BioRhythm | PG-13 | PATD gen | by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maple_mahogany
Jan. 2nd, 2009 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fics_by_mapleTitle: BioRhythm
Pairing: Panic at the Disco - Spencer Smith gen
Word Count: 2,890
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I really do know the difference between real life and fiction. This is the latter.
A/N and Summary:Tremendous beta thanks toqueenb23more, redandglenda and to mrsquizzical for making me. It's always her fault. ♥
I'd like to clarify that I believe that Spencer Smith is largely comprised of rainbows and awesome. During RBL some wanted to explore the idea that life on tour is harder on Spencer than the rest of them. Here is my offering, which contains a lamentable lack of slashy porn. *runs away from the internet*
BioRhythm
/\
He realizes that he is offbeat early in the tour. This tour, which had been preceded by a short 'working break', which had been preceded by a world tour, which had…
/\
As they walk off stage, somewhere between the high fives and Brendon stripping, Spencer catches Ryan's smirk.
"What?" he asks, sensing the Rhythm in the back of his head falter as the adrenaline ebbs.
"What." Ryan repeats as they walk. It shouldn't mean anything, but something in the mocking tone and the way he bugs his little eyes grates on Spencer's nerves.
"Seriously. What?"
"Were we slowing you down out there, buddy?" Jon said, shuffling along next to him, unbuttoning his shirt with an easy smile.
"What are you talking about?" Spencer shoves at Jon, who trips into Brendon, and they both rebound back at him.
"Dude, no! I like Northern Downpour as an up-tempo ragtime number." Brendon wipes his face with his t-shirt. "We should definitely do that again!"
"Oh, blow me, you guys. It wasn't like that."
They laugh it off easily enough, already accepting beers and high fives from Cash and Johnson. The entirety of The Cab being underage and passing out beer means nothing in this life, he knows well, so long as they give the venue people plausible deniability. He drinks deep, hearing the fluctuating Rhythm in his head begin to even out and wills himself to forget that he lost it for a moment.
/\
He can't forget, though, because it happens again in the next city. Right off the bat he misses the pickup between We're So Starving and Nine in the Afternoon. Avery repeats the introduction on keys and Brendon goes along with it perfectly but Jon and Ryan don't skip the opportunity to meander upstage and smile at him.
And that's the thing. They smile. They fucking smile. Every time it happens.
"Whenever you wanna join in, Spence."
Each day begins too early, too bright, and ends too late, too dark. Life is forever moving just when he settles into where he is.
He watches as if it's happening on YouTube and not right in front of him when an interviewer starts digging at Brendon with the Mormon thing, again. Ryan sacrifices himself instead, giving away something personal that he'll regret later. Then he hears Jon do his best to intercede with his own special brand of funny.
Spencer keeps trying to say something but when he figures out what needs to be said, the moment is over.
/\
What is worse than not realizing he has fucked up, is that when he does: they don't mention it.
He takes a second to finish the beer Zack set out for him, it goes down cold and keeps him warm, loose under the bright lights.
"And here's my friend Spencer Smith, ladies and gentleman!" Jon introduces.
He waves his sticks in the air with a smile and shrugs his sweaty face onto his shoulder as he takes his place at the kit downstage.
Jon's flawless good-Midwestern-boy manners get the audience screaming for Ryan and again at fever pitch for Brendon and it's just then, when Spencer bangs out a six-stroke roll with a little fill, that he hears something. There's a buzz somewhere it doesn't belong. Everything about this show has been fun and easy and he's sure his Rhythm isn't betraying him this time.
"Sorry, guys!" he says, leaning into his mic, making eye contact with Joey standing offstage who rushes right over. "Yeah, I just need a minute here."
The guys get the crowd to cheer for the opening bands while he explains to the tech that he thinks something is wrong with the snare. He hates holding up the show like this, knowing the audience deserves better.
It's impossible not to smile when Brendon comes over and makes the crowd laugh at his monkey-with-cymbals bit as he plays around on the broken kit.
Only it's not broken.
"Just a loose clip, dude," Joey mutters as he darts back offstage. Spencer sinks onto his stool, feeling like a complete and utter moron for missing that. He knows Brendon heard what Joey said, too, but instead of calling him out for the fucktard he is, he gives Spencer a reassuring smile and they finish the show.
/\
He can see the purple under his eyes getting darker and he tries to make a change. He sleeps in late, he showers long, and then he shaves. … It doesn't look quite like he expected, but it's not bad. Zack high fives him with a quiet, approving, "all right, dude" and the Cab take turns trying to pet his face. It takes several minutes of hearing it before he realizes Brendon, Jon and Ryan are singing Sabotage under their breath.
"Oh, my god, fuck you all. If any white guys could be the Beastie Boys, it would not be you three."
They don't mean anything by it, but another drink makes it a little easier to laugh off.
The girls who wail at him during the Meet and Greets for not having his beard in their picture are also easier to handle when he's got a happy buzz humming in his ears. Only, the buzz adds a counter beat to his Rhythm and that throws him off again.
He hopes the girl at the end of the table is crying because Brendon smiled at her and not because Spencer didn't.
/\
The music grinds to an ugly halt during Nine In The Afternoon again. His sticks were right on - they were - but there was another beat in his mind, like Shave and a Haircut tormenting him on an endless loop.
"I apologize, I messed up that song," he tells the crowd. "I fucked up." This time they can't deny it. No one can pretend like it didn't happen; a sea of tiny blue LCD screens recording the proof.
Jon cuts him off though, drowning out Spencer's effort of continued self abuse by inciting more fucking cheers from the crowd.
/\
Spencer still feels disconnected and nauseous afterwards, not from the post show rush but from the sour adrenaline that sunk into his gut the moment he stopped playing right in the middle of the fucking song.
No one mentions it. The ubiquitous elephant in the room. Singer, the little suck-ass, puts his hands on Spencer's shoulder and arm, giving him a 'great job' squeeze. Then he remembers that Singer's vocals were for shit earlier, so he retracts his uncharitable thought. The kid still fucks up plenty himself and knows how it feels.
Another beer, another buzz, another green room full of bullshit smiles on faces who won't tell him the truth. It's not even a party, no clichéd rock and roll bash with strippers and smack. Everyone is just taking it easy and Spencer's just keeping pace with Ryan, "let's just relax and worry about stuff later", but Spencer feels like he might be getting wasted instead.
A couple of hours and showers later they make it back towards the bus. He feels like Dead Man Walking because he thinks finally, this is where they'll talk about the show and all the other shit they never discuss in front of other people.
Spencer can barely walk a straight line but he's calm on the inside. Funny how his guts and limbs refuse to agree on a state of being. He laughs. Jon joins him.
A flash in the dark makes his vision go spotty.
"I love you, too!" Brendon yells at the fans by the fence. It sounds muffled, like Spencer's cupping his hands over his ears. He looks down just to make sure; he's not.
"Just say it, okay?" Spencer demands as he sits on the couch in the front lounge. "I fucked up the show."
"It wasn't all bad," Ryan mutters, plugging his phone and iPod in their chargers.
"Did you see my mic stand falling down at the piano?" Brendon laughs, getting rid of his shirt.
"Come on, don't pretend like it didn't happen!" Spencer snaps, wondering if their obstinacy is intentional.
"Dude, okay, something totally went tits up there for a second," Brendon agrees, kicking his chucks off towards the bunks. "But we coulda pushed through it. You didn't have to stop."
Spencer closes his eyes and slumps forward; relieved that he's finally given some honesty. Brendon loves him but he also knows that Brendon never lies about music.
"Yeah, sorry, about that man, I tried to get you back in," Jon offers, as if it's partially his fault. He's digging for snacks. None of them are taking this seriously enough.
"I was just going to ignore you." Ryan's deadpan is meant to be a comforting humor but Spencer won't have it and raises his voice.
"Son of a bitch, you guys! Don't you get it?"
"Hey, man," Brendon drops next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "It wasn't like-"
But Spencer doesn't want any more placating. He wants them to admit there's something wrong with him. He angrily shrugs Brendon's arm off but somehow, he doesn't even know, his elbow connects, bashing Brendon in the face with a pulpy thunk.
"Whoa," and "Christ!" Spencer hears from Jon and Ryan.
"Shit. Brendon, are you…? I didn't…" Spencer can't find words, not when Brendon's hands are clasped over his face, eyes screwed shut.
"Ow," Brendon bellows and blood begins to dribble out between his fingers.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Okay. Um. Let's..."
"Fucking ow, mother fuck!" Brendon's eyes are tearing and Jon's got a hand on the back of his neck as he holds up a towel.
"Hey, Spence, don't just leave," he hears Ryan call as he gets off the bus.
/\
"Mom," Spencer says, his voice loud in a dark corner of the green room. "Sorry, it's late, I know."
"That's okay. I stayed up to watch the Jonas Brothers on Jimmy Kimmel. I gotta say, I just don't get them."
Spencer laughs. It's wetter than it should sound.
"So, what's going on, kiddo? Is the show over?" Her voice is tight now, even and knowing. "You on the bus?"
"No. I don't know. Somewhere in the venue." He feels like if he could throw up and have another drink, he'd feel better again. That really shouldn't make sense.
"Is Ryan there with you? Where's Zack?"
"No, I'm … I didn’t know where to go."
The silence between them is a standoff and he wins, but only because she worries.
"Honey, are you in trouble? Should I call Pete? I still have his number."
"God, Mom. No. Christ. He doesn't even..." Spencer huffs. His mom still thinks of Pete Wentz as the guy who took her boys away from home and promised he'd look after them. "I just wanted – tell me what's up with Dad, okay? How're the girls?"
She sighs but takes pity on him and pathetic as it is, from her, Spencer wants it; he is calling his mommy after all.
She prattles on about Jackie's boyfriend and Crystal's job and his dad driving down to Scottsdale to pick up a new VW bug to restore. She doesn't ask him about his sniffling. It's only allergies anyway.
"And you?" she eventually asks. "I saw pictures. Very handsome, honey, but you look tired."
"I am. … I'm fucking everything up, Mom."
"Hm. Did somebody tell you that? Someone who matters, I mean."
Spencer laughs and twists in the padded chair, pressing his forehead into the back.
"Can you fix it? Do you need to apologize?"
He appreciates that she doesn't ask for details, because he would tell her everything if she did. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"That's the first step, then. And what does 'I'm sorry' mean?" she asks, echoing the phrase he grew up with.
He rolls his eyes and switches his cell to the other ear. "Mom."
"Spencer James."
He sits up in the empty room and scrubs his palm over his eyes. "'I'm sorry means I'll never do it again'," he sing-songs the oath he made a million times as a child and they both laugh quietly.
"Good boy. You're in charge of you, you know that."
"I know."
"Get some rest. I love you, sweetie."
"You, too."
/\
Spencer drinks a bottle of Fiji water and pees for a minute straight before going back to the bus. He knows it's nearly bus call, but he's not quite late yet.
Zack is leaning against the door of the bus, his arms crossed, looking tired and pissed off. He usually has a big supportive smile for Spencer but doesn't this time and Spencer has a shadow of a worry that maybe he's there to keep Spencer off the bus.
"You assholes pay me a lot of money to keep you safe. Do I have to keep you from hurting each other now, too?"
He doesn't actually wait for a response though, just deflates slightly, giving Spencer a rueful not-quite smile and punches in the security code.
Brendon is next to Jon on the couch, elbows on his knees, holding a pink-tinged, white venue towel with ice to his nose.
Jon's holding a bottle of Corona loosely in one hand but he puts the other on Brendon's shoulder when he sees Spencer. It's almost a protective gesture and it breaks Spencer a little. He knows his 'I'm sorry' face looks remarkably similar to his 'fuck off' face and hopes that Jon will give him the benefit of the doubt in this one.
Jon considers him before tilting his head back, chin jutting forward, as if giving permission for Spencer to come forward.
"Bren – Brendon?" Spencer corrects, not sure he's permitted nicknames right now. "Jesus, are you okay?"
Brendon looks up with red, but dry, eyes. Peering at Spencer over the towel, he shrugs and nods, then shakes his head and generally doesn't commit to an answer.
Spencer feels like he's got three different tempos thrumming in his body, all competing for space in his head and he's overly aware of his knees and his feet and he has to sit down right now.
"I'm sorry." He moves carefully to sit next to Brendon.
"Didn't bean to bake you bad," Brendon says, his swollen nose making all of his 'M's sound like 'B's and it's ridiculous.
There's a beat of silence before the three of them break into sharp, inappropriate chuckles.
"I wasn't mad – not at you. Fuck, guys, I-"
Brendon's little but he hugs big and Jon's hand also wraps around the back of his head and Spencer wishes he could say more. Just for a moment he feels his true Rhythm beat a little stronger than the disjointed white noise he can't shut off.
"You totally have to bake be breakfast, now," Brendon says, offering Spencer some repentance. He remembers that Brendon understands the need for that sometimes.
"I will. I'll make you all breakfast." The hangover will be a bitch but he'll do it for them.
He pulls away from Brendon when Ryan comes in but his effort to stand could be punctuated with a rimshot and he remains sitting. Ryan sits across from them by the table, looking like the fucking Godfather with his arms and legs crossed, giving him a cold glare.
Spencer takes a breath to speak but can't decide on any phrase that slips over his tongue.
"You've got nothing to say? You made Brendon bleed."
Spencer nods.
"The hell?"
He tries again. "Was an accident."
"You're wasted and it was an accident. Hm, that sounds familiar."
Spencer feels like something in his chest implodes and he can't look at Ryan anymore. He's spent most of his life hating George Ross when Ryan couldn't and the comparison hurts.
"I'm sorry," he tries to say, but the words stick in his throat and it comes out as whisper. He wipes angrily at his wet face. "I don't know why." He makes his voice stronger this time, louder, over the crescendo in his head. "I never have any more than you guys do. But it's like...I think it." It's not fair, he thinks. "I'm bigger than you, but it affects me worse."
"Ya think?"
"Ryan," Jon reprimands softly. He doesn't like when any of them argue.
"Want me to go home?" Spencer forces out the question he fears most.
"No. I do not. …You big, stupid, jerk head."
Brendon squeaks and chokes off a snort behind the towel and Spencer can see Jon's toe's curl. Then he peeks up at Ryan and sees the hint of a goading grin.
Spencer finds himself in a pointy, but no less sincere hug with Ryan.
"We'll do something different, okay?" Ryan says, sounding like he's made a decision but hoping they'll agree. "We'll demo some of that stuff we worked on. See some movies? Maybe Zack can find something to set on fire."
"That'd be cool."
"Yeah, man. We can ease up for a while," Jon says. Spencer wonders why it's so easy for him.
"Yeah, ban." Brendon joins the hugging. "We can hack, too."
Spencer falls asleep on the couch with them, his body jerking him awake throughout the night whenever his Rhythm skips ahead, but someone is always there with a hand on his shoulder so he doesn't get lost again.
/\
Pairing: Panic at the Disco - Spencer Smith gen
Word Count: 2,890
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I really do know the difference between real life and fiction. This is the latter.
A/N and Summary:Tremendous beta thanks to
queenb23more, redandglenda and to mrsquizzical for making me. It's always her fault. ♥I'd like to clarify that I believe that Spencer Smith is largely comprised of rainbows and awesome. During RBL some wanted to explore the idea that life on tour is harder on Spencer than the rest of them. Here is my offering, which contains a lamentable lack of slashy porn. *runs away from the internet*
BioRhythm
/\
He realizes that he is offbeat early in the tour. This tour, which had been preceded by a short 'working break', which had been preceded by a world tour, which had…
/\
As they walk off stage, somewhere between the high fives and Brendon stripping, Spencer catches Ryan's smirk.
"What?" he asks, sensing the Rhythm in the back of his head falter as the adrenaline ebbs.
"What." Ryan repeats as they walk. It shouldn't mean anything, but something in the mocking tone and the way he bugs his little eyes grates on Spencer's nerves.
"Seriously. What?"
"Were we slowing you down out there, buddy?" Jon said, shuffling along next to him, unbuttoning his shirt with an easy smile.
"What are you talking about?" Spencer shoves at Jon, who trips into Brendon, and they both rebound back at him.
"Dude, no! I like Northern Downpour as an up-tempo ragtime number." Brendon wipes his face with his t-shirt. "We should definitely do that again!"
"Oh, blow me, you guys. It wasn't like that."
They laugh it off easily enough, already accepting beers and high fives from Cash and Johnson. The entirety of The Cab being underage and passing out beer means nothing in this life, he knows well, so long as they give the venue people plausible deniability. He drinks deep, hearing the fluctuating Rhythm in his head begin to even out and wills himself to forget that he lost it for a moment.
/\
He can't forget, though, because it happens again in the next city. Right off the bat he misses the pickup between We're So Starving and Nine in the Afternoon. Avery repeats the introduction on keys and Brendon goes along with it perfectly but Jon and Ryan don't skip the opportunity to meander upstage and smile at him.
And that's the thing. They smile. They fucking smile. Every time it happens.
"Whenever you wanna join in, Spence."
Each day begins too early, too bright, and ends too late, too dark. Life is forever moving just when he settles into where he is.
He watches as if it's happening on YouTube and not right in front of him when an interviewer starts digging at Brendon with the Mormon thing, again. Ryan sacrifices himself instead, giving away something personal that he'll regret later. Then he hears Jon do his best to intercede with his own special brand of funny.
Spencer keeps trying to say something but when he figures out what needs to be said, the moment is over.
/\
What is worse than not realizing he has fucked up, is that when he does: they don't mention it.
He takes a second to finish the beer Zack set out for him, it goes down cold and keeps him warm, loose under the bright lights.
"And here's my friend Spencer Smith, ladies and gentleman!" Jon introduces.
He waves his sticks in the air with a smile and shrugs his sweaty face onto his shoulder as he takes his place at the kit downstage.
Jon's flawless good-Midwestern-boy manners get the audience screaming for Ryan and again at fever pitch for Brendon and it's just then, when Spencer bangs out a six-stroke roll with a little fill, that he hears something. There's a buzz somewhere it doesn't belong. Everything about this show has been fun and easy and he's sure his Rhythm isn't betraying him this time.
"Sorry, guys!" he says, leaning into his mic, making eye contact with Joey standing offstage who rushes right over. "Yeah, I just need a minute here."
The guys get the crowd to cheer for the opening bands while he explains to the tech that he thinks something is wrong with the snare. He hates holding up the show like this, knowing the audience deserves better.
It's impossible not to smile when Brendon comes over and makes the crowd laugh at his monkey-with-cymbals bit as he plays around on the broken kit.
Only it's not broken.
"Just a loose clip, dude," Joey mutters as he darts back offstage. Spencer sinks onto his stool, feeling like a complete and utter moron for missing that. He knows Brendon heard what Joey said, too, but instead of calling him out for the fucktard he is, he gives Spencer a reassuring smile and they finish the show.
/\
He can see the purple under his eyes getting darker and he tries to make a change. He sleeps in late, he showers long, and then he shaves. … It doesn't look quite like he expected, but it's not bad. Zack high fives him with a quiet, approving, "all right, dude" and the Cab take turns trying to pet his face. It takes several minutes of hearing it before he realizes Brendon, Jon and Ryan are singing Sabotage under their breath.
"Oh, my god, fuck you all. If any white guys could be the Beastie Boys, it would not be you three."
They don't mean anything by it, but another drink makes it a little easier to laugh off.
The girls who wail at him during the Meet and Greets for not having his beard in their picture are also easier to handle when he's got a happy buzz humming in his ears. Only, the buzz adds a counter beat to his Rhythm and that throws him off again.
He hopes the girl at the end of the table is crying because Brendon smiled at her and not because Spencer didn't.
/\
The music grinds to an ugly halt during Nine In The Afternoon again. His sticks were right on - they were - but there was another beat in his mind, like Shave and a Haircut tormenting him on an endless loop.
"I apologize, I messed up that song," he tells the crowd. "I fucked up." This time they can't deny it. No one can pretend like it didn't happen; a sea of tiny blue LCD screens recording the proof.
Jon cuts him off though, drowning out Spencer's effort of continued self abuse by inciting more fucking cheers from the crowd.
/\
Spencer still feels disconnected and nauseous afterwards, not from the post show rush but from the sour adrenaline that sunk into his gut the moment he stopped playing right in the middle of the fucking song.
No one mentions it. The ubiquitous elephant in the room. Singer, the little suck-ass, puts his hands on Spencer's shoulder and arm, giving him a 'great job' squeeze. Then he remembers that Singer's vocals were for shit earlier, so he retracts his uncharitable thought. The kid still fucks up plenty himself and knows how it feels.
Another beer, another buzz, another green room full of bullshit smiles on faces who won't tell him the truth. It's not even a party, no clichéd rock and roll bash with strippers and smack. Everyone is just taking it easy and Spencer's just keeping pace with Ryan, "let's just relax and worry about stuff later", but Spencer feels like he might be getting wasted instead.
A couple of hours and showers later they make it back towards the bus. He feels like Dead Man Walking because he thinks finally, this is where they'll talk about the show and all the other shit they never discuss in front of other people.
Spencer can barely walk a straight line but he's calm on the inside. Funny how his guts and limbs refuse to agree on a state of being. He laughs. Jon joins him.
A flash in the dark makes his vision go spotty.
"I love you, too!" Brendon yells at the fans by the fence. It sounds muffled, like Spencer's cupping his hands over his ears. He looks down just to make sure; he's not.
"Just say it, okay?" Spencer demands as he sits on the couch in the front lounge. "I fucked up the show."
"It wasn't all bad," Ryan mutters, plugging his phone and iPod in their chargers.
"Did you see my mic stand falling down at the piano?" Brendon laughs, getting rid of his shirt.
"Come on, don't pretend like it didn't happen!" Spencer snaps, wondering if their obstinacy is intentional.
"Dude, okay, something totally went tits up there for a second," Brendon agrees, kicking his chucks off towards the bunks. "But we coulda pushed through it. You didn't have to stop."
Spencer closes his eyes and slumps forward; relieved that he's finally given some honesty. Brendon loves him but he also knows that Brendon never lies about music.
"Yeah, sorry, about that man, I tried to get you back in," Jon offers, as if it's partially his fault. He's digging for snacks. None of them are taking this seriously enough.
"I was just going to ignore you." Ryan's deadpan is meant to be a comforting humor but Spencer won't have it and raises his voice.
"Son of a bitch, you guys! Don't you get it?"
"Hey, man," Brendon drops next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "It wasn't like-"
But Spencer doesn't want any more placating. He wants them to admit there's something wrong with him. He angrily shrugs Brendon's arm off but somehow, he doesn't even know, his elbow connects, bashing Brendon in the face with a pulpy thunk.
"Whoa," and "Christ!" Spencer hears from Jon and Ryan.
"Shit. Brendon, are you…? I didn't…" Spencer can't find words, not when Brendon's hands are clasped over his face, eyes screwed shut.
"Ow," Brendon bellows and blood begins to dribble out between his fingers.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Okay. Um. Let's..."
"Fucking ow, mother fuck!" Brendon's eyes are tearing and Jon's got a hand on the back of his neck as he holds up a towel.
"Hey, Spence, don't just leave," he hears Ryan call as he gets off the bus.
/\
"Mom," Spencer says, his voice loud in a dark corner of the green room. "Sorry, it's late, I know."
"That's okay. I stayed up to watch the Jonas Brothers on Jimmy Kimmel. I gotta say, I just don't get them."
Spencer laughs. It's wetter than it should sound.
"So, what's going on, kiddo? Is the show over?" Her voice is tight now, even and knowing. "You on the bus?"
"No. I don't know. Somewhere in the venue." He feels like if he could throw up and have another drink, he'd feel better again. That really shouldn't make sense.
"Is Ryan there with you? Where's Zack?"
"No, I'm … I didn’t know where to go."
The silence between them is a standoff and he wins, but only because she worries.
"Honey, are you in trouble? Should I call Pete? I still have his number."
"God, Mom. No. Christ. He doesn't even..." Spencer huffs. His mom still thinks of Pete Wentz as the guy who took her boys away from home and promised he'd look after them. "I just wanted – tell me what's up with Dad, okay? How're the girls?"
She sighs but takes pity on him and pathetic as it is, from her, Spencer wants it; he is calling his mommy after all.
She prattles on about Jackie's boyfriend and Crystal's job and his dad driving down to Scottsdale to pick up a new VW bug to restore. She doesn't ask him about his sniffling. It's only allergies anyway.
"And you?" she eventually asks. "I saw pictures. Very handsome, honey, but you look tired."
"I am. … I'm fucking everything up, Mom."
"Hm. Did somebody tell you that? Someone who matters, I mean."
Spencer laughs and twists in the padded chair, pressing his forehead into the back.
"Can you fix it? Do you need to apologize?"
He appreciates that she doesn't ask for details, because he would tell her everything if she did. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"That's the first step, then. And what does 'I'm sorry' mean?" she asks, echoing the phrase he grew up with.
He rolls his eyes and switches his cell to the other ear. "Mom."
"Spencer James."
He sits up in the empty room and scrubs his palm over his eyes. "'I'm sorry means I'll never do it again'," he sing-songs the oath he made a million times as a child and they both laugh quietly.
"Good boy. You're in charge of you, you know that."
"I know."
"Get some rest. I love you, sweetie."
"You, too."
/\
Spencer drinks a bottle of Fiji water and pees for a minute straight before going back to the bus. He knows it's nearly bus call, but he's not quite late yet.
Zack is leaning against the door of the bus, his arms crossed, looking tired and pissed off. He usually has a big supportive smile for Spencer but doesn't this time and Spencer has a shadow of a worry that maybe he's there to keep Spencer off the bus.
"You assholes pay me a lot of money to keep you safe. Do I have to keep you from hurting each other now, too?"
He doesn't actually wait for a response though, just deflates slightly, giving Spencer a rueful not-quite smile and punches in the security code.
Brendon is next to Jon on the couch, elbows on his knees, holding a pink-tinged, white venue towel with ice to his nose.
Jon's holding a bottle of Corona loosely in one hand but he puts the other on Brendon's shoulder when he sees Spencer. It's almost a protective gesture and it breaks Spencer a little. He knows his 'I'm sorry' face looks remarkably similar to his 'fuck off' face and hopes that Jon will give him the benefit of the doubt in this one.
Jon considers him before tilting his head back, chin jutting forward, as if giving permission for Spencer to come forward.
"Bren – Brendon?" Spencer corrects, not sure he's permitted nicknames right now. "Jesus, are you okay?"
Brendon looks up with red, but dry, eyes. Peering at Spencer over the towel, he shrugs and nods, then shakes his head and generally doesn't commit to an answer.
Spencer feels like he's got three different tempos thrumming in his body, all competing for space in his head and he's overly aware of his knees and his feet and he has to sit down right now.
"I'm sorry." He moves carefully to sit next to Brendon.
"Didn't bean to bake you bad," Brendon says, his swollen nose making all of his 'M's sound like 'B's and it's ridiculous.
There's a beat of silence before the three of them break into sharp, inappropriate chuckles.
"I wasn't mad – not at you. Fuck, guys, I-"
Brendon's little but he hugs big and Jon's hand also wraps around the back of his head and Spencer wishes he could say more. Just for a moment he feels his true Rhythm beat a little stronger than the disjointed white noise he can't shut off.
"You totally have to bake be breakfast, now," Brendon says, offering Spencer some repentance. He remembers that Brendon understands the need for that sometimes.
"I will. I'll make you all breakfast." The hangover will be a bitch but he'll do it for them.
He pulls away from Brendon when Ryan comes in but his effort to stand could be punctuated with a rimshot and he remains sitting. Ryan sits across from them by the table, looking like the fucking Godfather with his arms and legs crossed, giving him a cold glare.
Spencer takes a breath to speak but can't decide on any phrase that slips over his tongue.
"You've got nothing to say? You made Brendon bleed."
Spencer nods.
"The hell?"
He tries again. "Was an accident."
"You're wasted and it was an accident. Hm, that sounds familiar."
Spencer feels like something in his chest implodes and he can't look at Ryan anymore. He's spent most of his life hating George Ross when Ryan couldn't and the comparison hurts.
"I'm sorry," he tries to say, but the words stick in his throat and it comes out as whisper. He wipes angrily at his wet face. "I don't know why." He makes his voice stronger this time, louder, over the crescendo in his head. "I never have any more than you guys do. But it's like...I think it." It's not fair, he thinks. "I'm bigger than you, but it affects me worse."
"Ya think?"
"Ryan," Jon reprimands softly. He doesn't like when any of them argue.
"Want me to go home?" Spencer forces out the question he fears most.
"No. I do not. …You big, stupid, jerk head."
Brendon squeaks and chokes off a snort behind the towel and Spencer can see Jon's toe's curl. Then he peeks up at Ryan and sees the hint of a goading grin.
Spencer finds himself in a pointy, but no less sincere hug with Ryan.
"We'll do something different, okay?" Ryan says, sounding like he's made a decision but hoping they'll agree. "We'll demo some of that stuff we worked on. See some movies? Maybe Zack can find something to set on fire."
"That'd be cool."
"Yeah, man. We can ease up for a while," Jon says. Spencer wonders why it's so easy for him.
"Yeah, ban." Brendon joins the hugging. "We can hack, too."
Spencer falls asleep on the couch with them, his body jerking him awake throughout the night whenever his Rhythm skips ahead, but someone is always there with a hand on his shoulder so he doesn't get lost again.
/\
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 04:34 pm (UTC)Thank you. I wanted to explore a little H/C with the boy. *squish*
no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 09:51 pm (UTC)It really is beautiful, I've bene thinking about each little moment ever since.
What does H/C mean? I am not hip n happening with the lingo...
no subject
Date: 2009-01-17 11:00 am (UTC)see? i'm jive with the lowdown yo.
roflmao
no subject
Date: 2009-01-17 11:11 am (UTC)*shows off ANOTHER new icon which unfortunately has little to do with this fic but maple won't mind*
And, you two. I canot possibly admit how much I have been thinking about rpf fic (is that like saying ATM machine?) in the last couple of days!
I almost think I'm nearly going to break. SHhhhh!!!!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-17 11:21 am (UTC)*wafts delicious fic under your nose*
mmmmmmmmm..... it's niiiiiiiiice.....
:~D