Brendon had seen in the last year. They'd been tracked down during a city wide survey for the health care program a few months ago, and what little Spencer could get them to say about Brendon was all glowing. Mostly, my kids loved him and he's the only doctor we go to now and from one girl that had to translate for mother: he has awesome shoes.
It painted a decent picture of Brendon's office, but wasn't much help objectively.
He got stuck working late in the office, delving headfirst into the basic background checks he'd hired out on Brendon and William. He was long past the desperate need to find something.
After all, there was nothing to find; there never had been. He'd lied to his oldest friend for nothing; he'd lied to people he cared about for nothing.
He was so fucked.
"You look like you could use some coffee." A hand reached over the front of his low-slung cubicle wall holding a tray of four cups of Starbucks. The teasing smell of coffee was so awesome Spencer groaned.
"Your awesomeness can not be verbally rendered," he said mindlessly, groping blindly for the coffee.
"You are such a coffee slut," Brendon said, his face hovering over the top of the computer monitor. Spencer reached over and slapped his mouse button, taking a deep, stuttering breath when the screen switched over to the newspaper's homepage.
"What are you doing here?" Spencer took a small sip from the cup, groaning again when the coffee swept across his tongue. "Not that I don't appreciate the coffee and all."
Brendon walked around and flopped down in the spare chair next to Spencer's desk. He looked tired, eyes red and bloodshot, dark bruising just underneath. Spencer reached out and touched Brendon's arm; he got a small smile, so much less than usual, in return.
"Ryan said you were having to work late. I figured," he picked up one of other coffee cups and took his own sip, "that you might like some company."
"Bren-," Spencer started, but Brendon held up his hand and said quickly, "I'll just sit here. Be perfectly quiet. Really, Spence. Just do your work."
Something in Brendon's voice stopped Spencer cold. There was a desperation there, plain and clear and right there for the world - or at least, for Spencer - to see. Brendon was already leaning back in the chair, eyes closed, his mouth turned down in the closest thing Spencer had ever seen to a frown. He was breathing too slow, too even: all forced casualness.
Spencer squeezed Brendon's arm once and then nodded. "Yeah, okay. Company would be good," he said and saw Brendon's lips quirk up just a little, the barest hint of a not-frown.
He pulled up some random story that he'd started months ago and ditched because it never seemed to go anywhere interesting. It was still crappy and worthless, and pretty much pointless as well, but Spencer typed a few random sentences here and there, and when he noticed Brendon's shoulders loosening, drooping down, he kept on typing.
Now is the time all good men and see spot run and 'twas the night before Christmas and-
He just let random words flow out and pretty soon he ran out of well known phrases and started with: lime green sneakers with blinking lights; a girl's smile and a mother's laugh; the look on his face as he talked about anti-oxidants and the latest rock music; Disney songs in the waiting room and dancing in the halls. Spencer wrote about hope and someone that cared enough for two people, and how a system could be failing - horribly, painfully, tragically - but that there were still people keeping things working and making the best out of some of the very worst.
And when he was done, he had pages and pages, twice as many pages as all his other research combined. It was aimless, mindless babble, but it was real, and probably the best thing Spencer had ever written. He could see vividly every detail, could recognize Brendon in the shape of every word, was almost blinded by the vivid color swirling and twirling in the story, turning life and the system and everything he thought he knew upside down.
It was also worthless and completely not publishable. His finger hovered over the delete button, but he could hear Ryan, clear and obnoxious from his days before he grew up and lost that desperation to share himself through his words: inspiration should never be censored.
Spencer saved the document instead. He titled it vertigo.
Brendon shook himself awake four hours after he fell asleep. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Spencer," he said, rubbing at his neck. "Was I excellent company?" He tried for a smile but it fell short.
Spencer watched him, pushing over the last half-cup of cold Starbucks. Brendon grabbed it up and swallowed it down in two gulps. He stood up and held out a hand to pull Spencer up.
They walked out of the newsroom in silence, shoulders brushing occasionally, Brendon's heat soaking deep into Spencer's skin. The silence between them felt wrong, bone deep, and Spencer wanted to ask, wanted to pry and demand and say something witty and funny to put the smile back on Brendon's face. Instead, he let his fingers glide once, twice, against the back of Brendon's hand; in the elevator, he shuffled closer, taking up as much space as he could, until he felt Brendon start to lean toward him, just a little, skin hungry and wanting.
Spencer wasn't sure whether he was talking about himself or Brendon anymore.
When they hit the street, Brendon grabbed hold of his arm and held him in place. He closed his eyes and stepped closer, one step, and breathed in deep, like maybe he was breathing in Spencer.
"Bren?" Spencer asked, holding perfectly still.
"It was a really bad day," Brendon's voice was so quiet, Spencer had to lean closer to catch the last of his words, "God, Spence, so fucking bad. One of my boys, he-." Brendon couldn't get the words out.
And Spencer had no idea what to say so he reached out and reeled Brendon in, wrapping him up in hug and holding on tight, breathing soft and easy for them both.
Brendon pulled away finally and said, "Thanks." He didn't smile, but maybe there wasn't quite as much misery etched into the lines of his face. Spencer felt his breath catch in his chest when Brendon leaned forward and brushed their lips softly together. And, fuck, Spencer wanted, so much, could taste the want on his lips, in the touch of Brendon's mouth, and it was like the world flipping neatly over, just a quick spin, everything Spencer wanted and everything that he could stand to lose in one small kiss.
Spencer backed away and whispered raggedly, "Brendon-."
"Shhh," Brendon whispered. He held a finger up to Spencer's lips, pressing softly. "Thanks for being you, Spencer Smith." Brendon stepped away and smiled; it was small, barely a smile at all, but it was real.
The world was still tilting dangerously as Spencer watched Brendon walk away.
**
The thing about Brendon was that he didn't necessarily look like a doctor; in fact, he didn't look much different from his patients, older sure, but not by much. In the office, he mostly stuck with simple khaki's and plain, white button down shirts. It was vastly un-Brendon-like in a way that Spencer found vaguely disturbing. But he always wore The Shoes, as Spencer had pretty much come to think of them: lime green or purple or red, some with lights and some with glitter and one disturbing pair with goofy pom-poms on the laces.
Except, Brendon left the office and the button down was still there, it was just lavender now, and the pants were maybe a little tighter, and there was definitely a little more gel in his hair. It was still the same Brendon, only now it was louder and more and just Brendon.
Spencer was having a hard time not staring at the curve of Brendon's neck, where the lavender of his shirt starkly met the dark brown of his hair.
Brendon stood talking to the bartender, pressed in tight against the counter, surrounded by beautiful people that didn't actually look so beautiful standing next to him. The bartender grinned at him, all big smiles and glowing white teeth, and with a t-shirt about three sizes too small. Brendon was smiling back, but he shrugged and shook his head when the bartender's grin turned hopeful.
Instead, he walked back over and pulled up the chair at their table, sliding himself up against Spencer, close enough that Spencer could smell the tang of his aftershave and the warmth of his sweat.
Jon and Cassie were whispering, heads bent close together across the room, and Spencer could see Ryan, a flashing piece of cowboy flair next William on the dance floor. They were sliding and moving, small, sharp movements around each other, Ryan's hand on William's hip easily.
Familiarly, Spencer realized.
"Spencer. Spencer," Brendon said into his ear, his soft breath sending shivers up Spencer's back. Brendon had spent the night sitting closer than usual. "I don't think they're actually sleeping together."
Spencer looked up, startled. "No?" Because, yeah, usually Ryan would have told him if they were, but Spencer wasn't sure if it was safe to assume anything about him and Ryan right now.
"Don't think so." Brendon took a long sip of his drink and Spencer found himself watching the long stretch of Brendon's neck, the slow swallow of the beer, the way his tongue traced along the edges of his glass, picking up the last tracks of alcohol. "Soon probably."
Brendon stared out at the dance floor and Spencer could have almost reached out and touched the longing in that look.
"Are you...I mean, are you in love with Ryan? Or William?" Spencer could barely stand to get the words out. There was no way he could have misread things that much.
"Oh my god, don't be so stupid. It's just," Brendon said, turning toward Spencer and reaching out, wrapping his fingers around Spencer's, "I want to be happy for them, you know. I really do. But," he looked nervously at Spencer, like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to say anything. "It could end up being awkward at work."
"Yeah." Spencer wished he could say something more encouraging, wanted to say it'll last forever or they're both adults, but Spencer remembered Ryan's last break-up and the four songs and two poems that he'd written about the whole affair.
Okay, to be fair, Spencer didn't remember the poems necessarily, but he did remember the thousand of phone calls and text messages that Ryan had sent to Spencer, wanting to share his pain and agony. Those had been dark, dark days of their friendship.
"You know, I can worry about it later. They're William and Ryan so it's not like I could actually tell them no. Whatever happens-well, I'll deal with it." Brendon wound their fingers tightly together and leaned in close, whispering, "But enough about them. Tell me about yourself, Spencer Smith. I want to know everything."
It's possible he may have giggled nervously. "Why?" He asked, because that seemed like a better option than actually telling Brendon everything.
"Why? Sharing is caring, Spencer. So share with me. Tell me your secrets."
Brendon was sliding in even closer, moving his chair over, his whole body pressed against Spencer, a scorching trail of heat that had him reaching for his drink and downing it in one long gulp.
"Secrets?" And somehow, Brendon had reduced Spencer to word repetition which he had always, always hated. But here he was, parroting back to Brendon stupid, meaningless words because all he could actually concentrate on was the callus he could feel on Brendon's middle finger as he rubbed it softly against Spencer's hand, and the way that Brendon was possibly the world's dorkiest flirt ever.
Spencer still wanted to push them both away from the table and wrap himself around Brendon.
"Secrets." Brendon whispered against the curve of Spencer's ear. The slow, hot touch of Brendon's mouth had Spencer hard and wanting.
"Hey! None of that in public," Jon interrupted, sliding into the seat across from them, Cassie settling in his lap.
Brendon just sent a pointed look toward Cassie's hand wrapped in Jon's hair. "We're married," Jon answered. "We've totally got a license to do this."
Cassie nodded her head, laughing when Brendon stuck his tongue out at her.
"No fair playing the marriage card. I call party foul," Brendon whined.
"Oh, party foul!" Cassie giggled into Jon's neck and Jon looked at them with a big grin.
"Seriously, guys, we need to leave now. If you want a ride," Jon said, lifting Cassie off his lap as he stood up. He wrapped an arm around her waist and nodded toward the exit.
Brendon pressed his forehead to Spencer's shoulder, laughing. "Oh my god, Jon thinks he's going to get lucky." Jon rolled his eyes and Brendon giggled softly in Spencer's ear, "Like she's not going to pass out as soon we get in the car."
Turned out Cassie wasn't the only one. Brendon had been bouncing for hours, all contained energy next to Spencer, reaching out and touching and pulling, his words slicing teasingly into Spencer with small flirts and harmless innuendo. Now in the back of Jon's car, he was crashed out hard, his mouth snuffling into Spencer's neck, hand up Spencer's shirt, thumb tracing idly along the lines of Spencer's skin.
When Jon pulled up in front of Spencer's condo, Brendon sleepily shuffled out first, reaching in and pulling Spencer out. He grinned at Jon and called a goodnight, wrapping his fingers through Spencer's and pulling then forward. Spencer got the door unlocked and Brendon pushed him inside and up against the door.
"You have to tell me now, Spencer," Brendon said, his thumbs rubbing softly against the skin of Spencer's wrists. "If you don't want this this."
He didn't wait for an answer, just leaned in and licked into Spencer's mouth, slow and careful and meticulous, like this was it, like there wasn't anything else except this. Spencer groaned into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Brendon in, laying himself completely open in his desperation to reach out and touch. Brendon's hand's were winding into the fabric of Spencer's shirt, pulling him closer, closer, his hips pressing Spencer, hot and hard and fuck good, into the door behind him. Spencer manged to whisper wetly, "Bren, bedroom," before Brendon stole his words in a kiss.
Spencer was pushing Brendon backwards, guiding their shuffling steps with strong hands on his hips, both of them reaching for buttons and snaps, until they slammed into the wall of the bedroom, mostly naked and wanting. Brendon dropped to his knees and sucked biting kisses down Spencer's chest, onto his thighs and hips, Brendon's tongue trailing wipe stripes along his Spencer's cock, swallowing him down, way past slow and easy and nice, making Spencer lose himself in the now and please and yes.
When Spencer came, Brendon stumbled them back towards the bed, tumbling them over and climbing up, up, up, kissing Spencer, tasting them both in the kiss, and Brendon was winding his fingers through Spencer's and pulling their hands to his cock and whispering, "Spence, fuck, please," and Spencer tightened his grip, pulling, their sweat-slick skin sliding together. He held onto Brendon tightly, watching Brendon throw back his head and groan loud and long, coming in long streaks over them both.
Brendon tumbled heavily down, rolling quickly and wrapping himself around Spencer. Their fingers were still tightly wrapped together, slick and come covered, and not letting go. Spencer felt the slow rise and fall of Brendon's chest, the moment Brendon pressed a wet kiss to the center of Spencer's chest.
"Sleep now," he mumbled, and Spencer thought, it couldn't be that easy.
He fell asleep wrapped in the heavy weight of Brendon, all warmth and vibrant, sleepy perfection.
The next morning, Spencer stood, staring at the coffee pot. Sadly, it stared silently back, not moving, not dripping, just sitting there idly.
"You have to flip the switch," Brendon said into his neck. He wrapped one arm around Spencer's waist and reached his other arm around to flip on the coffee pot. "It works better that way." Spencer could feel the smile in his voice.
There were a thousand things Spencer could say right now, a hundred things that he absolutely had say to Brendon right now, but all he wanted to do was turn around and wrap his arms around Brendon, smell the sleep still clinging to Brendon's skin, feel the rough vibration of his early morning voice, listen to the scraping beat of Brendon's stubble across his cheek. The need won out, and he turned, and Brendon was already there, holding him tight and reeling Spencer in, kissing him with his sharp morning breath.
"Mmmm...," Brendon breathed into Spencer's mouth. "Spencer."
And Spencer gave up even trying to do anything except take the kiss and give it back, pressing closer and moving, until they were both panting and moaning and whispering, yesfuckyes, the sound echoing through the room. They came pressed against the counter, the coffee maker softly whirling beside them.
"Oh my god, kitchen sex, Spence. Before coffee even," Brendon was saying, pushing away and leaning back against the counter, eyes closed, and grinning stupidly.
Spencer laughed into Brendon's neck and tugged him back towards the bathroom. "Shower," he said, "and then coffee."
"And then more sex?" Brendon was running his fingers up and down along Spencer's spine as they walked. Spencer shivered.
"And then more sex," he said, pulling Brendon into the bathroom and shutting the door.
Later, Spencer stumbled out of the bedroom to find Brendon sitting at his kitchen counter, coffee cup in front of him, staring blankly at the papers scattered around him.
The kitchen counter, Spencer realized too late.
"Bren," Spencer said, dread sweeping over him in sickening waves. "Brendon, it's not-," what it looks like. But it actually was, Spencer knew. Most of his research notes left on the kitchen counter, some scribbled out story sections that he'd started and tossed aside; it couldn't be anything but absolutely damning.
It was exactly what it looked like.
Brendon was sitting perfectly still, his hand wrapped around his coffee mug, knuckles white from the pressure. He was all coiled up and pulled in, and when he finally looked up and met Spencer squarely in the eye there was almost nothing of Brendon in there. Blank and professional and, fuck what else had he expected, anger, and it was easily one of the worst things Spencer had ever seen.
"Wait, I can explain. Or not really explain but, there's a reason and just-," Spencer was saying, but Brendon was already up and moving quickly through the condo pulling on pants and shirt and shoes. He didn't look at Spencer, even as he carefully unlocked the front door.
"You should have told me," he said, and Spencer nodded even though Brendon was already gone.
"I know," he said to the empty room. "Fuck."
**
Spencer remembered lying on the couch next to Ryan, fingers beating out a rat-tat-a-tat on the cover of the book he was reading, listening to Ryan tell him about nursing school and the first day of his new job at this doctor's office in the crappy part of town.
"He's a freak, Spencer. Seriously. He was singing in the waiting room and there was a thumb war going on in the exam room. What the fuck?" Ryan said. "And the kids. They're everywhere, all the time, and they all have snot and coughs and they touch everything." Ryan was flopped back on Spencer's bed, eyes bloodshot and tired, his cheek sadly bare. "I'm exhausted."
The rhythm of Spencer's fingers changed to something harsh and fiercely annoyed. "It's not like it matters. You're a writer, not a nurse."
"I-," Ryan started, but Spencer interrupted. He'd held his tongue for the eighteen months of the nursing program, not said a word when Ryan's makeup had disappeared from his cheek and he started quoting Merck instead of Dave Eggers.
"You were going to storm the literary world remember? And now, what? You're going to be happy wiping snotty noses? Fuck, Ryan." Spencer tossed the book aside.
Spencer realized that maybe things between them had changed that day because Ryan had said, "There's different ways to change the world, Spence. I think this is it for me." He'd tossed Spencer his book, turned on the TV and moved out two months later. Things hadn't really changed, not so anyone else would notice, but Spencer remembered the words and he'd bet anything Ryan did also.
Now Ryan was back to drawing birds on his cheeks, wearing his favorite cowboy boots and tying his neckerchiefs on under his nurse's scrubs. He was more Ryan than he'd ever been, but with smiles for the kids, and for William and, even though Ryan would never admit it, sometimes for Brendon as well.
Spencer had nothing. No article, no big story that was going to fix the system like he hadn't been able to fix Ryan and the world that made him throw away his dreams. There was no impropriety at Brendon's office; no inflated budget or turning away patients; instead, there was smiles on the kids faces and someone who cared enough to do what needed to be done, doling out laughter and happiness as much as medical care.
There was Brendon. And Spencer's lies.
Spencer felt like he was fighting for every single breath he took, struggling to get the air to his lungs.
That afternoon, he showed up in Gerard's office with a file folder and two Starbucks coffees. He started the conversation with: "Okay, so I kind of fucked up."
Gerard just shrugged and grabbed at one of the coffee cups in Spencer's hands. Spencer pushed the other across the desk to him as well. Gerard eyed it warily.
"That bad, huh?" He asked, poking his finger against the cup. "Two cups bad."
"Afraid so," Spencer said, sitting down in the chair. There was a piece of paper splattered with bright red blood and three zombies eating handfuls of flesh from a body lying in a pool of entrails. "The publisher again, yeah?" Spence asked, pointing at the drawing.
"Hey, yeah. Makes the place brighter, doesn't it?" Gerard said happily, taking a sip of coffee. "Okay, so hit me with it."
Spencer tossed him the file folder and started talking, about Maria Hernandez and her son, and the city subsidies and the quality of care, and then about Brendon and William and Ryan, and somehow about Spencer himself, and he kept talking and talking and talking until there was nothing left to say except, "Oh, fuck, Gerard. I screwed up so bad."
Gerard had flipped once through the papers, but mostly he'd leaned forward over his desk, listening earnestly, his fingers drumming mindlessly against his coffee cup.
"So, you spent a month researching the crappy medical care in the poor areas and you actually only researched the one place that no one had complained about?"
"You did hear the part where I admitted that I fucked up, right?" Spencer leaned his head back over the edge of the chair. It was hard and uncomfortable, and it was like the universe knew that he shouldn't be rewarded with a soft seat for his ass.
"Yeah, I heard that part, thanks." Gerard picked up a pencil, twirled it mindlessly between around his fingers. "You're telling me all this why?"
"Because you're my boss?" Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "And because you may possibly be one of the few people still talking to me."
"Oh, yeah. Ross is going to kick your ass so hard." Gerard snickered.
"I take back every good thing I've ever said about you."
"Spencer." Gerard shook his head. "I don't know what you want me to do here. Tell you that you can save the world? Because I can do that. I've told you the story about why I became a journalist, right? One day, I-."
"Fuck, Gerard. You've told everyone that story about a dozen times. And you're probably the only person on the face of this entire planet that could actually make that story believable." Gerard grinned, white teeth flashing across the table at Spencer. Spencer sighed.
Gerard stuffed the papers back in the file folder and tossed it to Spencer. "There's a story there, Spence. You just have to find it."
"Those are your great words of wisdom? Wonderful." Spencer stood up, slapping the folder against his thigh.
"Hey, my wisdom is golden. Embrace the love, kid." Gerard waved Spencer away, picking up his pencil and adding in a few more blood splotches to his drawing. "Hey, Spencer? There's all different ways to save the world. Try thinking bigger."
Spencer spent the rest of the morning hitting the redial button on his phone, calling Brendon over and over, and getting kicked to voice mail every time. He was getting desperate. At noon, he stopped trying to pretend he was going to make it through the day and instead, showed up at Brendon's office. William smiled and waved him over, pointing behind the counter and down the hall to where Ryan was sitting on a stool, a little girl in front of him, make-up brush in her hand. She was drawing broad stripes of pink around Ryan's eyes.
"He - what?" Spencer waved his arm and William shrugged.
"He just gave her a shot so," William started and for once, Spencer thought he was starting to get it. "So he let her put makeup on him. Yeah. Got it," Spencer finished for him. A smile almost teasing at the corner of his mouth. "Brendon here?"
"Yeah, but I'm supposed to tell you that he's currently unavailable." William was frowning at him, worried more than angry, and Spencer wondered what else Brendon had told him. Probably nothing.
"Is Ryan also unavailable?"
William raised his eyes. "Is there a reason he would be?"
"Give me twenty minutes to talk to him and I'm pretty sure there will be." Spencer ran his fingers through his hair.
"Wow, okay, but could you do it somewhere else? Dr. Urie's sort of a cuddly freak, but he's also a mean little fucker when you piss him off." Spencer nodded, kept watching Ryan and the kid down the hall and, wow, he really was stupid. Beyond stupid, maybe, because in almost thirty years of friendship, he'd managed to spot every single piece of bull shit Ryan had ever thrown at him. Until now.
Devil spawn and evil children, his ass; that was the biggest lie Ryan had ever told in his entire life.
The girl was smearing some purple lines around the big pink splotches and Ryan was sitting there perfectly still and Spencer could hear him saying softly, "yeah, that's it, I bet it looks awesome," like he wasn't some freak that sort of obviously adored every kid that walked through that door.
Seriously, Spencer was so stupid there were no words to adequately describe that level of stupid.
Brendon walked around the corner into William's area, chewing on the tip of a pen, and reading a folder intently. "Hey, William, I need-," he stopped when he looked up and saw Spencer standing there, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"Brendon," Spencer started and Brendon turned to William and said, "I need you to call around and see if you can track me down an ultrasound machine I can borrow. Or lease. Whatever."
"Yeah, no problem, Dr. Urie," William said, reaching out and taking the folder from his hands. He looked back and forth between Spencer and Brendon.
"Brendon, just. One minute, okay?" Spencer asked, but Brendon was already shaking his head, backing away.
"I've got patients, Spencer. Those people that I cheat and steal from while giving them bad medical care. You know them, right?" Brendon didn't look back when he walked out the door.
"Wow," William said. "Guess he really was sort of unavailable." And William must have figured out enough of the problem because he wasn't smiling anymore, wasn't even really looking at Spencer. Just filing the papers Brendon had brought in and digging out a phone book. "I'll let Ryan know you stopped by."
"Yeah, thanks," Spencer said as he left. For a long time, he stood out of sight in the parking lot , watching the building as the kids ran in and out, and staring at Jon as he stomped through Brendon's front door carrying a huge inflatable tooth and toothbrush.
Spencer hadn't lost a story, he'd lost an entire part of his life that he hadn't even known was his.
Ryan caught up with him just as he was getting in his car.
"You should have called me," he said, staring at Spencer sadly.
"Yeah, probably." Spencer stared at the pink and green around Ryan's eyes. "Brendon tell you what happened?" Spencer asked, even though he was fairly certain that Brendon wouldn't have put Ryan in the middle like that.
"Didn't really have to," Ryan said and Spencer nodded.
Yeah.
"Ryan," Spencer started, but Ryan was already moving in, wrapping him up in a quick, tight hug.
"You're sort of stupid, Spence. But you know I love you anyway, right?" Spencer nodded. Ryan just slapped him upside the head not entirely softly. "But, seriously, really sort of stupid."
**
It was two in the morning and his bedroom ceiling was swimming happily above him. There were stars blinking at him and they looked like fish, sort of, and he kept remembering Wynken, Blynken, and Nod and the fisherman three and the herring fish. And wow, he may have drunk more than he realized. Which might actually be excellent, because for the first time in days, he wasn't remembering the taste of Brendon's mouth or the rough stubble feel of his cheek or the slick touch of his hand.
It was the first time in days, that he wasn't consumed with the heavy weight of loss pressing down on his chest.
Unfortunately, he was pretty sure the tequila bottle was smiling at him. Maybe not smiling, necessarily, but grinning evilly. Mocking him even.
Spencer tossed the empty bottle off the side of the bed and rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow case. If he closed his eyes and breathed deep, he could imagine that he was able to still smell Brendon, right here in his bed, curling around him, his voice whisper soft across Spencer's skin.
When the door bell rang, Spencer was toeing that line between sleep and passed out. He managed to stumble out and into the living room, pulling open the door and leaning heavily against it for support.
"You look like shit," Brendon said from the doorway.
Spencer blinked and looked again. Brendon was still standing there.
"Can I come in?" Brendon asked and Spencer stepped away automatically, staring at Brendon, soaking in the sight of his rumpled clothes and the hair sticking straight up on the back of his head. He looked like he needed a hug.
"You look like you need a hug." Spencer was absolutely sure that somehow his mouth had gotten disconnected from his brain. Drunk or not.
"Yeah, probably," Brendon said, rubbing his hand tiredly through his hair, not looking like he thought it was weird for someone else to comment on the relative necessity of hugs. "Spencer, look, I-fuck. Okay, I had this all planned out, what I was going to say. Some crap about betrayal, and how you totally lied to me, and how Ryan will easily choose you over me if it comes to that, which would suck because Ryan's pretty much amazing at what he does. But you're really sort of amazing in general and," he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants, "I can't do this. I can't have you showing up at my office, and I can't pretend that this didn't matter. Fuck, Spencer, I thought-."
Brendon took a deep breath and stared right at Spencer.
"You thought what?" Spencer asked quietly, but the words still seemed to echo through the room.
"It doesn't matter what I thought because it wasn't true." Brendon shrugged his shoulders, his lips turned up a smile that was horrible in it's sarcasm.
"Maybe it was," Spencer cleared his throat, stepping closer and reaching out, almost touching. "Maybe what you thought was true."
Brendon stepped back.
"You're drunk, Spencer. And I'm not the one that has to fix this." Brendon said, opening the door. "This," he waved his hand toward Spencer, "isn't the way to fix things. Just so you know."
Later, just as the sun was breaking over the dessert horizon, the sky taking blues and oranges and mixing them up together, Spencer sat down at his computer and stared at the document opened on his screen. For the first time, he read out lout the words he'd written days ago:
lime green sneakers with blinking lights;
a girl's smile and a mother's laugh;
Disney songs in the waiting room and dancing in the halls;
making the very best out of some of the very worst.
There wasn't much to change, really. No hard facts to objectify, no statistics to quote, no interviews to reference. It was Brendon, in every word and every sentence, glowing and vibrant against the bleakest of backdrops.
He attached the story to an email, addressed it to Gerard and typed in:
A new kind of story to change the world. Here's to either thinking bigger or losing my job. You tell me which.
Gerard's reply came thirty minutes later. It was titled, My Beloved Padawan.
I just got so emo I fell apart. This is fucking awesome.
**
Vertigo, a feature article by Spencer Smith ran in the Sunday edition. Gerard sent him a case of Red Bull and a note that said, so not fired. William and Ryan and Jon all called and they made vaguely excited flapping noises and told him it was awesome. He waited all day but Brendon never called. Spencer wasn't sure why he thought that maybe, just maybe, the right article would also be the right way to fix things.
Monday he got to work and found the mail stacked haphazardly on the corner of his desk. Mostly junk and some random postcards and one large envelope addressed to Brendon Urie, MD c/o Spencer Smith, Las Vegas Tribune The note inside said: Welcome to the Clandestine Family Trust! and was signed by Pete Wentz. It wasn't hard to remember that night in Brendon's office, writing grant request after grant request, the feeling of Brendon pressed close against his side, sniffling into his neck, his hand wrapping around Spencer's arm, into the fabric of his shirt, and up into his hair.
It wasn't a night he was likely to forget.
Attached to the letter was a check. It was written for more than enough to change one small corner of the world.
And, okay, Brendon still wasn't talking to him, although that probably couldn't last that much longer. Spencer had shown up faithfully almost every single day, and had eaten lunch with Ryan and William, the three of them pretending that everything was normal; that Brendon's absence wasn't obvious, his silence painful. But on Friday, Brendon had nodded a little when Spencer walked into his office with sandwiches. It was hardly a nod at all, and there hadn't been an accompanying smile, but it was something.
It'd been the highlight of Spencer's week.
Spencer got that he had lost Brendon's trust; lost his right to Brendon's time and smiles and laughter, but today, Spencer didn't even give Brendon a chance to ignore him. This was too important. He bounded through the front door of Brendon's office, already yelling, "Brendon!" It wasn't like Brendon's office was known for it's silent professionalism. Yelling was allowed; sometimes even encouraged.
William stood behind his counter frowning in worry. "Spencer? Everything okay?" And Spencer realized that it was conceivably a little odd, worrisome probably, for Spencer to be the one yelling.
"Sorry! Sorry," Spencer said, flapping his arms. He turned around and a girl sat in the corner of the room with her mother. "Sorry." He waved at the girl. "Just great news. Where's Brendon?" William was looking at him oddly, shaking his head.
"Whatever," William shrugged. "Brendon's not here. He had an emergency at the hospital."
That stopped Spencer. "Wait, is he okay?" Spencer sagged in relief when William nodded. "Okay, good, yeah. Is he going to be -?" But William was already shrugging is shoulders.
"Sometime, yeah, but I have no idea when." William sat back down behind the counter. "You can wait for him, right?" He was looking nervously at Spencer, like he didn't know quite how much to say, "Because you should definitely wait."
Spencer was already shaking his head. "No, I'll just - This is Brendon's," Spencer thrusted the envelope toward William. "It's something good for him. For all of you really."
William was already grabbing his arm and shoving the envelope back into his hands. "Spencer, just stay, okay? Brendon wanted to talk to you. Actually, he sort of told me to sit on you till he got back."
That stopped him. He wasn't sure what had happened between Friday and today, and the quick change made him more than a little nervous. But the last thing Spencer wanted to do was put anyone else in the middle of his fuck up and it was obvious that the middle is exactly where William was balancing.
"Okay, yeah. I'll wait?" He phrased it like a question but he was already walking over to one of the waiting room chairs and sitting down. He fingered the envelope in his hand nervously.
He watched as the mother in the corner walked over to talk quietly to William. "He got called to the hospital, Val. He's going to be so completely bummed that he missed you." William looked vaguely horrified at the idea.
"It's my birthday," the girl said suddenly from the chair next to Spencer. "I'm eight." She grinned at Spencer expectantly.
"Happy Birthday," he answered, and felt a moment of deja vu. He could feel a smile niggling at the corners of his mouth.
Her smile was huge and blinding and reminded Spencer so much of Brendon's grin that he could hardly look away. "I'm supposed to get a dance today. We drove all the way from Laughlin." She was shaking her head sadly.
"Dr. Urie's at the hospital," he said hesitantly. She didn't look like the fragile sort of kid, but he still wondered if he was about to be faced with tears.
"It happens," she shrugged. "Still sort of a bummer, though." She leaned back in the seat next to Spencer, her feet stuck out in front of her, tapping to some sort of hidden rhythm. Spencer could almost hear the beat in his head. It was a good, solid beat.
After a while, she turned and eyed him up and down. "Do you dance?" She asked, her eyes narrowed.
He stared, unblinking, at the girl for a minute, desperately trying to figure out what to say. No, didn't seem appropriate but yes seemed to be pretty much impossible as well. Dancing was Brendon's department, it was so not Spencer's.
"I can't wait much longer. We'll catch him later," the mother was saying to William at the counter, sounding a little sad and maybe a little bit desperate.
Spencer figured Laughlin was maybe a couple of hundred miles away and these people had driven to Vegas, traveled for hours, just because Brendon always danced on his kids' birthdays, and it was important enough to them that they came, and this time, Brendon wasn't here. Spencer could close his eyes and see the pain in Brendon's face when he'd realized he'd missed the moment, and the girl left disappointed and upset over her two minutes of twirling around in a crappy, beat-up doctor's office.
Such a small, stupid thing, but worth so much. Spencer was already up and almost at the door, and all he had to do was turn the knob, and he'd be outside and away and, later, he could talk to Brendon. Pass on the details about Pete Wentz, and the Clandestine Trust, and maybe if he was exceptionally lucky, try and become friends again.
He didn't turn the knob.
He stared at the poster behind the door, all swirling colors and crazy abstract art, thought of the insanity of Brendon's life, the spirals of insanity that defined Brendon's life. It wasn't something he could watch from the outside; he couldn't stand here and see the tilting world and the changing horizon without missing out on the ride.
Spinning around, he walked over to the girl and bowed low, hands spread out, smile splitting his face open. "May I have this dance?" He winked at her and whispered, quietly enough that neither William nor the woman could hear, "I know I'm not Dr. Urie, but I'm here and he's not, and I'm pretty sure he'd be bummed that you didn't get your birthday dance."
She giggled and stood up, flinging herself against him. Fearless.
"We require music, William!" Spencer said, in his very best Jeeves voice, but he knew it sucked, mostly because he was already laughing and swinging her up and away into a spin.
The music blasted on, louder than usual, and William and the mother were talking in rapid fire whispers. He didn't bother to try and pick up on their words, just grinned down at the girl and danced. They spun around and knocked into two chairs and tripped over their own feet and were both giggling manically as the music filtered through the speakers.
When the last beat of music faded, they were leaning against each other and gasping for breath.
"What's your name?" She asked, and her grin reminded him so much of Brendon's, all free and easy and real.
"Spencer. And if you want, Dr. Urie will probably be here before too long. He'll probably want you to save him a dance."
Her eyes lit up. "Oh, wow, Spencer!" She giggled, before pulling Spencer's head down and whispered, "Don't tell him, okay, but you're a better dancer. He always steps on my feet." Spencer grinned, stupidly happy over the comment, and stared down at his feet, wiggling his toes back and forth. She laughed and said, "But his shoes are way cooler."
And Spencer couldn't help it, he picked her up and swung her around one last time. "Yeah, you know, I'll totally work on that." He was positive he looked like a complete idiot but he didn't care. It felt awesome.
The girl pulled away, tumbling out of his arms and screaming, "Uncle Brendon!" He turned, shocked, to see Brendon standing in the doorway, staring at Spencer with a small smile. Just in time, he reached down to catch the girl as she jumped up into his arms. "I totally got to dance with Spencer!"
Brendon staggered backwards, pressing a laughing kiss into her hair. "Hey, I saw! Lucky you," he said, watching Spencer carefully over the top of her head.
She poked him in the stomach. "You were late and now I have to leave," she said accusingly. "Good thing you have awesome friends who are way better dancers than you."
Brendon gasped in mock outrage, his eyes never looking away from Spencer.
"Hey, we've got to go," the woman said, sliding in close and giving Brendon a quick hug. Their heads stayed pressed close for a second and Spencer could see the quiet conversation taking place. When they finally pulled away, she shot Spencer a curious look. Spencer felt himself blush.
Fuck.
"Hey, Uncle Brendon, you've got to bring Spencer over to see us," the girl said, reaching up and pulling Brendon down into a last big hug. "Mom and Dad keep talking about him." She skipped out the door.
Spencer only thought the world was tilting crazily before.
"Your sister?" Spencer finally asked, like that was the only thing on his mind. He didn't care much because, right then, he was mesmerized by the look in Brendon's eyes-something both familiar and new all at once.
"Sister-in-law actually," he said, looking strangely nervous. "They may have...heard a little bit about you."
"Yeah." Spencer took a step toward Brendon. He could feel every foot still between them.
"So, I liked your article." Brendon met him halfway across the room.
"I'm glad," Spencer said, "But that's not why I wrote it."
And finally, oh my god finally, Brendon laughed. It sounded like hope and possibility; it was the best sound Spencer had ever heard. "I know. That's sort of why I liked it. It was," he shook his head, his ears going a little red, "mostly all about you, and not so much about me."
"I think that maybe those are pretty much the same thing for me." Spencer looked away, didn't want to have to wait and watch and see if Brendon got what he was trying to not say, trying to not admit in any obvious way.
Instead of answering, Brendon grabbed his hand and tugged him back through the door, down the hall and into his office. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it, staring at Spencer intently.
"I'll hold your calls, Dr. Urie," William called from the hallway. Spencer could hear him laughing.
"You should dance more often," Brendon said, standing directly in front of him. He reached out and brushed his hand across Spencer's cheek.
Spencer shifted nervously. "I brought you a letter from Deycandence Trust. They-," he said but Brendon waved his words away.
"I already know. I talked to Pete Wentz last week."
Spencer nodded and stared down at the floor in sort of a perverse fascination, watching as the lights on Brendon's shoes blinked over and over every time he shifted.
"So, I don't know how to make you trust me again." The words were painful, but Spencer made himself look into Brendon's eyes; didn't let himself turn away.
Brendon grinned, a real, easy grin this time, and nodded his head. He inched closer and closer until their bodies were pressed tightly together, the space between them gone. "You just have to be yourself. That's all I need, Spence," Brendon whispered, his lips brushing softly against Spencer's. "Just you."
Spencer wrapped his ams around Brendon and for the first time, let himself sink into the moment, feeling the cadence of Brendon's breaths, the smooth slide of their bodies moving together, pressing in and closer, fitting in all the little places that Spencer had never fit before. Brendon laughed and stuck his hands up Spencer's shirt, softly rubbing his fingers against the skin at the small of Spencer's back.
"I have to go back to work," Brendon said, slicking his tongue across Spencer's lips, once, twice. With a loud sigh, Spencer dropped his head down to rest on Brendon's shoulder. Spencer could feel him grinning against his neck.
"Oh my god," Spencer moaned.
Brendon tugged Spencer's head down until their foreheads were just touching, until he couldn't see anything but Brendon and himself and the way they looked all tangled up together. "Spencer Smith, can I bake you a pizza tonight?" Brendon whispered.
And out of the corner of his eye, Spencer could see the blinking lights on Brendon's shoes flashing off and on, swirling a light show of colors up and around them. He smiled and nodded his head.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
--End--
Note: Gerard's line, I just got so emo I fell apart, is an actual quote from Gerard. If wikiquote can be trusted, that is. :)