– Headers & Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 –

--

Ryan never bothers to knock, so when he barges into Spencer’s office shortly after noon, Spencer actually startles. He’s about to hurriedly minimize the intranet page containing Brendon’s picture, but Ryan’s gaze has already flitted to the screen, alight with interest. Acting guilty would only add to that interest, so Spencer doesn’t.

He leans back in his chair and raises a brow at Ryan. “Some people knock before they enter.”

“You work here,” Ryan retorts. “I shouldn’t have to knock, because there shouldn’t be a chance of me catching you in an awkward situation. Besides, we had a date. You were supposed to come get me.”

They sort of did; Spencer received a meeting request for lunch from Ryan an hour earlier because Ryan can be a lazy bitch who sends an e-mail instead of walking the thirty steps between his office and Spencer’s. (No matter what Ryan says, it really is only thirty steps. Spencer counted them. And Ryan’s legs are actually even longer than his.)

“Sorry,” Spencer says. “I forgot, kind of.”

“Because of all your hard work, obviously.” The quotation marks are almost visible. Ryan takes a step closer and tilts his head, smirking. “He’s hot. Who is he?”

Most of the time, Spencer is grateful that there are no secrets between Ryan and him, that they couldn’t lie to each other even if they tried. Now is not that time. But if he refuses to answer, Ryan will drag it out of him anyway, and besides, Brendon’s name is at the top of the page. “Brendon Urie,” Spencer says.

“Your phantom date?” Ryan takes another step closer, leaning forward to prop his chin on Spencer’s shoulder and press their cheeks together. “Not bad. Not bad at all. I’d do him.”

“I don’t think you would.” Spencer nudges Ryan back, gets up from his chair and locks his computer, Brendon’s smile (a huge, incredible smile) flickering out of sight. “He’s not Jon, so I really don’t think you would.” It’s maybe a bit of a low blow, considering Spencer knows how the mention of Jon rarely fails to shut Ryan up. He feels just restless enough to deliver it anyway.

For a moment, Ryan is silent. When Spencer turns to look at him, Ryan’s eyes are wide, startled, his voice faint. “Wait, you’re serious. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spencer shakes his head. “Duh. It means just what I said. You’re head over heels for Jon, so I don’t think you’d want to fuck Brendon.”

“I’m—What? I don’t—”

“Of course you are,” Spencer cuts into Ryan’s babbling, and okay, Ryan isn’t the most self-aware guy, emotion-wise, but there’s just no way Ryan didn’t realize he’s in love with Jon, right? Right? Only that Ryan looks slightly pale around the mouth.

“Did you just have an epiphany?” Spencer asks into the heavy silence.

“Something like that.” Ryan’s voice isn’t entirely steady.

Spencer touches his arm. “You’re not going to faint, are you?” he asks, because Ryan looks as if he could use a reminder that the world isn’t coming to an end. “You remember how dreadful I was at mouth-to-mouth, right? And calling for a doctor right now, with everyone at lunch… Kind of ironic in a healthcare company, right?”

One corner of Ryan’s mouth twitches. “You’re chattering,” he says.

“I was trying to keep you from passing out on me.”

“I’m fine,” Ryan says, and he actually sounds mostly fine, now. “Like, it makes sense?”

Spencer pulls his hand back and smirks. “Yeah. You’re, like, totally fine except, like, for how you like totally kind of missed that pink elephant in, like, your closet, like.”

“You’re an ass,” Ryan says evenly.

“At least I don’t have the emotional maturity of a three year old,” Spencer counters. “Let’s get lunch, okay? I don’t know how much more of this I can handle on an empty stomach.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Ryan opens the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob. “You’re paying, by the way.”

Spencer raises a brow at the back of Ryan’s head. “I am?”

“Yeah. Or,” Ryan’s smile is beatific, “I’ll tell Pete about you looking at his employees’ profiles when he’s here. If that’s what you want.”

“You’re an ass,” Spencer says, exactly the same tone Ryan used.

“At least I’m an ass who managed to wake up to his emotional stupidity, though. You, young padawan, still have a long way to go.” With that, Ryan holds the door open for Spencer. For just a second, Spencer is tempted to accidentally stamp on his foot. As it would only prove Ryan’s point, he refrains.

--

With Jon’s misconception and Ryan’s blindfold out of the way, Spencer expected things to change. They don’t, though. Ryan still starts out slightly awkward around Jon until he relaxes under the sheer weight of Jon’s calm, and Jon is still pretty content to watch and wait, apparently. His hands might be lingering a little when he passes a cup of coffee or the newspaper over, but other than that, everything’s just as it was.

Figures that Jon’s the kind of guy who waits for Ryan to come to him.

--

“I hate the world,” Ryan mutters into Spencer’s shoulder. His eyes are half-closed, like those of a newborn kitten, and Spencer is hit with a sudden burst of affection. He runs a lazy hand through Ryan’s hair.

“It’s not so bad,” he whispers, leaning closer so the rest of the room won’t notice their conversation. “Just try to keep your eyes open and don’t snore.” Pete looks at them from across the table, his head tilted, and while Spencer isn’t Ryan, he still thinks grins that broad should be forbidden at eight in the morning. Some people haven’t had their coffee yet, okay?

Which actually makes him think of Brendon, sitting at a kitchen table in an apartment illuminated by gray morning light, maybe in nothing but a pair of boxers. As if the phone caught Spencer at it, it chooses that moment to ring.

Frank hits a button and leans towards the phone to ask, “Brendon, is that you?” He speaks with his mouth close to it – closer than necessary, considering the phone has been specifically designed for purposes like that. It makes Spencer wonder whether the title ‘pizza phone’ might actually be the official term. It also makes him wonder whether Frank’s voice is loud enough to make Brendon jump in his kitchen chair, spill some coffee over his hand.

The thought that Brendon might have a phone on his nightstand briefly flits through Spencer’s head. He tries to shove it away. But really, Ryan isn’t the only one who appreciated the way Brendon looked in that picture. And Spencer’s kind of always had a thing for the combination of dark hair and dark eyes. Good thing he got the message that Jon was off limits even before Ryan got a chance to grow suspicious.

“Good morning,” a cheerful voice says, warm and startlingly energetic considering it’s five in the morning for Brendon. “Yeah, that’s me. Hi Frank, hello others.”

Spencer feels strange when he mumbles a greeting along with the rest of the attendants, Pete’s voice loudest of them all. Then Pete leans forward to ask, “Fell out of bed, I see?”

“You got it, boss,” Brendon replies, and Spencer is irrationally jealous because he wants to insert a private little comment as well; wants to know whether Brendon’s coffee is steaming, fogging up the red-framed glasses he wore in the picture; whether Brendon’s hair really is sticking up, and whether he’s even wearing boxers.

Shit.

Ryan shifts against Spencer’s side, lifting his head off his shoulder. His voice is quiet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Spencer says, and consciously relaxes his shoulders.

“Uh huh,” Ryan says. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else, though, because Frank sits up straight and glances around the table – seven of them here, Brendon on the phone, all of them in some way involved in finding ways to deal with the anticipated outside reactions once the project goes public.

“Okay then.” Frank throws a quick grin around the table, and while it’s not a dress code meeting, Spencer notices that he’s still wearing a long-sleeved shirt to hide his tattoos. “I’m glad you’re all here. Welcome to New York, Pete, and sorry for the early morning thing, Brendon.”

“Thanks,” Pete says, at the same time as Brendon’s voice chimes, “No worries, the dog woke me up anyway.”

Frank nods and reaches for a pile of papers, the agenda on top of it. “In that case,” he says, glancing first at Greta, then at the rest of the room’s occupants. “Lady and gents, let’s get to work.”

--

Ryan and Pete are involved in a discussion about… In all honesty, Spencer tuned them out at the first mention of Palahniuk, because for all that Ryan can be perfectly clear, direct and comprehensible in his press releases, a small part of him still aspires to do something more, something better. Spencer has been around long enough to know all about the thirsty streak of ambition Ryan hides under scarves and hippie headbands, so he’s probably one of the few people who wouldn’t be surprised to find Ryan publishing a collection of short stories ten years from now.

Pete might have caught a glimpse of that, too. It would explain the eager look on his face, the expression in his eyes telling Spencer that Pete is fighting the urge to bundle Ryan up and put him in his pocket. Surprisingly enough, it’s not creepy.

As Spencer is done discussing a few legal details with Greta, he lingers for a moment, but Ryan and Pete don’t seem to be about to finish anytime soon. Spencer slowly makes his way towards the door. A coffee in Jon’s office sounds pretty good right about now, he thinks, then cringes just slightly. He’s become a creature of habit, it seems.

“Wait up,” Ryan calls, and a few moments later, both he and Pete have caught up. Now that Pete has pushed the sleeves of his shirt up, Spencer notices that he has a tattoo as well.

“I was going to grab a coffee at Jon’s,” Spencer says.

Ryan beams at him. It’s still way before noon, so Spencer isn’t sure whether it’s the mention of Jon, or whether Pete’s manic grin is infectious. A mixture of both, maybe. “Perfect,” Ryan says. To Pete, he adds, “Jon makes the best coffee around here.”

“Kind of a miracle, considering he’s got the exact same coffeemaker as anyone else,” Spencer mutters under his breath. Pete gives him an amused glance, as if he caught most of the words, while Ryan walks one step ahead, faking deafness.

“Coffee sounds fabulous,” is all Pete says, though. “In fact, coffee sounds so good I’d sell my cats for it right now.”

“Do you even have cats?” Spencer asks, skeptical.

The look he receives from Pete is both shrewd and appreciative. “Touché. I do have a dog, but Hemingway’s not for sale.”

“Hemingway?” Ryan asks, his attention caught instantly, and with that, they enter Jon’s office. The first thing Spencer notes it that Jon shaved, and it doesn’t look half bad. The second thing is the polished piece of metal that has taken the place of the standard coffeemaker.

“Whoa,” Spencer says, taking a step forward to run his hand along one shining edge. Jon tips his head and grins. His eyes flicker towards Ryan and Pete, lounging in the doorway. Pete is standing quite close to Ryan, but Spencer suspects it’s nothing but a general lack of concern for other people’s personal space. Surprisingly enough, Ryan doesn’t seem to mind.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Jon asks. “That’s actually the one I had at home, but it’s kind of… I drink more coffee here than I drink at home anyway, so I figured, I should just take it to work with me, right? I even have some espresso and all that, it’ll be so much better than the standard one.”

Jon isn’t the type to ramble. Or to offer unnecessary explanations.

“Oh, really?” Spencer squints at him, and after a moment, Jon looks away and down at the floor. God, even if Spencer tried, he couldn’t begrudge Jon for potentially introducing some changes to his friendship with Ryan. It’s just impossible.

“Jon,” Ryan says, his tone slightly softer than normal. “That’s Pete, a colleague from San Francisco. Pete, this is Jon, our personal barista.”

“Pleasure,” Jon says.

“Whipped cream?” Pete asks hopefully.

“How about classy cappuccino?” Jon offers. He pauses. Then, with a look to Spencer, “Wait, colleague from San Fran?”

“Not the one who recommended I’m Not There,” Spencer replies quickly, before Ryan gets a chance to say something that will only end up embarrassing Spencer. It’s too late, though; Pete already got the hint.

“You’re talking about Brendon?” he asks. His expression is so clueless that Spencer is immediately suspicious.

“Yeah,” he says, striving for casual. “He told me about it a few days ago, said we should go see it. So, coffee?”

Ryan grins, the little fucker. To his credit, he does raise a hand to hide it, but Spencer can tell by the wrinkles around his eyes. Ryan comes fully into the room, reclining against the shoulder-high shelf that separates Jon’s workplace from Gerard’s empty one. Pete follows suit, and Spencer doesn’t miss the way Jon’s gaze takes in the lack of space.

Maybe not so content to sit back and watch, after all.

Jon pushes himself to his feet, his chair skittering a few inches back on the carpet. “Coffee,” Jon says decidedly. He ambles over to the espresso machine, flicking the power button at the same time as he twists the thing where the espresso is apparently supposed to go into out of its hold.

To Spencer’s utter lack of surprise, Ryan comes forward to have a better look. He’s always been into shiny, neat-looking kitchen equipment, even if he rarely uses it. Spencer doesn’t think the honey spoon Ryan bought way back has ever been in use. “That’s cool,” Ryan says, tilting towards Jon. “The coffee really is better with this?”

“Hands down,” Jon says. He glances at Pete, still reclining against the shelf, and something like a smirk curls his lips. Spencer didn’t think Jon had it in him, but he has to retract that when Jon adds, his voice innocent, “You want to try it? I’ll show you.”

“Sure,” Ryan says, smiling a little.

Apparently, explaining the workings of an espresso machine requires Jon to cover Ryan’s hand with his own so that they join forces in putting the so-called portafilter back in. It also requires Jon to guide Ryan’s hand to the correct switch for milk foam, and to lean in so that his chin is very nearly propped on Ryan’s shoulder, breath fanning out over the side of Ryan’s neck. It’s worse than most teen movies are.

Spencer bites back a groan and catches Pete’s eyes. Pete tilts his head, stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives Spencer two raised eyebrows and a grin that Spencer doesn’t really care to interpret. He’s pretty sure it all makes sense in Pete’s head.

--

After returning to his office, Spencer waits for a full hour before firing off a quick e-mail to Brendon. ‘How are things in the City of Early Morning Calls? I didn’t notice any snoring, so it can’t have been too bad. Also, here’s the file again. Ever heard of the term backup? Or organization? Or locking away confidential documents? Just asking.’

‘It was fine,’ Brendonreplies an hour later, the most recent version of anticipated lawsuits attached to the e-mail. ‘As I said, the dog woke me up anyway. Have you ever had a dog jump right onto your face while you’re asleep? I swear, that gets you up in a flash. I’m pretty sure I forgot to put our cordless phone back, too. That means my roommate’s going to lock my guitar in his closet and hide the key somewhere. There are moments when I know what you mean about the advantages of living alone. – Also? Ha. Ha. Ha.’

So Brendon was still in bed during the meeting. Spencer’s brain whispers about tousled hair and sleepy eyes, and he does his best to ignore it. Seriously, he needs to get a grip on himself.

He saves the document to his desktop and prints it out before he re-reads Brendon’s e-mail and hits the reply button. ‘Ryan’s dog used to do that when she was hungry, once in a while. So, I know the feeling of early morning dog slobber on your face. It’s not the best feeling in the world. – You play guitar? I thought your parents made you take piano lessons, didn’t you mention that?’

It takes longer for Brendon to reply, long enough that Spencer has worked through the draft document with the lawsuits, making a comment here and there. Since Spencer got this job, Microsoft Word track changes have become close friends to him. It is a friendship that comes with occasional arguments and disagreements, but all in all, it works out quite well.

When Brendon’s reply arrives, Spencer forces himself to finish the paragraph he’s working on. Only then does he open his Outlook.

‘Also, early morning dog breath,’ Brendon writes. ‘Worse than morning breath in general. And I play both, although I’m also pretty mediocre. Guitar is just easier to keep in an apartment, you know? I don’t get many chances to play the piano, these days. I’ve been thinking about buying a keyboard, but it’s just not the same. It’s like decaf when you really want a vanilla cream double shot mochaccino or something.’

Spencer snorts out loud and shakes his head. A glance at the clock tells him there’s still more than two hours to go until he’s supposed to receive a call from China, another lawyer there who works on the Asian side of things. Her task is remarkably easier, considering Asians doesn’t have the same tradition of stockholders bombarding a company with lawsuits the moment a larger deal is on the way; it’s an entirely different culture, as far as legal matters are concerned. While Spencer thinks it’s quite cool, he also knows it would significantly reduce the size of the law department. So, all in all, he’s quite happy with the American system.

He types his reply to Brendon and reads it over quickly. (‘What person in their right mind would want vanilla cream double shot mochaccino? I mean, don’t get me wrong, people have a right to make their own choices even if they’re bad ones, but that’s taking it a bit far, don’t you think? Is there even such a thing?’) Satisfied, he sends it off and pushes himself to his feet, his chair rolling back a few inches.

Time for coffee.

Jon is frowning at his screen, but looks up when Spencer comes in. He appears grateful for the interruption. Gerard glances over with a quick smile before he goes back to editing numbers on a print-out, grouping zeroes and ones. Quite frankly, it’s a little scary.

“Trouble?” Spencer asks Jon, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms.

“A new videocast program that’s giving me a headache,” Jon says. “It’s supposed to make livestreams for our intranet easier, with an extra window that displays Power Point slides if it’s a presentation, and the possibility to make it public. I know how it should work, only it kind of doesn’t.”

“Well,” Spencer says. He lifts his shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I’m sure Ryan told you how it took me a full month to work out how to send an Outlook meeting request, so I’m not going to be of any help here. Just this once, I could make the coffee, though?”

“Would you?” Jon asks, voice hopeful. One of his hands comes up to rub at his forehead, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Spencer leaves his spot at the door and comes over to flick the espresso machine on. “Sure. I did pay attention while you were teaching Ryan, you know.”

“Oh, yeah. About that.” Jon looks ready to fire off an excuse, so Spencer cuts him off.

“It’s fine, okay? I approve.”

“That’s good,” Jon says, a faint smile on his face. “That’s not what I was going to say, though.”

“No?” Spencer watches the machine as it heats up with a hiss, the button indicating the temperature still dark.

“No,” Jon says firmly. “I just. I wanted to make it clear that I don’t expect… Okay. This is going to sound stupid, but I just wanted to say that no matter what’s going to happen between Ryan and me, I’d never want it to change anything about you guys’ friendship. I… respect that, okay?” A wry smile flits over his face as he glances towards the other side of the room. “Gerard?” he calls over the separation.

From his position at the espresso machine, Spencer can see Gerard looking up with a confused expression, like someone just woken out of a trance. “Yeah?” he calls back.

“Can you pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”

“Any of what?” Gerard sets his pen aside and turns his chair around. “Don’t tell me I missed something important. What was it?”

“You want some coffee?” Spencer asks, grinning despite himself.

“Please,” Gerard says. “Just espresso, though.”

“Coming right up,” Spencer assures him. To Jon, he says, “Thank you. I appreciate that, really.”

Jon tilts his head, studying him intently. There’s amusement lingering in the corners of his eyes when he asks, “Were you worried?”

“Maybe,” Spencer says noncommittally. He flicks the switch for hot water, the rumbling noise as good an excuse as any not to continue this conversation. It’s not that he’s not relieved, because he is, and he trusts Jon to keep his word. It’s just that it makes him think about how lucky Ryan is to have found someone as easy-going as Jon, and how hard it will be for Spencer to find someone just like that.

He doesn’t think he’d last very long with someone who jumps every time he wraps an arm around Ryan’s waist, every time Ryan falls asleep with his head on Spencer’s shoulder.

--

The e-mail that awaits Spencer when he returns to his office – well, one of the e-mails that await Spencer when he returns to his office – has the subject, ‘Play with your food!’ At some point, one of the people who have access to Spencer’s mailbox will take a short look at his e-mails and get curious. Having someone to sort through your e-mails while you’re on vacation is great, but as always, there are disadvantages.

There hasn’t been anything incriminating, though. And they did send back and forth that working document with the anticipated lawsuits. Besides, asking Brendon to transfer this to their private e-mail addresses seems like a rather forward move.

Spencer shakes his head and opens Brendon’s most recent e-mail.

‘Hey, don’t knock the vanilla cream double shot mochaccino! Particularly if there’s whipped cream involved! It’s pretty much the only thing at Starbucks that has enough sugar for my taste. It’s awesome! Spencer Smith, I get the impression you’re a coffee snob.’

Coffee snob, ha. Spencer can tell the difference between standard coffee and espresso, but otherwise, he’s pretty sure his knowledge about coffee would fit onto a post-it note. He just knows what he likes, and sugar infernos happen to not be part of that.

‘It sounds disgusting. Isn’t that kind of thing likely to rot your teeth? Black stumps, Brendon!’ Spencer replies. Although Brendon’s teeth seem perfect and straight, judging by his broad smile in the picture that Spencer has only looked at once, today. ‘But maybe Ryan and Jon are rubbing off on me in their caffeine-addicted ways…’

It’s only five more minutes until the call is supposed to come in, and Spencer spends those minutes finishing up his edits on the lawsuits document. He’s re-reading the last paragraph when his phone rings.

“Smith, corporate law.”

“Hello, Spencer.” Victoria sounds just like Spencer remembers her from when she was still in New York, before someone thought it was a good idea to send her off to watch over the Asian markets, working as a direct link between China and the headquarters. She didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

“Victoria,” Spencer says, grinning into the receiver. “I missed the sweet sound of your voice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, faking a bored tone that Spencer knows isn’t authentic. “Business first, catching up later, okay?”

“Shoot.”

--

He stays on the phone for a little over an hour, and by the time he hangs up, his left ear is warmer than usual. He really should use the headset, once in a while. Especially since that would also make it easier to check his e-mails during boring phone calls – which wasn’t the case with Victoria, but still.

Spencer ignores Ryan’s draft document for the press release in favor of a new e-mail by Brendon.

‘One of these days, I shall introduce you to the joys of caffeine in its one true combination: with lots of sugar. Actually, that day might come sooner than you’re comfortable with. I think my flight goes sometime next week? End of next week? It was booked a while ago, and I could probably look it up in my calendar, but I’m too lazy. All I know is that I have a flight to Europe in a few hours – Brussels, getting back Sunday. I’m not sure if my BlackBerry works over there, but I’ll talk to you once I’m back. Anyway. Who’s Jon?’

Spencer sits back and reads the last question once more. It could be a hint of jealousy. Could. Most likely, it’s just curiosity at the mention of an unfamiliar name. Also, this second-guessing is starting to get ridiculous.

A glance at the clock shows him that it’s getting late, so he chooses to reply right away. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, Jon is Ryan’s soon-to-be boyfriend. At least if they both get their act together and stop acting like twelve-year old girls; it’s kind of pathetic. (I think Pete can stand the blow, btw.) And you’ll be at the meeting next Thursday? How long are you going to be staying in NY, flying back the same day? As for Brussels, enjoy it! It’s a beautiful city. Besides, their mascot is the statue of a pissing boy, Maneken Pis. What’s not to like?’

For good measure, Spencer attaches the link to Jon’s intranet profile, and also the one to Ryan’s. It’s possible that Brendon already looked at the latter since he and Ryan were in contact over the best way to communicate post-take-over plans to the employees and the press. At the last moment, the mouse already hovering over the ‘Send’ button, Spencer remembers to attach the most recent version of the lawsuits, too.

Brendon’s Out of Office notice takes only a few seconds to arrive. He’s already on his way to the airport, then.

By the time Spencer’s done skimming over the rest of his as-of-yet unread e-mails, Ryan’s standing in the doorway, car keys dangling from his index finger. “Dinner?” he asks.

Spencer tilts his head. “Indian?”

“Chinese,” Ryan says.

Spencer nods, closes his Outlook and shuts his computer down, the work of three seconds. “Sounds good,” he says, and he doesn’t glance back when he leaves his office.

--

Pete stays in New York for another day filled with meetings and coordination work, then he flies out to the research site in Florida to gauge its capacity for additional research activities being moved down there. He assures them he’ll be back a good week later, though, for a face to face meeting, and he’ll even bring his favorite assistant.

Spencer pretends not to notice the very obvious wink he receives at that.

Throughout the whole process of Pete saying his goodbyes over a last cup of coffee, Jon stands with one hand curled so that his knuckles are touching Ryan’s hip. Ryan certainly doesn’t mind. The suggestion of a red flush all along his cheekbones makes Spencer want to tickle his side, but he resists bravely.

--

Spencer has a rule about not checking his work-related e-mail account over the weekend. It’s not a rule he finds hard to abide by, usually.

It’s a bit harder this weekend. By Sunday, he finds his fingers itching to take out his BlackBerry and have a brief look, just this once. He resists, mostly because Ryan has decided to take advantage of Spencer’s cooking skills and barged in shortly after noon, a bag with groceries in one hand, the print-out of an internet recipe in the other.

“Jon’ll be here at, like, six?” Ryan says.

Spencer shakes his head and watches Ryan move around his kitchen, putting things away with the same practiced ease as if he were at home. But then, Spencer didn’t change a lot about his kitchen’s outline compared to when they were still sharing an apartment. “I don’t know when Jon will be here,” Spencer says. “Considering I’m not the one who invited him to my apartment for dinner.”

Ryan doesn’t seem perturbed in the least. “I’d have invited Brendon, too, but I didn’t think he’d catch a flight on such short notice.”

Spencer grins despite himself. “He’s just getting back from Brussels today, so, no. I don’t think he’d have made it. Doesn’t change the fact that you invited your love interest to my place for dinner. What am I, your chaperone?”

“You don’t have a corset for the occasion.”

“Because you’d know.”

Ryan gives him an amused look. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

Okay, he does have a point. “Still, though. Doesn’t change that it’s a perfectly reasonable question.”

“Maybe,” Ryan admits. He closes the refrigerator door with a nudge of his hip before he leans back against it, dislodging some of the magnetic letters that spell out expressions like relapse, relax and watermelon smiles need to ripen. As they’re a present from Ryan, and as Ryan is the one who uses them much more than Spencer (which, as far as Spencer is concerned, is a fair part of the deal), Spencer isn’t about to complain. He’ll just make Ryan rearrange them into something new later on. Once they’re done with this discussion.

“So?” Spencer asks, crossing his arms and locking eyes with Ryan.

Ryan stares back evenly. The clock above the refrigerator counts out the seconds.

“Your willpower is dwindling,” Spencer says, not breaking their eye contact.

“You’re starting to perspire on your upper lip,” Ryan retorts.

It’s so out of left field that Spencer can’t quite swallow his laugh. Ryan grins at him, bright and quick. “You didn’t win yet,” Spencer reins Ryan’s optimism in, and when he moves forward smoothly to reach for Ryan’s sides, Ryan produces an honest-to-God squeak, blinks and scuffles sideways, out of reach.

“So?” Spencer repeats, triumphant.

Ryan sighs. “All right, all right. It’s just, I don’t want this to… I don’t want it to change things, okay? Between us. If Jon really is interested—”

“—which I’m pretty sure he is,” Spencer inserts.

“Maybe,” Ryan says. “The point is, I think he’ll… If he really is interested, he’ll deal.”

“He said he would,” Spencer says. He’s probably not supposed to just spill the beans like that, but maybe it’ll finally be a nudge in the right direction.

Ryan looks surprised, and then pleased. “He did?”

“He did.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Spencer says, because Ryan has probably enough to mull over for the moment. “What are we cooking?”

--

They start out with good intentions, but at some point, a tomato is rolling away from where Ryan is cutting things into slices, nudging Spencer’s hand. Spencer retaliates to the accident by dumping a spoonful of flour down the back of Ryan’s shirt. It ends with their clothes dirty, and the kitchen a mess. At least the pizza is in the oven by the time six o’clock approaches.

Spencer claims the shower first – it’s still his apartment, and no matter how much Ryan protests about the rights of the guests, he stays over too often to demand special treatment. Spencer dries off and changes into clean clothes while Ryan gets the shower running. The BlackBerry is sitting on Spencer’s desk, to the right of his closet.

Because Spencer is weak and can’t even follow his own rules, he turns it on.

There really is an e-mail from Brendon waiting for him, squeezed in between the dozen or so other e-mails from people who consider weekends the perfect time to finally catch up with all the work they didn’t get done over the rest of the week. ‘Can’t say I disagree with Ryan’s taste,’ Brendon’s e-mail begins. ‘Nor can I say I disagree with Jon’s. Are all you people in New York hot, or is it just a coincidence? Because if it isn’t, I just might move down there and not take my return flight – Friday around noon, by the way. It would also have the advantage of getting me away from annoying coworkers.’

By now, Spencer is pretty sure that Brendon is indeed flirting with him. But then, Brendon could also just be referring to Ryan and Jon and nothing more; there’s no guarantee he even glanced at Spencer’s intranet picture. It’s a pretty decent picture, Spencer supposes, or at least it could be worse. Unlike the pictures for the badges, the profile pictures are taken by a professional photographer, and the difference certainly shows.

At least Spencer now has a definite answer to the question of whether Brendon even likes guys.

‘It’s not all sunshine and roses here,’ Spencer writes back, fingers stumbling over the small keypad of the BlackBerry. There’s a reason why he doesn’t like the thing. ‘You should see Mr. Cheston, a prime example for Super Size Me, or the corporate branding guy who breathes fire down our necks if our presentations aren’t quite following the guidelines. No, really, there are just a few exceptions to the rule here, that’s all. How was Brussels?’

Spencer pauses to listen for the sound of the shower. The water is still running, so Ryan isn’t likely to come barging in anytime soon. Before Spencer can talk himself out of it, he adds, ‘If you arrive Thursday and fly back Friday around noon, how about breakfast? I distinctly remember your promise to teach me about the one true way to enjoy coffee.’

He sends the e-mail off a second before the doorbell rings. Spencer hits the power button and carefully places the BlackBerry back on his desk before he goes to let Jon in. In the bathroom, the shower shuts off.

Jon comes up the stairs looking as relaxed as ever, dressed casually in dark jeans and his ever-present flip flops. On the other hand, Spencer notices that Jon shaved, and his button-up is quite fetching. “Smells delicious,” Jon says before he’s even through the door. “Pizza?”

“Got it in one. And just so you know,” Spencer closes the door behind Jon and turns, grinning. “This wasn’t my idea. I didn’t insist on being around while you and Ryan have dinner.”

“Why shouldn’t you be around?” Jon sounds genuinely surprised. Spencer stares at him and tries to wonders how to articulate the question if Jon’s even real. Everyone before him, every person that had a brief impact on either Ryan or Spencer’s life, watched the workings of their friendship with suspicious eyes. It’s probably why no one lasted very long.

“Spencer,” Ryan calls from the direction of Spencer’s bedroom. “Where’s that black shirt of yours, the one with the collar, you know?”

“In the wash, but it doesn’t even fit you,” Spencer calls back. Not that any of his clothes really fit Ryan. “Jon’s here.”

“Hi, Jon,” Ryan calls.

“Did you both just take a shower?” Jon asks, following Spencer into the kitchen. He glances around at the messy counter, still dusted in white, and grins. “Wait, don’t answer that. Food fight?”

“Ryan started it,” Spencer says, possibly bending the truth a little. Ryan chooses that moment to come into the kitchen, still drying off his damp hair. He beams at Jon before pointing an accusing finger at Spencer.

“Did not,” he says. Spencer is too amused by the way Jon shifts and looks away to come up with an adequate reply.

--

It’s sometime after the dessert, all of them sprawled on the carpet in Spencer’s living room with the empty bowls sitting on the couch table, that Spencer excuses himself to go to the bathroom. On his way back, he makes a short detour into his bedroom to switch the BlackBerry on, but there’s no reply from Brendon.

By the time he returns to the living room, the sounds of conversation have ceased entirely, only Tom Waits crooning in the background. It’s what tips Spencer off. He pauses just before entering and listens intently.

Soft, wet noises of kissing, then a sigh, nearly inaudible. All right, then.

Spencer can’t quite resist the temptation of catching a glimpse of them, just briefly, so he leans forward and glances around the doorframe. Ryan and Jon are tangled together on the floor, Ryan draped halfway over Jon, both of them with their eyes closed and their mouths open, flashes of tongue. Jon’s hands provide a nice contrast to the darkness of Ryan’s hair.

Spencer quietly retreats into his bedroom and shuts the door. When he comes back out, half an hour later, Ryan and Jon are gone. Someone put the dirty dishes away, though – Jon, Spencer supposes – and there’s a message on Spencer’s refrigerator that spells, ‘Lunch is on me tomorrow, Ry.’

The last notes of Tom Waits’ Closing Time have faded, and the apartment is oddly quiet, empty. Spencer sits down on the couch and allows himself a moment of self-indulgent loneliness. Then he shakes himself and stacks the ice-cream-smeared bowls that Jon probably overlooked in his haste, carrying them into the kitchen. The dishwasher has been loaded in a different way than Spencer would have done it, different also from how he got Ryan to do it, and Spencer considers rearranging the dishes before he shakes his head at himself.

Seriously, when did he grow so needy? It’s been a while since his last relationship, sure, but caring about the right way to load up a dishwasher is just taking it a little too far.

--

Spencer promises himself that he’ll never, not even to Ryan, admit that the first thing he does when he wakes up the following morning – before washing his face, brushing his teeth, anything – is check his BlackBerry. God, he’s pathetic.

At least his temporary loss of dignity is rewarded by an e-mail from Brendon, received at shortly after midnight New York time. ‘Breakfast sounds great. Starbucks wouldn’t be my first choice for that, though; do you know a good place? Brussels was mostly uneventful, but I had the second half of Saturday to explore the city. I even took a picture of Maneken Pis and myself, just for you! Can’t send it via BlackBerry, but will do so tomorrow. Also, shame the hotness isn’t a common trait of NY employees. After spending an entire flight with Audrey, I’d probably love to move there. – Sent using BlackBerry.’

Breakfast, then. Spencer tries not to grin like an idiot.

He rolls over onto his stomach and sends his reply while he’s still in bed, cushion propped under his chest. (He’s so not going to admit this to Ryan, ever.)

‘I’m looking forward to that picture, just so you know. To our breakfast date, too.’ He pauses before he goes back to delete the word ‘date.’ That’s just a hint too forward, he thinks. ‘There’s a place just around the corner from my apartment that serves great blueberry pancakes, how about that? As for annoying coworkers, I’m sorry to destroy another illusion, but there are more than enough of those here as well. We’re the headquarters; we get all the self-important idiots. Or is Audrey (Kitching? The one who handles the stock market effects?) a particularly irritating brand of annoying? In other news, the soon-to-be can now be taken out of the explanation that Jon is Ryan’s soon-to-be boyfriend. My living room carpet is a good place for a first kiss, it seems.’

It’s quite a feat, Spencer thinks as he sends it off. Writing an e-mail this long on his BlackBerry? He doesn’t think he ever did that. Well, once, when he was in Japan and Ryan sent him a stuttering e-mail that Spencer had to read twice to figure out that Ryan’s dad had just died. It was the middle of the night for Ryan, so Spencer couldn’t call to say that he was at the airport, on his way back. At least his BlackBerry had worked.

And, okay, what a pleasant direction for his thoughts to take. Spencer shakes his head and gets out of bed, grabbing a pair of black jeans off the floor before making his way into the bathroom.

--

Ryan possesses a talent for coming in at just the right moment to catch Spencer in an awkward situation. When they were younger, he managed to climb in through Spencer’s bedroom window three times in one week while Spencer had a hand down his pants. The third time it happened, Ryan paused for a moment, then slid onto the bed next to Spencer, said, “Let me help?” After that, it wasn’t really awkward anymore.

It certainly is awkward when Ryan comes in to find Spencer studying that picture of Brendon in Brussels, dark hair tousled, the statue of a pissing boy blurred in the background, Brendon’s eyes the only part of the picture that’s not slightly out of focus.

“Should I leave you to your private party?” Ryan asks with that special grin he reserves for comments that he knows will have Spencer blushing. Spencer hates blushing.

“You could help,” Spencer says, the only retaliation he can think of.

“Should have asked a month ago,” Ryan replies easily. He comes further into Spencer’s office and closes the door.

“I did.” Spencer grins. “You were just too busy mooning over Jon to even notice.”

Truth is, it’s been years since the last time they ended up in bed. First, Spencer had this boyfriend that he was actually pretty serious about until the guy turned out to be an asshole. By that time, Ryan was already involved with a girl who ended up cheating on him, and somehow, the time for them had come and gone.

“About that,” Ryan begins.

Spencer cuts him off. “Glad you two finally came to your senses.”

“Yeah?” Ryan looks cautiously reassured.

Spencer gets up to give him a hug, just because Ryan needs that sometimes. “Yeah. About time at least one of us stopped being a failboat in the relationship department.”

“Did you just say failboat?” Ryan asks, tone dry, but his arms come up around Spencer without a moment’s hesitation. It hasn’t always been like this.

“I said failure,” Spencer says evenly.

“I don’t think you did,” Ryan says.

“Well, you’re thinking wrong, then. Because,” Spencer grins, “you’re a failboat, obviously.”

“Internet geek,” Ryan says. Right. Like he’s one to talk. “I bet you spend most of your work time browsing pages with people in the background of pictures making stupid faces, or something. Or,” he takes a step back and glances pointedly at Spencer’s screen, “people in the foreground looking hot.”

“Careful,” Spencer says. “You’re taken now.”

“I can still go window shopping,” Ryan says, sounding almost defensive.

Spencer laughs openly at him. “And you wouldn’t mind if Jon did the same, huh?”

“Well.” Ryan’s gaze is shifty. “Not where I can see it.”

“Anyone ever told you you’re a hypocritical bitch?” Spencer asks. He leans past Ryan to lock his computer, blanking out the picture of Brendon. Seriously, trust Ryan to walk in twice on Spencer studying pictures of Brendon. Ryan probably thinks Spencer spends most of his days like that now when just five minutes earlier, he was working on that lawsuit file again.

It’s slowly starting to feel like a finished version. Their defense positions aren’t quite as ready to serve them in court just yet, but they’re getting there.

--

Ryan is calmly dissecting his lunch – carrots to the right, rice in the middle, corn next to the carrots. “So, you going to send him a picture of you now?” he asks, without bothering to look up from his task.

“What?” Spencer asks stupidly.

Ryan grins around the fork. “It's only fair.”

Spencer swallows his bite and reaches for the glass of water. The cafeteria is slowly starting to empty, most people about to head back to their desks or into the laboratories. “I'm not going to send him a picture of me strolling around New York or whatever,” Spencer says. “That was only because we talked about Brussels.”

“And you never talked about any New York thing?” Ryan asks.

Sometimes, Spencer hates Ryan for not knowing when to stop prodding. Or rather, Ryan knows. He just doesn’t care. “Blueberry pancakes at that place near my apartment,” Spencer admits, because lying is not an option.

“There you go,” Ryan says, beaming. “I could take the picture, if you want. Breakfast tomorrow?” Then he glances at his watch and starts, somewhat guiltily. “Oh, hey, Jon and his friend Tom are joining us for coffee. In ten minutes, at the entrance. You don't mind, right?”

“Why would I?” Spencer asks slowly. He particularly doesn’t mind, if it gets Ryan’s attention away from his picture taking mission. If Ryan sets his mind to it, there’s no guarantee he won’t just take a picture and send it to Brendon himself, if Spencer doesn’t collaborate. Clearly, Spencer needs a new best friend. One who’s less involved in his private business.

But then, Spencer knows quite well that it goes both ways, with Ryan and him.

“Just.” Ryan flutters one hand in an eloquent gesture. “You know.”

Spencer nudges Ryan’s fork with his own, and a piece of carrot tumbles back onto Ryan’s plate. Spencer spears it before Ryan can even react. Good to know his drummer’s reflexes are still in place, even if it’s been a while since he got to play. “I told you,” Spencer says, “I think it's great. It might take a bit of adjusting on our part but Jon is... He's a great guy. I like him a lot.”

“Yeah.” Ryan bites down on his lower lip, maybe to keep a smile from slipping out. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I kind of got that part,” Spencer says dryly.

Ryan gives him a pointed look. “You like Brendon a lot.”

Spencer glances down at his plate, pushes the rice around to soak it in the sauce. It’s supposed to be spicy, but it tastes just like any other sauce the cafeteria serves. “I only know him from e-mails,” Spencer replies eventually, when it becomes clear that Ryan won’t stop staring at Spencer’s forehead until he has some kind of answer. “Well, e-mails and one telecon during which we didn't really speak to each other.”

“You like what you know from that, though,” Ryan says.

There no sense in denying that, so Spencer shrugs. “Yeah.”

Ryan grins triumphantly, as if he just won an argument. Which he didn’t. Spencer’s perfectly aware of the fact that he likes Brendon a lot, and that he knows that he looks forward to their breakfast together more than is entirely logical, thank you very much.

Ryan chews thoughtfully, then swallows and says, “Maybe you should call him up at some point.”

“He'll be here on Thursday for that meeting,” Spencer says. Ryan would have found anyway. At least now it’s on Spencer’s own terms. It doesn’t even make sense that he’s so reluctant to share it with Ryan; it’s not as if telling anyone would jinx it or something.

“Seriously?” Ryan looks up with a wide smile. “That's great. Wait, he’s the assistant Pete mentioned?”

“I guess, yeah.” Spencer pushes the last remnants of his rice together, almost done. “We'll have breakfast together Friday morning.”

“Coffee House?” Ryan sounds as if things are suddenly a lot clearer. “That’s where the pancake discussion came from?”

“Their blueberry pancakes are quite good,” Spencer says. It’s true. He can’t even count the times Ryan and he went to have breakfast there, and it was never once a letdown. The ones with maple syrup are worth mentioning, too.

“They are,” Ryan says. He reaches across the table to squeeze Spencer’s hand, which is an unusually sappy move for him. It might be the Jon-induced happiness, Spencer guesses. “I'm glad,” Ryan adds.

“Ryan,” Spencer begins, a cross between warning and protest.

“No, really,” Ryan interrupts, and his voice is so bright that Spencer finds it hard to protests. “It's. Andrew was an ass, I'm glad you're starting to... This isn't your usual, casual hook-up.”

It’s not, Spencer knows that as well as Ryan does. His usual, rather rare hook-ups consist of a night in a club, a rush of sweat and skin and sometimes a slightly awkward awakening. They don’t include blueberry pancakes. “No,” Spencer says, and he sets his fork aside because he doesn’t feel so much like eating anymore. “I guess not.”

--

>> Part 3