Pas de Trois (Part Six): gift for roga

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Brendon started to pay more attention to George's doings. He was curious why George refused to let them hold a ball in their own house. Ryan had dropped the matter entirely, but Brendon was adamant on going through with it.

If Cook knew of any reasons why George was against the ball, she wasn't divulging them. On the one hand, Brendon respected her in her loyalty to her old master, on the other hand, he found it increasingly frustrating.

"I want a ball," Brendon said grumpily one morning over breakfast. "Why can't we just organise one? We don't need his approval."

Spencer snorted. "George still thinks that he can order Ryan around. And currently Ryan isn't capable of defying that."

Brendon sighed. "It's a ball," he said. "We're not planning to sell the business. We're even paying for it ourselves!"

"I know," Spencer said patiently. "George will have his reasons."

"I'm convinced his reasons are stupid," Brendon said. "I wish I could ask him why."

Brendon got his chance to ask George himself rather sooner than he'd expected.

When Ryan came home that evening, he was looking grim. "Father will join us for supper," he said. Brendon was slowly becoming able to discern his moods even from his flat monotones. It always gave him a thrill when he could make out one of Ryan's little tells--just one slightly too long pause, one stretched vowel when it should be short.

Ryan, Brendon could tell, wasn't very pleased. He was tired, moving slowly and carefully, obvious in the way he dropped his endings.

Brendon had exactly two seconds to put on a smile, when George appeared right after Ryan, Spencer in tow. "Good evening, Father," Brendon said. "It's a pleasure seeing you again. It's been a while since you've eaten with us."

"Not much reason in coming here all the time," George said. "If I want to be bored to death, I can go to my other club."

Brendon blinked, but managed to keep his smile on his face. "I will tell Johnson to set one more place," he said and escaped to the kitchen.

"We'll need more wine," was Cook's only comment. She was just about to send Anna to the cellar.

"No, we don't," Brendon said. "We do not wish for any more wine."

Cook looked at Brendon. "Very well, sir."

Brendon took a deep breath before he returned to the dining room. "Excuse me," he said as he entered. "But there were a few questions I had to deal with."

"Ah, ever the good housekeeper," George said, but there was no affection in his voice.

Brendon sat down quickly. He glanced at Ryan and Spencer, while he served himself. They were both tense. Spencer was easier to read than Ryan--his shoulders were tight, , his knuckles white as he gripped his fork and knife tightly. Ryan was simply quiet and hardly moved.

Brendon remembered Spencer's words very well. He wondered what had happened to cause George to come by, when he found it so boring to visit his son.

The silence at the table became too oppressing for Brendon, and he decided on some simple, nice conversational topics. "The days are getting colder," he said. "I fear soon we must say goodbye to summer."

"With a ball perchance?" George snorted. "I'm still not accepting any of this nonsense in my house."

"Well, it's not actually your house," Brendon said. He had to suppress a startled squeak when Spencer stepped down on his foot--gently, but surprising anyway. Brendon understood the warning--You're not being careful.

Thankfully George just laughed. "As long as I live, this will be my house--and my money. So I get to decide whether or not you're hosting an extravagant ball."

Brendon kept his head down afterwards, but apparently now that he'd started, George felt in a talkative mood. His next words made Brendon choke on his potatoes, however.

"So, Ryan, tell me, how are your husbands in the bed room?"

Brendon's eyes water and he spit out his potatoes back onto his plate. Next to him Spencer wasn't faring much better. Ryan just stared at his father--he'd been lucky in so far that he hadn't started eating yet. "Pardon me?"

"Oh, son," George Ross said and he took a huge sip from his wine glass. It was in that moment when Brendon found evidence for what he'd already assumed: it wasn't the first drink for George Ross this evening. His movements were a bit unsteady and his eyes were glassy.

"Especially that one," George said, pointing to Brendon.

Ryan stared at Brendon, his mouth opening and closing a few times. There was something in his eyes that Brendon couldn't read, an emotion that he hadn't seen before. "He's my husband," Ryan said, a plaintive note in his voice. "Wouldn't you like to know--Spencer's told me about his plans for the warehouses, they're --"

It was fear, Brendon realised. Pure, unadulterated fear.

"No, I don't," George said. "I thought I taught you to listen and obey." His voice turned loud and Brendon instinctively edged closer to Spencer. The motion didn't go unnoticed.

George laughed loudly. "So that's how it is? He has to take over taking care of things? I should've figured it out myself."

"Father," Ryan said quietly. "I don't think--"

But his father talked over him without even listening. "I always knew you weren't man enough to take it up with two spouses."

Brendon could only watch in anguish as Ryan grew pale. He felt unable to move. He'd expected--he hadn't expected this.

"George," Spencer said, shocked and sad.

"No, I figured choosing this frigid one would at least enable him to satisfy you, but apparently he doesn't have enough stamina to do even that."

"I'm not frigid," Brendon said. He could hardly breathe. He thought of all the nights he'd spent with Spencer, and he longed to throw them at George, but that--he'd spent them all with Spencer, and it would just be another bit of ammunition for George. "You bargained for my hand in marriage."

"Well, yes, there are still enough stupid people left who think a great deal of the name Urie. I would have been out of my mind if I had let that opportunity pass." George shrugged. "Your part of the woods is pretty religious, it stood to reason you wouldn't be amenable to what my son had to offer you. He's been sharing the bed with that one," he pointed to Spencer, "for so long he probably can't do anything for anyone else."

"George, this is enough," Spencer said sharply.

"Oh, see, your knight in shining armour is coming to your rescue," George said to Ryan, who was grabbing the edge of the table so firmly his knuckles were turning white. "Aren't you so proud you have at least one man in your house who knows how to handle being a man?"

"George," Brendon said. "Stop."

It was entirely the wrong thing to say.

"Oh, stop it, you snotty brat," George said. Brendon sat still, but he looked George into the eye. He wouldn't sit here quietly and let George abuse Ryan. "This house still belongs to me and I can talk to my son however I want to."

"I won't let you," Brendon said. He stopped when he saw the tiny head shake Ryan gave him, but it was too late. George Ross shot onto his feet and he leaned over the table. Even though he was still on the other side of the table, it was intimidating enough to make Brendon cower on his chair.

"Shut up," George Ross said. "How would you even try?" He laughed, but the sound was without mirth and joy.

"Father, please," Ryan said. He sounded tiny, sad and defeated.

George Ross turned to Ryan and shoved hard at his shoulder. "You better shut up, too," he said. "You can't even keep your husbands satisfied. I can't believe I raised such a useless waste of space."

A muscle in Ryan's moved, but otherwise he gave no indication of his feelings. Brendon felt sickened by George's behaviour, but he was rooted to his spot--he couldn't have moved if his life had depended on it.

George snorted snidely. "Do you know why I haven't been around, dear Brendon?" He made the endearment sound dirty and Brendon felt even more aghast. "I can find better company at the whorehouse around the corner."

George stepped around the table. "Johnson! Get my carriage ready at once."

"Very well, sir."

George stood directly behind Brendon and it was the most uncomfortable Brendon had ever felt. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing calm, but it was like he could feel George closing in on him and Brendon started to shake slightly, his muscles so tense they hurt.

"As I thought," George said. "You are all gutless worms."

Someone--Spencer, Brendon thought, Spencer had been sitting next to him at the table--took Brendon's hand under the table and squeezed it hard.

"Your carriage is ready, sir," Johnson said.

"That took too long," George said. "Not that those sissies give you any reason to deal with carriages. Has anyone ever been to see them here?"

Brendon wished George would just leave already. Ryan seemed to become even paler and Brendon was afraid he would faint any moment now.

"The horses are getting impatient, sir," Johnson said, his voice emotionless and calm as ever. Brendon envied him that in this moment. He felt like he was going to shatter into a million tiny pieces if he breathed the wrong way, too many emotions warring in him. They had been right all along and Ryan--Ryan had tried to protect them, or his father, or possibly all of them.

"Nothing's keeping me here, anyway," George said. Brendon could hear his heavy footsteps in the hallway, a bump and a clatter--most like the decorative wooden box on the sideboard next to the sitting room. Brendon caught himself with the inane hope it wasn't broken--it wasn't the box he cared about..

"Ryan, why didn't you tell us?" Spencer said as soon as they heard the tell-tale noise of a carriage leaving their driveway--the final sign that George was gone.

Ryan just shook his head. "There wasn't anything to tell."

Brendon sighed. "Please, Ryan," he said. "This--this obviously wasn't anything new."

Ryan didn't say anything. He was staring at his plate, shoulders drawn in tightly. He seemed smaller than usually, a tiny, frightened child. Brendon's chest hurt, when he saw Ryan sitting over there on the other side of the table all alone. Alone, Brendon suddenly noticed, because Ryan had switched their seating arrangements. Ryan should have set in Spencer's place and--Brendon should've been in Ryan's place, next to George.

Brendon got up and walked around the table. "Ryan," he whispered, just announcing himself before he put his hands on Ryan's shoulder, squeezing it gently. He could feel gentle tremors running through Ryan.

"Why didn't you tell me it had started again?" Spencer said, and now he had switched from upset to tired.

"Because you can't change it," Ryan said suddenly, louder than Brendon had expected him to and flinched. "I tried to keep you out of it because he's just going to hurt you, too."

"I could make him stop," Spencer said.

"You'd just make it worse," Ryan said. He shook off Brendon's hands and got up. "He's not going to change, not now."

"But we could help," Brendon tried. "Maybe if--"

"You don't know anything," Ryan spat at Brendon. Brendon took a surprised step back--as lifeless as Ryan had seemed during his father's attack, as livid and angry he was now.

Brendon held up his hands in a placating and soothing manner. "Ryan, I meant-"

"No," Ryan said. "You're entirely useless in this and it's none of your business anyway."

"The way your father attacked me personally makes me think it is my business," Brendon said.

"No, it's not, it's my business alone." Ryan glared at Brendon with such an intensity that Brendon took another step back. "Go away," Ryan said, his voice as disparaging as his father's. "You're of no use here. I only need Spencer."

He sounded eerily similar to his father and his words hit the same wounds his father had caused. Brendon felt his chest become tight and tighter until he couldn't breathe, and he backed away until he stumbled against a chair. He tried to tell himself that it was just Ryan lashing out--Spencer and Brendon had him basically cornered, of course he was trying to protect his father.

But it still hurt, especially when Ryan sneered and asked, "Why are you still here?"

Brendon looked at Spencer, who inclined his head toward the door. Brendon took a deep breath. "I'll be upstairs if, if you need me," he said.

"We won't," Ryan said and it was--it felt so like that first night. Brendon tried to remind himself that Ryan didn't mean it. He forced himself to walk out quietly, to keep himself from running, from making the same mistake as back then. But what he did was still fleeing to his room.

Brendon leaned against the door and tried to regain some composure. Ryan was upset, he knew, but Ryan had--he'd let Brendon touch him and squeeze his shoulder. That meant more than any words Ryan'd said.

Brendon slowly slid down the door and collapsed in a heap on the floor. He just sat there, without the will to move. The light was fading and Brendon found it soothing.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but it couldn't have been for long when someone knocked on his door. At first Brendon didn't react. He ignored the second knock as well as the third. But his visitor tried to open his door and hit Brendon rather forcefully.

"It's me," Spencer said. "Please let me in."

Brendon scooted away from the door, just enough that Spencer could slip in.

"Brendon--"

"Why did he say those things?"

"To drive you away," Spencer said as he squatted in front of Brendon.

Brendon sighed, relieved. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am." Spencer sighed. "You weren't here for the first time," he said. "He tried it with me, too, back then."

"Did it work?"

"What do you think?" Spencer said dryly. "Of course not."

Brendon snorted. "You'd figure he would have learned by now that it isn't a very good way to protect someone.

"No, it's not," Spencer said. He sat down in front of Brendon. Brendon reached for his hands, but then Spencer pulled Brendon into his lap.

Brendon chuckled and pushed his nose against Spencer's throat. He could hear Spencer's heartbeat and it was comforting him.

"How is he?" Brendon asked.

"Stubborn," Spencer said. "He insists that neither of us should get involved. He wants to keep us safe."

"How noble," Brendon said. "And how stupid."

Spencer chuckled. "Rest assured, I told him both of these things."

"Did he listen?"

"Unlikely."

Brendon sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"Ryan's had weird ideals about nobility and suffering in silence, even when other people could help with his problems. He'll come around."

"No, I meant--his father," Brendon said. "It's--we can't let it go on like that."

"I know," Spencer said and the cheerful note left his voice. "But I don't know how to put a stop to it."

"You said there was a last time," Brendon said.

Spencer sighed. "That remedy unfortunately won't work. Ryan was--it was after Maggie died, and when things grew bad, my family took Ryan in for a few months. Officially, it was just while his father was travelling and until he'd found a tutor for Ryan."

"And then?"

"Losing Ryan seemed to clear George's head," Spencer said. "He stopped drinking a few weeks after Ryan had come to live with us and after that--nothing happened anymore."

"Spencer," Brendon said. "Do you think he would listen to your parents?"

"I honestly don't know," Spencer said. "I always thought--they used to be friends, but I'm not so sure anymore."

"But it's worth trying," Brendon said. "We can't just--not do anything."

"Of course we can try," Spencer said softly. "I'll send them a note tomorrow."

"Why now, I wonder," Brendon said. "Nobody died."

"Who knows," Spencer said. "I don't care about his reasons--I just want him to stop."

Brendon tilted his face up and kissed the corner of Spencer's mouth. "We'll figure something out," he said.

Spencer smiled at Brendon. "Yes, I hope so."

Brendon reluctantly got up and stretched. "Are you--" He stopped himself.

"Am I what? Spencer stood behind Brendon, his hands on Brendon's hip.

"Are you going to stay here tonight?" Brendon whispered. "I'm sorry--you should go to Ryan. He needs you and--"

"Ryan wants to be alone tonight," Spencer said.

Brendon frowned. "Do you think that's a wise idea?"

"No," Spencer said. "But it was his decision. And if he wants to be alone, then, well, he can be alone. He needs to be by himself to figure this out for himself--so be it."

Brendon hummed. "I hope you're right," he said.

"Wait," Spencer said. "You'll see tomorrow morning. Trust me on this--I have many years of experience in dealing with the moods of Ryan Ross."

Brendon still felt a bit guilty when they lay in bed together, holding on to each other.

"Soon," Spencer said. "Just give him time."

Brendon hoped that Spencer was right.

~~~***~~~

Ryan did apologise the next morning. "I'm sorry that I was so unkind to you," he said, "but it was just for your own protection."

Despite Spencer's pleading, Ryan still believed that both Spencer and Brendon should stay away from his father--and from Ryan. "It won't do you any good," he said. "It's best to keep out of sight."

"So he can unleash his temper on you?" Spencer asked. He wasn't pleased by this turn of events, Brendon could tell. He was gripping his fork and knife tightly. "That is supposed to help us how?"

"I don't know," Ryan said testily. "But unless you have a surefire way how to make him stop entirely, that's the best I can do." He poked at his eggs, but made no move to eat any of them. "I just want to keep you safe," he said softly. "Please, let me do this at least."

Brendon reached for Ryan's hand. "But if it gets too bad, you must tell us," he said. "Please."

"I will." Ryan gave Brendon another one of those little, hopeful smiles. "But right now he's--I wish to keep you out of harm's way."

Brendon couldn't help but admire Ryan for his resolve. He also found it very infuriating, the way Ryan rejected all their offers of help, but Ryan wasn't to be persuaded.

His admiration soon faded when it became apparent how Ryan intended to protect them.

The next few days Brendon sat in the sitting room with bated breath each evening when the carriage arrived, hoping that it would only be carrying two people instead of three. All too often there was even only one passenger.

"They've gone to the club again," Spencer said. He sounded exhausted.

"I wish Ryan wouldn't insist on accompanying him. He's making himself miserable," Brendon said. Because of his worry about Ryan, his words came out sharper than he'd intended them.

"Don't shoot the messenger." Spencer sat down heavily at the dinner table. "I tried my best to convince him to come home with me, but there's no reasoning with right now."

"It's a crazy idea," Brendon said. "He simply accompanies his father to the club, so George won't come to the house--and as a result Ryan's hardly home anymore."

"I know," Spencer said soothingly.

""He hasn't eaten dinner with us in days." Brendon stabbed his vegetables viciously.

Spencer sighed as he served himself. "He'll eat at the club," he said. "I'm sure he's eating something, at least."

"Are you sure that's enough?" Brendon eyed Spencer's plate. "Because there's still lots of meat left and--"

"Brendon," Spencer said firmly, "fattening me won't help Ryan."

"He's lost weight," Brendon said softly.

"I know."

"He's always pale and he hardly talks anymore." Brendon felt helpless--every time he tried to talk to Ryan, Ryan just shook his head and made up a reason to leave. "I wish we could do more."

Spencer leaned back in his chair. "My father tried to talk to him," he said. "But George was--he wouldn't even listen. He says it's no one's business and, unfortunately, my father agrees. There's little my parents can do if George's unwilling to accept their messages."

Brendon heaved a huge sigh. "I wish Ryan would let at least us help him."

Spencer squeezed Brendon's hand. "George's still Ryan's father," he said softly. "Even after everything, he's still Ryan's family. It's why he goes to the club with him--to make sure his father will get home safely."

"And in the meantime, Ryan lets himself be insulted and belittled, with us standing in the shadows and having to watch." Brendon leaned against Spencer's shoulders.

"Tomorrow I will make sure Ryan comes home with me," Spencer said.

"Please," Brendon said. He sighed. "I wish something would happen. Something to make it stop."

He didn't know how soon his wish would come true.

~~~***~~~

Spencer did make true on his promise, and the following evening he entered the sitting room with Ryan in tow. "See, I've brought a guest."

Brendon laughed and got up hurriedly. "Cook has kept the food warm in the kitchen," he said. "I'll make them bring it out again."

"I wish you wouldn't joke like that," Ryan said. He spoke slowly, and every word was carefully enunciated, but he couldn't hide his exhaustion--it showed in the way he dropped his vowels. "I still live here."

"He just means that we miss you," Brendon said softly. "Please don't be cross."

Ryan frowned at Brendon. "I don't know that there's much to miss," he said.

Brendon frowned back at him. "You're my husband," he said firmly. "I swore to honour and love you for the rest of my life. Of course, I'm going to miss you when you're not around."

Ryan gave Brendon another intense look. "Do you also miss the cold when you're warm?"

"I don't know what you mean," Brendon said.

"You can only miss good things in your life," Ryan said.

"And so I miss you," Brendon said. He felt incomplete without Ryan--he had grown to like Ryan's witty comments on his books, the way he mocked particularly incoherent metaphors in poems. Whenever Brendon played the piano, he expected two people to be listening.

Ryan was a bit surprised, Brendon saw, but he didn't seem upset. He just said, "I see."

His quiet contemplation made Brendon nervous, and he overcompensated by talking too much. During dinner, Ryan gave his plate his utmost attention and Brendon found it difficult to say whether it was because Ryan was especially hungry or because Brendon's stories were boring him. Sometimes he still couldn't read Ryan at all, and he saw it as incentive to try harder.

"You should go to bed before you fall face first onto your plate," Spencer said. He still had a carrot on his fork and it wobbled dangerously when Spencer gestured at Ryan. "If you fall asleep at the table, poor Brendon will think it'll be his fault."

"I'm not a child that you can send to bed," Ryan said, but his attitude was broken by a huge yawn.

Brendon couldn't suppress a giggle. "I'm afraid I'm putting you to sleep with my stories," he said.

Ryan yawned again and shook his head. "It's been a long day," he said.

"You mean a short night," Spencer said. He didn't hide the disapproval in his voice.

"Spencer," Ryan said quietly. "Please, let's not have this conversation again."

Spencer stabbed at his meat viciously. "It has been going on for too long," he said. "Ryan, something needs to change."

"I'd appreciate it if we could have this conversation when I'm rested," Ryan said. "Right now I'm too tired to fight with you."

"I don't want to fight."

"I know," Ryan said. "So let's just not do it--at least tonight."

Brendon put his hand on Spencer's arm. "We understand, Ryan. But we also worry."

"I know," Ryan said sharply. "You seem intent to remind me of it every time we talk." He got up without even finishing his meal. "I'll go to bed now." He left without giving either of them a good night kiss.

"God, he's so infuriating," Spencer said. "I tried to talk to him earlier today, but he won't listen."

"But you managed to bring him to come home," Brendon said. "That's at least something."

Spencer sighed. "I hope so," he said. "He might just be too exhausted to deal with the club today."

Brendon thought Ryan's exhaustion was contagious, as he felt absurdly tired, too. He propped up his chin on his hand and watched Spencer eat. He didn't realise he'd closed his eyes until Spencer gently shook his shoulder.

"Brendon," he said softly. "Come on."

Spencer led Brendon to Brendon's room, but he stopped in front of it. "Good night," he said. "I'll look after Ryan quickly and then go to bed."

Brendon put on a brave face--he had thought this evening to take a different route. He hadn't expected to go to sleep all alone tonight. "I understand."

Spencer leaned in and kissed Brendon. Brendon fisted Spencer's shirt and held his hand so tightly it must have hurt. It was terribly difficult to let go of Spencer.

"Tomorrow night," Spencer said, and he sounded desperate and sad. "Tomorrow, all right?"

Brendon nodded. He understood Spencer's dilemma--two men staking claims on his time, and he knew that whenever Spencer had to choose between them, it weighed heavily on his mind. For a moment he considered following Spencer, crawling into bed with them, after they'd fallen asleep. Maybe in sleep Brendon could obtain the physical affection he craved--maybe Ryan would even let Brendon hug him. But Brendon discarded the idea--if Ryan wasn't ready to let Brendon close now, he wouldn't react favourably to Brendon forcing himself on Ryan when he couldn't defend himself.

It didn't make him feel any better about lying alone in his cold bed, though. Brendon slept in fits and starts, jerking awake from half-remembered dreams, his heart pounding and his nightclothes wet from sweat. He hoped that whatever rest Ryan got was better than Brendon's.

In the morning, Brendon felt like he hadn't slept at all. His bones ached, as he dragged himself to the breakfast table to at least share that meal with both of his husbands. Brendon hoped he wasn't going to fall sick.

Ryan looked relaxed and he wasn't as pale as the day before, which made Brendon feel slightly better.

"Good morning, Brendon," Spencer said. He smiled at Brendon, but his face fell when he got a closer look at Brendon. "Are you unwell?"

"Bad night," Brendon said. "Nothing a bit of tea and toast won't fix." And, Brendon hoped, a nap in the afternoon.

"You need to take care of yourself," Ryan said.

Brendon blinked at Ryan owlishly. He thought that Ryan, who seemed to subsist on tea and the occasional scone, who willingly chose to spend many nights at the club, where he didn't even drink anything because he disliked alcohol violently, for obvious reasons--Brendon felt that Ryan wasn't particularly good at taking care of himself and he shouldn't go around and admonish other people.

Someone knocked on the dining room door. They all turned around. "Good morning, Johnson," Brendon said.

Johnson was his usual composed, calm self, but the way he was holding himself seemed to be even more rigid than usually.

"Master Ryan, there's been an accident," Johnson said.

~~~***~~~

Brendon paced along the length of the sitting room. "I don't understand why he wanted to go alone," he said. "He should've taken one of us along."

"I completely agree with you," Spencer said. Brendon didn't know how Spencer could just sit there and calmly read.

"Aren't you upset at all?" Brendon stopped in front of Spencer and put his hands on his hips.

Spencer sighed and put his book aside. "Come here," he said and patted the sofa cushion next to him.

"I don't want to sit down," Brendon said. "I want to be with Ryan now."

"But Ryan," Spencer said softly, "wants to be alone."

"I don't understand why." Brendon hated the high, whiney quality to his voice, but he couldn't stop it.

Spencer reached for Brendon and pulled him down next to him. "Ryan's used to dealing with his father alone."

"I still think it would've been wiser to not go alone."

Spencer groaned. "I clearly remember you being there while I tried to reason with him. I hope you remember that he was stubbornly refusing to accept any help."

Brendon leaned against Spencer. "I'm worried," he said. "Ryan didn't even let you read the note."

"Maybe George was sick," Spencer said. "Maybe he got into a fight. It could be anything." He kissed Brendon's temple. "Ryan has been trying to shield us from his father for weeks--I don't think he would like us to see him in whatever dreadful state he must be in now."

Brendon pressed his face against Spencer's shoulder. He knew that Spencer was probably right, that George Ross was a proud man and wouldn't react favourably if they caught him in a weak moment, but it still didn't feel right.

"He should be back by now," Brendon whispered. "If he just had to go and pick George up, they should be here by now. It's only a few minutes to the club and Ryan's been gone for more than one hour already."

"He'll be here soon," Spencer said.

"But don't you have to go to the office?" Brendon dimly remembered Spencer being anxious about the end-of-quarter closing.

"Not until we know what is going on with George," Spencer said. "But don't worry about that, I already sent word--they're not expecting any of us in today."

"So we'll wait," Brendon said.

"Yes," Spencer said. He picked his book back up and continued reading. Brendon stayed right next to him.

"I hate waiting," Brendon said after a few minutes. His skin was itching with the need to do something, while at the same time his mind was racing, thinking up all sorts of scenarios and different reasons for what happened with George and why it was taking Ryan so long to bring him home. Brendon didn't relish the thought of having George in his home, but no matter how George had treated them, he was still family.

Spencer took a deep breath. "I hardly noticed," he said dryly. "How about you play me some music?"

Brendon played "Midnight Rhapsody," as he'd named Maggie's composition, twice and Ryan still hadn't come home. Then he played Spencer's favourite sonata, a popular song he had heard Anna and Virginia sing while cleaning (it was delightfully dirty and Brendon loved the pun, although most of them weren't very good), a few finger exercises to relax his hands and, lastly, a half-finished sonata he'd been working on when he was younger.

And Ryan still hadn't come, and no message had been delivered and it was past lunch time.

"He'll come soon," Spencer said, but there was a desperate note in his voice that told Brendon that Spencer was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Brendon of the truth in his words.

"Spencer, I--" Brendon shook his head. "Shall I play some more?" Brendon couldn't offer any comfort but distraction to Spencer and music had always been a cure-all for Brendon.

"Please." Spencer sat down next to the Brendon on the narrow piano bench and wrapped his arm around Brendon. It constricted Brendon, but he didn't say anything to Spencer. He leaned heavily against Spencer and played whatever he could with his right hand. Spencer let his head fall forward and rest against Brendon's shoulder.

Despite his anxiety Brendon felt warmth envelope him at the gesture. Spencer was here, at least, and Brendon didn't have to be alone.

When Ryan finally came home, he was bearing grave news.

"I'm sorry that I'm so late," Ryan said suddenly from behind Brendon. Brendon startled and banged his hand against the piano keys--he hadn't heard the carriage arrive or Ryan come into the room. Spencer lifted his head from Brendon's shoulder and took a startled breath.

"Ryan, what--?"

Spencer sounded shocked and scared, which prompted Brendon's heart to beat faster. He turned around and was alarmed by Ryan's expression. Ryan was paler than ever, his face a ashen complexion, and his eyes were reddened.

"Taking care of everything took longer than expected," Ryan said. "I'd never thought--I mean, I was still little, but I don't remember--well, everything took much longer."

"Ryan," Brendon said softly. He'd never heard Ryan not finish a sentence and it frightened him. Ryan didn't seem to hear neither Spencer nor Brendon, though, as he kept talking without stopping.

"But it's all done now--I hope. And, I'm sorry, but. I should now."

Spencer slowly got up and walked up to Ryan, reaching out with his hand carefully, like he would treat a frightened animal. "Ryan," he said gently, "Ryan, listen to me."

Spencer put his hand on Ryan's arm and only then Ryan seemed to notice him.

"Spencer," Ryan said. "Spencer, I'm sorry."

"Ryan, what happened?"

Brendon followed Spencer carefully, unsure of his place. Ryan didn't even seem to see Brendon.

"Where's your father, Ryan?"

Ryan closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Brendon saw tears glistening in them. Brendon felt a new surge of fear rise up. He moved to Ryan's other side, mirroring Spencer's movement. When he touched Ryan, he could feel him shaking, and his worry intensified even more.

"Ryan," Spencer said softly. "Ryan, please tell us."

"My father," Ryan said. "My father's--" His voice broke and he made a sound between a sob and a sigh. "My father's dead," he whispered.

"Oh, Ryan," Brendon said and he wrapped his arms around him. Spencer copied him, and when Brendon could feel Spencer's arms around both him and Ryan, Ryan started to cry.

"It's all right, we're here," Spencer said.

They stood there for long minutes, holding Ryan up while he cried. Brendon pressed his face against Ryan's shoulder and felt tears in his eyes, but he squinted to hold them back. This, right now, was Ryan's moment to grieve.

After Ryan stopped crying, when his hiccups and sobs had died down, they still kept standing there.

"What happened?" Spencer asked.

Ryan chuckled, but there was no mirth or joy in it. "He fell," he said. His voice was rough from drying and he spoke in short surges, as if he had to fight for every word. "He was drunk and he fell down the stairs. It's hilarious, isn't it?"

Brendon didn't find it any bit funny, but he supposed Ryan didn't either. He squeezed Ryan gently in answer instead. He didn't expect Ryan to suddenly push against him.

"And I'm all right," Ryan said, although his entire demeanour was belying his words. "You don't have to cuddle me like a baby."

Spencer sighed loudly. "Ryan," he said, but Ryan shook his head.

"I will go to my room," he said. "I--it's been a difficult day."

"But your father," Brendon said.

"It's all been taken care of," Ryan said. "I did everything."

And then he was gone. Brendon thought the scene was all too familiar. "Is he going to run away from us forever?" he asked Spencer. He couldn't hide his frustration.

"Well, he married us, he can't run far," Spencer said.

"Spencer," Brendon said sharply. He knew it wasn't Spencer he was mad at, but it was impossible not to snap at him. Spencer had the misfortune of being there in the room with him, while Ryan was locked into his own room, brooding.

"Brendon," Spencer said back in the same voice. "Give him time."

Brendon sat down on the piano bench again. "I feel like all I'm doing is waiting for Ryan," he said grumpily.

Spencer kneeled down in front of him. "Please do me the favour," he said. "After all, we waited for you to be ready, too."

Brendon felt incredibly guilty. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Spencer said. "I can deal with being the only sane, well-adjusted person in this marriage."

Brendon smacked Spencer's arm lightly. "Hey," he said.

Spencer leaned up and kissed him. "I don't know what all this means yet," he said. "But at least George cannot hurt him anymore--and neither of us, too."

"Do you think he's sad that his father's gone?" Brendon scuffed his shoes against the wooden floor.

"Yes," Spencer said.

"Even after everything?" Brendon still felt sullied and hurt by George's remarks--he couldn't imagine how Ryan must feel, as it had been his own father hurling those insults at him.

"He was Ryan's father," Spencer said. He leaned up and kissed Brendon softly. "I'll go check up on Ryan."

"I understand," Brendon said quietly.

"You could try and come by in a bit," Spencer said.

"Do you think he'll want to see me?"

"I'm sure of it."

~~~***~~~

Ryan didn't want to see Brendon. Ryan didn't want to see anyone, Spencer included. He only let Spencer's mother into his room. She wouldn't tell Spencer and Brendon what they'd talked about, though.

"He's grieving," she simply said.

Spencer was sitting on the couch, staring listlessly ahead. "He's never thrown me out of his room before," he said. "Not even when we had a huge fight, he's always let me back in immediately."

"But this is different," Brendon said. He wrapped his arm around Spencer's shoulder and pulled him down so Spencer's head was resting on Brendon's shoulder. "His father died, his last parent. Ryan feels alone."

"He still has us," Spencer said.

"You told me to give him time," Brendon said. "I think it's pretty sound advice."

Spencer sighed. "It's just--I've never seen him like this before."

Brendon patted Spencer's head, running his fingers through his hair. "If he doesn't come out of his room tomorrow, we'll stage an intervention."

Spencer puffed. "We sure will," he said. "At least he's eating."

"I don't think you can call three spoonfuls of porridge eating," Brendon said.

"Tomorrow?" Spencer asked, his voice full of hope.

"Tomorrow," Brendon said determined. "It'll allow him to grieve on his own for some time, but he needs to talk to us."

"Since when do you know so much about grieving?" Spencer asked softly.

"Lilian was my father's second wife," Brendon said. "She took care of me when I was little, she was my nanny. She died when I was five."

"I'm sorry," Spencer said.

"It's been a long time," Brendon said. "But my sister went into her room and refused to come out--she'd been close to Lilian."

Spencer sighed. "I'll trust your judgement."

Brendon hoped they wouldn't have to break down Ryan's door. It was a strong oak door, beautifully carved, and Brendon didn't want to hack it down with an axe. He was fully prepared to make good on his threat, though, which he'd loudly announced in front of Ryan's rooms. He assumed it was partly why they had been able to make Ryan eat--Brendon had wondered as loudly as possible how long Ryan would be able to survive without food, only to decide that they would have to break down the door the next morning.

Although Ryan had outright refused to open it even a crack, Brendon had Anna put down the tray with the food they'd prepared in front of Ryan's rooms. It was a relief to find the tray gone one hour later.

No cajoling had brought Ryan to let anyone in, not even Spencer--at best, they would get a quiet, "Just leave me alone"; at worst, they didn't receive any answer.

"I wish I knew what he's doing in there," Spencer said.

"He'll tell us soon enough," Brendon said.

Spencer, steady, calm Spencer, was completely taken apart by Ryan's refusal to acknowledge him. Brendon was now the one providing comfort, and he found the switch of their usual roles to be bittersweet. He felt it strengthened his own position in their relationship, but the price it came with seemed too high. Brendon had been afraid of being a drain on Spencer, of always demanding and never giving back anything. Spencer had laughed when Brendon admitted it and said his music was enough to compensate. Brendon hadn't believed him--how much could his music do?

But now it was Brendon holding Spencer up and giving him the energy he needed to keep up the daily business. George's death had thrown everyone into a frenzy and they received message after message, all asking for some kind of business information, and Spencer had been busy with trying to deal with them, while Brendon was organising the house--Ryan had to be fed, even though he refused to come down; the funeral had to be organised; Brendon had to keep Spencer from working until midnight.

"There's still so much to do," Spencer said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"It'll still be here tomorrow," Brendon said.

"Tomorrow we will coax Ryan out of his room."

"Or force him," Brendon said. "But now we must go to sleep."

Brendon slept badly that night, haunted by dreams of George Ross telling him that he was not good enough for his son. And he wondered what they would do if Ryan still refused to talk to them after he came out of his room. Brendon remembered his father ordering Kara to behave normally--and, after a while, she had. Brendon didn't think that would work well with Ryan, though.

In the morning, it turned out that all his fears had been for nothing. Ryan was at the breakfast table long before Spencer and Brendon got up.

"We have to go to the office early today," Ryan said as they entered the dining room. "Father--he still made many of the business decisions. We have to figure out what he was working on."

"Of course," Spencer said. He sat down next to Ryan and reached for his hand. Brendon was relieved to see that Ryan accepted the gesture. "But, Ryan, how are you?"

"I'm fine," Ryan said. He squeezed Spencer's hand. "But we have so much work to do, I hardly know where to start."

"We'll do our best," Brendon said. Ryan looked at him, and his gaze felt like a heavy cloak around Brendon.

"Could you organise the funeral? The hospital still has--" Ryan's voice broke.

"I'll take care of it," Brendon said. He squeezed Ryan's hand. "I'll handle it."

Brendon hadn't ever had to deal with a funeral before and he found the task to be a mix between morbid and soothing. He exchanged many letters with Ginger, asking her to help with the details as he was afraid to make any faux pas. Drafting the invitations, choosing the paper, commissioning scribes to write them... it had a certain mechanic stupor to it that was relaxing. Choosing a coffin was much less so.

"Don't you want to come with me?" he asked Ryan.

"No," Ryan said curtly. Brendon forgave him that--he had contemplated choosing a coffin for his parents and he'd hastily decided to always answer his mother's messages immediately now. "Just take the biggest, most luxurious one."

Brendon was taken a back, but he took Ryan by his word. Personally he thought the huge chestnut coffin lined with red velvet was too much, but he hadn't ever been involved in a rich person's funeral before. But it seemed to fit George--it certainly exhibited his desire to impress and intimidate by wealth.

Spencer and Ryan spent much of their time in the office. "George had already handed over many of the daily responsibilities to Ryan and me," Spencer said the evening before the funeral. "But the overseas business, for example, was something he still handled on his own. It's taking us a long time to read up on all of this."

"Do you think the lawyers will have more information for you?" Brendon rubbed Spencer's shoulders. "About whom to contact and so on?"

"We hope to find George's contacts in his office," Spencer said. He sighed, where he was sprawled out over the couch. Ryan was writing a letter, but not taking part in their conversation. That was how it had been all week--Spencer and Brendon making conversation, while Ryan was sitting close by, quietly.

"He used to be very organised," Spencer continued. "His habits had ... lapsed in recent months and we have to sort through his correspondence."

"I'm sorry that you have so much work," Brendon said. "Would you like me to come with you to the office?" He smiled. "As long as I don't have to crunch numbers, I think I should be of some use to you."

"You always are," Spencer said. He smiled back and kissed Brendon's hand. "We'd appreciate it," he said.

"Is everything prepared for tomorrow?" Ryan slowly got up.

"Yes," Brendon said. "Would you like me to go over--"

"I'll retire now," Ryan said. "I'll see you in the morning."

Brendon sighed after Ryan had gone. "He's so distant," he said. "I wish he'd let us help more with his grief."

"He's not talking much to me in the office, either," Spencer said. He sounded sad and dejected.

"He'll relax when everything is taken care of," Brendon said. "I don't think he'd wanted the first occasion we hosted to be a funeral feast."

"I don't think anybody of us did." Spencer sighed.

No, Brendon thought, as he watched Spencer roll his shoulders. They hadn't.

"Let's go to bed," Brendon said softly.

"All right." Spencer got up slowly. "It feels like a bad dream," he said. "I still--although he has been--I can't believe he's gone."

"Maybe you should allow yourself to grieve, too." Brendon pulled Spencer out of the sitting room, all the way along to his own room. "You've also lost a fatherly figure."

Spencer shook his head. "No, George was--he was a friend, I think, at best, but we never were especially close."

"I see." Brendon pushed Spencer into his bed.

"Don't I get to undress?" Spencer smiled.

"Let me," Brendon said. He slowly and carefully opened each button on Spencer's shirt, pulled his shoes off and unfastened his trousers.

Spencer got up and let his clothes fall onto the floor. Brendon tsked. "I should fold these," he said when Spencer took Brendon's hands and pressed them against his chest.

"They'll have to be cleaned anyway," Spencer said. "Please--hold me."

Brendon kissed Spencer slowly. "Get into bed."

That night, Brendon wrapped himself around Spencer's back, holding him firmly. Spencer twined up their legs and held on tightly to Brendon's hands. Brendon pressed a kiss on Spencer's neck. "Go to sleep," he whispered.

The next morning they had switched positions, Spencer lying on top of Brendon, face buried in Brendon's hair. Brendon woke up slowly, with the sense of something missing.

"Ryan," Brendon whispered.

Spencer sighed, his breath ghosting over Brendon's skin. "Ryan," he repeated.

And then they had to get up for the funeral.

~~~***~~~

Brendon had been to his fair share of funerals before. His town was small enough and his family important enough that it had been taken as a given that they would show up at most funerals, a lord and his family residing over their people in life and death.

But nothing could have prepared Brendon for the masses of people showing up to pay their last respects to George Ross.

"I didn't write this many invitations," Brendon whispered to Spencer as they walked along the church's aisle to their designated seats. "Had I forgotten everyone else?"

"No," Spencer whispered back. "But the clerks of all our businesses have shown up, too. You only met a few, the ones working in our main office. And there are many business partners who didn't need to be invited explicitly."

"That's good." Brendon was relieved. "I would have been ashamed to have overlooked them."

They sat down, one to either side of Ryan. Brendon hadn't known George's likes and dislikes when it came to religion--their wedding hadn't been standard, none of them attended church weekly, and Ryan hadn't been in the mood to answer Brendon's questions. So Brendon had chosen a simple ceremony for the church service, respectful without being conservative and traditional.

It was easy to lose himself in the mechanics of the ceremony--kneel, pray, pay their respects. Brendon felt calmer as he followed the familiar routine. He was only aware of Ryan to his side and Spencer on Ryan's other side; all the other people faded away. When it was time to follow the coffin out of the church and Brendon turned around, he was a little overwhelmed by the mass of people filling the entire church. Walking past them felt like running a gauntlet, although Brendon couldn't tell which assumed misdeeds he was being judged for.

The procession to the gravesite was slow and depressing. The air seemed colder than it was and the sun shone brightly, almost blindingly. Brendon felt uneasy as they stood in front of the open grave and watched the coffin slide down slowly.

The priest said some last words, but Brendon found it difficult to listen. He couldn't stop thinking about the few eulogies they'd heard--Spencer's father had given a short speech, and so had two of George's business partners. They'd spoken of a strong man, full of wit and energy. Brendon wished he'd met the man George Ross had been before--if that man had ever existed. He'd heard too many eulogies that had tearfully romanticised the deceased to put much store in them.

Brendon almost startled when something touched his hands--until he realised it was Ryan reaching out for him. Brendon bowed his head to look at their entwined hands and he squeezed Ryan's hand gently. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ryan holding on to Spencer, too.

It filled Brendon with a strange mix of emotions. Finally, he thought, Ryan had realised that he could trust Spencer and Brendon to hold him up. It also made him proud, to have Ryan's approval after all this time. And mixed in with it all there was a bitter taste of sadness that it had taken the death of Ryan's father for this to finally happen.

When it was time to step forward and say their last goodbye, Ryan kept holding on to them, so they moved forward as one unit.

"Goodbye," Ryan whispered. "May you rest in peace now."

"And may we live in peace," Spencer whispered.

Brendon just held on tightly to Ryan--he was at a loss for words. "Goodbye," he repeated Ryan's words. There wasn't anything else he wished to say to the late George Ross.

A long line had formed, full of people waiting to pay their respects. As the three of them stood near the grave, accepting condolences, the line seemed to be never-ending. Slowly they moved from business partners to clerks and finally they were done. Brendon felt grateful that at last they could leave the cemetery and escape the cold.

~~~***~~~

The church service had been simple and the funeral itself cold and depressing--but the funeral feast was anything but. They'd decided to have it in George's house--or, rather, Brendon had decided. "I don't want the first party we give in our house to be a funeral," he'd said and nobody had objected.

Now that Brendon was experiencing it, he was even more convinced that it had been the right decision--even if simply for the fact that they could leave the mess behind to be cleaned up another day.

"He was a fine man, that George Ross," an elderly man was telling Brendon. He had partaken freely of the red wine Spencer's mother had insisted they offer, and Brendon smiled weakly. He would have preferred a feast without alcohol, especially given the circumstances, but Ginger knew better how to navigate city society, so Brendon had let her have her way. Now Brendon had to suffer the consequences--he'd been looking for Spencer and Ryan when he'd been waylaid by the old gentleman.

"We'll miss him," the man said.

We won't didn't seem a very appropriate answer, although Brendon had to bite the tip of his tongue to keep himself from saying the first thing that popped into his mind. Instead, he forced himself to nod. "It's a sore loss," he said, and extricated himself from the man's grip.

He found Ryan surrounded by a group of people who made a very sophisticated impression. Brendon didn't have the sharp sense for fashion that Spencer and Ryan showed, but he'd learned his fair bit about suits since he'd come to the city and so he could tell that the garments of these people were even more expensive than Ryan's fanciful suit.

Ryan seemed more lively than he'd been in days, though. Brendon moved closer, intrigued by this change.

"I'm missing balls," Brendon heard Ryan say. "It's been a few dull months."

"We've been missing you, too," one woman said. She leaned in close--too close for Brendon's liking. He frowned and wondered whether he should interrupt, but then he chose to stay in some distance. He didn't know much about Ryan and Spencer's life together before they married Brendon. He was curious about these people who seemed so familiar with Ryan and yet nobody had ever mentioned them to Brendon.

"Those husbands of yours must keep you busy," a man said. "Although I can't imagine Spencer being much of an entertainment."

"They are entertainment enough for me," Ryan said, a sharp tone resonating in his voice.

"Oh, and just a moment ago you said it's been dull without us," the man said smiling. "I'm afraid you'll have to choose one statement."

"I don't see how I could've possibly missed you," Ryan said. "Nobody's been annoying, it was peaceful."

"As if you like peaceful!" Another man laughed. "You can confide in us, we promise we won't tell--are they that good?"

"Oh, Alex, shut up," the woman said. "Why must everything be about sex?"

"Because it is," Alex said. "It always is."

Brendon stood rooted to the spot. He didn't want to keep listening, but he found it near impossible to move.

Ryan laughed. "If you must know, yes," he said.

"As good as me?" Alex leered. Brendon felt physically sick.

"That's going too far," Ryan said. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Strange, it just sounded like you were." Alex had the gall to wink at Ryan. "Or maybe you're looking for a fourth?"

Brendon was just considering clawing Alex's eyes out, when Spencer turned up. "Greenwald," he said, his voice full of contempt. "Who let you in?"

"That guy in the black uniform," Alex said. "I believe he is your butler."

Spencer glared. Brendon hadn't known he could look like that, and was amused before the thought crossed his mind that this wasn't at all appropriate for a funeral, so he hurried over.

"Spencer," Brendon said. "Do you have a moment for me?" It was obvious that Spencer couldn't stand Greenwald and Brendon figured he just needed to get Spencer out of the room.

"Oh, who's this?" Brendon was confused when Alex put his arm around his shoulders. "I believe we haven't met yet."

Spencer's glare intensified. "This is Brendon," he said. Brendon was thrilled to hear the possessive tone in his voice. At the moment, he felt uncomfortably like a calf at the market, being eyed by a bunch of butchers, and so he inched closer to Spencer.

"And what is your last name, sweetie?"

Brendon hadn't been called sweetie in ages. Well, Cook had a habit of calling him darling, but that didn't count.

"Ross," Ryan said. He sounded part possessive, part angry, and it had the fortunate effect that Alex withdrew his arm. Spencer immediately reached for Brendon's hand and pulled him close. "Please let me introduce my husbands."

Alex eyed Brendon and the calf-at-the-market feeling became more pronounced. Brendon just wanted to leave the room. He pasted on a smile--he didn't even care about making it seem believable in the least. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said. "Excuse me, there's a matter I need to discuss with Spencer."

Brendon pulled Spencer out of the living room, into the hall and then into the next unused room. It turned out to be a guest room. "We can't stay here for long," Spencer said calmly, "or there'll be gossip."

"Who was that?" Brendon asked. He wrapped his arms around himself, like a shield.

"That was Alex Greenwald." Spencer sighed. "I'm afraid he hates you."

"Why? I have just met him!"

"Yes, but Alex was planning to be Ryan's other spouse. Or, rather, he'd wanted Ryan to be his other spouse."

"Oh," Brendon said. "So you--" He felt cold and drew his shoulders in, as if that would help him keep the warmth in his bones.

"Alex hates me, too," Spencer said. "I'm proud to say that the feeling is entirely mutual."

"But I thought you'd been engaged to Ryan for ages."

"We were. Alex tried to convince Ryan to break it off."

"I like him even less now."

Spencer sighed loudly. "He's often quite charming, if you can believe it," he said. "He also happens to be very much in love with Ryan, which is something I can hardly hold him at fault for."

Brendon stood in the middle of the room and he suddenly felt exhausted. "I wish this day were already over," he said.

"Brendon," Spencer said softly. He moved to Brendon, gently taking his hands and pulling his arms down.

"No, no, it's--we buried Ryan's father and now there are all these people praising him like he was a good person and there are people who hate me just because Ryan married me and what if he decides to take Greenwald up on his offer?"

"Firstly," Spencer said, "a lot of those people don't think George was a good person. You'll find that some think he was a miser, others say he was a wastrel, somebody else is convinced he was a bad businessman, another says he took too many risks and so on." He pushed Brendon's hair back behind his ears and the gesture was so heart-warmingly familiar that Brendon couldn't do anything but relax. "And, secondly, yes, Ryan married you. After rejecting Greenwald a few times."

"He asked Ryan?"

"I wouldn't put it like that," Spencer said dryly. "The last few times, probably yes. The first time came out like an order, though."

"I don't see that working well with Ryan."

"It didn't." Spencer looked at Brendon and put his hands on Brendon's face, stroking Brendon's cheeks softly with his thumbs. "Thirdly and lastly, Ryan won't ever say yes to Greenwald."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because, despite a lot of our modern ideas, Ryan is still a bit old-fashioned when it comes down to being married," Spencer said. "He wouldn't ever do anything that would make either of us unhappy. And he knows how much Greenwald and I loathe each other."

"I don't like him much, either," Brendon said.

Spencer smiled. "Please don't try to tell me you missed Ryan coming to your rescue," he said.

"I didn't," Brendon said softly. It gave him hope.

Spencer kissed Brendon's forehead. "It's time to mingle again."

Brendon sighed.

"Only a few more hours," Spencer said. "Then we'll go home and back to our lives."

"It won't happen a moment too soon," Brendon said.

By the time the feast was done, Brendon was so tired he couldn't keep himself upright. He supposed that all the polite lying he'd done about how much they missed George drained his energy. He was glad when they finally went home and only managed to fall into bed, still clothed, before he fell asleep.

Part Seven