livejournal fics//joncer

Part Four

  *

It's been too quiet since they left Napa Valley, and Spencer doesn't know how to break it. He's not sure he wants to – not sure what will happen if he does. So he doesn't, just sits on the plane, the short, one hour flight that it takes to get to San Diego, to get home, after a long month and a half of being away, of leaving and not coming back.

Spencer has his notebook out, but it's mostly doodled boxes that fill the page, no actual words that mean anything. He's written out his full name five times and drawn a flower that takes up an entire page, but nothing else is coming out. He doesn't look over when Jon shifts beside him, just keeps his eyes down.

It's not that he doesn't want to talk about it – he just doesn't know what to say. It wasn't supposed to happen. Jon is a throwaway character in the movie, the one who appears for a scene or two and is gone before the climax and you never remember he was there.

"So what's the plan when we get to San Diego?" Jon asks once they're up in the air and Spencer has nowhere to go.

"There are a few easy ones we can do," Spencer replies simply, drawing another box on his paper. "I think we're done with the really big stuff."

It goes unsaid, and Spencer stiffens as Jon leans into his space, pushing his notebook down as Spencer tries to hide behind it.

"Don't you think we should talk about it?" he asks, and Spencer shakes his head.

"I think it's done and it's crossed off and we don't need to talk about it."

"Because if something's wrong, you can tell me," Jon continues and Spencer bites his lip. "I'm still your friend."

Spencer shakes his head again. "No, nothing."

Jon waits another second, watching Spencer carefully, but then he sighs and sits back. "Wake me when we get there."

Spencer slaps his notebook closed and turns to the window instead.

*

Home is exactly as Spencer remembers it, and he's beyond happy when they finally arrive back at the house. It's a bright, sunny day, and his lawn is a little overgrown, but he doesn't care as he unlocks the door and pushes it open, walking into the foyer. Jon follows behind, looking all around.

Spencer's house is much bigger than Jon's apartment and much more airy than Jon expected from someone like Spencer.

Everything is great for just a moment until Spencer walks into his living room and nearly trips over a box sitting behind the sofa. He recognizes it immediately: one of the boxes from Ryan's apartment. There are three or four piled up in the living room and Spencer feels a familiar pang, one he's been putting off for months, trying not to think about.

Jon comes in after him, setting his suitcase down by the door and watching as Spencer touches the boxes gently.

"Nice place," Jon says and Spencer startles, turning quickly.

"Thanks," he mutters after a second. "Um, you want something to drink or..."

He's already heading for the kitchen, away from the boxes. He's not even sure there's anything in his fridge, or anything edible anyway, and he pulls it open to look as Jon follows him in, taking in the perfectly organized kitchen, the knives in their holder shoved back in a corner, the stove spotless, the outside of the refrigerator shiny and silver.

"I'm okay," Jon says as Spencer rummages. There's nothing there.

"I'll get stuff later," Spencer says, shutting the door and grabbing a glass from the pantry, pouring himself a glass of water instead. He leans against the counter, staring out the window to his backyard. The plants are in full bloom around the pool, pinks and yellows, and he can't even appreciate it because Ryan's boxes are in the living room, and Jon is drawing circles on the spotless tile with his flip flops. "I'll show you the guestroom."

He brushes past Jon, but Jon grabs his arm to stop him, grip gentle and not really keeping him there but Spencer pauses anyway.

"Spencer," Jon says in that tone that Spencer has come to recognize, and it's one he doesn't like.

"I don't want to talk about it," he replies, brushing Jon off and continuing into the living room, ignoring the boxes and grabbing Jon's suitcase. "Come on."

He leads the way up the stairs, and Jon pauses a moment before following after.

*

"Spencer!"

Spencer's eardrums throb as Brendon bounds in, pulling him into a crushing hug.

"You're alive! You're here! You didn't die!" He squeezes him again and Spencer chokes for breath.

"Bren, let go," he chokes, and Brendon finally releases him, stepping back.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," Spencer assures him, and Brendon smiles.

"So where is Jon Walker? You didn't throw him out of the plane on the way down here, did you?"

"No," Spencer grumbles, and he hates that he tells Brendon everything sometimes. "I sent him to the store."

"Ah, got him out of the way so we could talk," Brendon says like it was some big master plan.

Spencer rolls his eyes, but he lets Brendon pull him over to the couch, sinking down onto it and carefully avoiding looking at the boxes stacked behind it.

"So have you talked to him at all?"

"I talk to him every day," Spencer points out obviously, but Brendon shakes his head.

"Not like that, I mean about your huge gay crush on him."

"I don't have a huge gay crush on him," Spencer argues but Brendon shakes his head again.

"You say that you don't, but you totally do. I mean, you slept with him for God's sake."

"We were drunk," Spencer insists, rubbing his forehead tiredly. He's had this conversation with himself a million times. It never gets any better.

"Yeah, and you totally wanted to, and now you're avoiding him and it's awkward turtle!"

"Awkward what?"

Brendon ignores him. "So are you gonna tell him about your epic gay man love for him?"

Groaning, Spencer glares. "I don't."

"You do," Brendon argues simply. "You're just putting it off because of what happened to Ryan, and you think you can't, but you can. I give you permission."

"Wasn't it just a month ago that Jon was a crazy stalker photographer trying to bury me under a Sycamore tree?" Spencer asks skeptically, and Brendon waves it away.

"You've survived so far," he dismisses him easily. "And Jon's still here even though you've been pushing him away, so I don't think he's too crazy. Maybe only a little because he is still here and you're completely stubborn."

"I am not," Spencer argues, annoyed. "Everything is fine."

Except the boxes sitting behind them and the empty notebook sitting on his nightstand, and Jon sleeping two doors down from him. Other than that, everything is fine.

Brendon shakes his head. "I don't believe you." And Spencer wonders how many people are going to have to say that until someone tells the truth.

"Well, it's true," Spencer replies sharply, crossing his arms. He will move the boxes eventually, and he will talk to Jon because nothing is wrong.

Brendon plasters himself to Spencer in another hug and Spencer tries to protest against the suffocation, but it's useless and he just takes it as they sit there.

*

Spencer does not remember signing the napkin tucked securely in Jon's jeans pocket, nor does he have any recollection of how he got talked into driving all the way up to L.A. and standing in a line for hours and hours only to have to sing for some people he doesn't even know. Either way, he gets through, and then he gets to wait another hundred hours in a smaller room.

He has a number taped to the front of his shirt and he feels like an idiot as he sits in the little chair.

"They didn't have pepsi, so I got you coke," Jon says as he returns, handing Spencer the can and taking the seat next to him.

"Thanks," Spencer mutters, and Jon cracks his own soda open, taking a sip and gazing around.

The room is full of singing wannabes, half of them practicing, the other half sitting nervously and muttering to themselves.

"Where did you get that napkin anyway," Spencer mutters as they sit there, and Jon pulls it out of his pocket.

"According to the napkin, it was at Napa Valley Vineyard Hotel," he says, looking at the logo in the corner. "That was probably that night..."

Spencer shakes his head. "Yeah," he says quickly, and Jon tucks the napkin away. They're silent for a moment until Jon shifts, not looking at Spencer.

"Do you think it was a mistake?"

"What?"

"That night." Jon's eyes flick to him briefly and Spencer isn't sure what to say.

"I..." he says slowly, but he's interrupted by a guy with a camera coming over.

"Excuse me, mind if I ask you a few questions?" Another guy is talking to Spencer and Spencer pauses.

"Uh, okay," he replies, confused, glancing at Jon, but Jon is looking down at his hands.

"Great." The guy grabs a chair and the cameraman takes another. "So tell me why you're here."

Spencer is confused but he speaks anyway. "Uh, well, I'm here to audition for American Idol."

"No, no," the guy says. "I mean, why do you want to? Tell us your sob story."

"I, um," Spencer says ineloquently. "I don't have one? I'm here because I had a friend who...died a few months ago, and I found this list and this was on it, so I'm doing the things on the list... for him."

The guy stares for a second and then gestures at the camera guy. "So it's like a making-things-right deal?"

Spencer shrugs. "I just... I don't know. The last few years were not great in our friendship and maybe I feel bad, or maybe I'm just trying to make up for something that I can't, but I'm here and I'm doing it for him even if he doesn't even know. I'm just doing it."

Jon is looking at him finally and Spencer doesn't know what it means, but the camera is still on and he hesitates.

"That's all?"

"Great story," the guy says, gesturing at the cameraman, and they both rise from the chair. "Good luck."

Spencer rolls his eyes as they leave. "Television," he scoffs, slumping in his chair.

Jon doesn't say anything for a moment as they sit there, and Spencer wonders if he forgot about his earlier question. But then he shifts again, sighing.

"Why are you doing this?"

Spencer frowns. "Because it's on the list and you have a sketchy napkin with my signature on it saying I would."

"No, I mean. Why are you really doing this? The whole list. You won't tell me what really happened with Ryan, and I'm pretty sure you didn't just grow apart. So when are you just gonna trust me and tell me what really happened, what's really going on here?" He sighs, shaking his head. "I'd just like to know."

"Jon," Spencer says after a minute, and he doesn't know how to explain anything, and Jon glances at him, waiting. "I d—I don't know what to say. I'm not good at explaining things that aren't math-related."

"Well, you could try."

"I do try... sometimes," he says, shoulders falling. "I'm just not good at talking about stuff, and Ryan was... a big part of everything, and now he's gone, and you're here and I don't really know what that means half the time. You were supposed to be Cash, a guy who shows up for the beginning and then is gone by the end."

Jon sort of stares. "I have no idea what that means."

Spencer sighs in defeat. "This whole thing was a stupid idea from the start. How did I think I could fix things with some list? A list can't fix anything."

"Spence," Jon says, and his tone is softened now, and Spencer isn't sure if it's better or worse. "You can't fix everything. Sometimes, things just have to fix themselves."

"Well, it's obviously not working for us," Spencer points out moodily, and Jon pauses.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" he asks after a minute, again, and Spencer bites his lip, turning the unopened can of soda over in his hands.

"I don't know," he says finally because he doesn't know, not that he's really willing to admit quite yet. "I don't know, Jon. I—Maybe it was, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was supposed to happen and we just didn't know."

"There's an easy way to answer this, Spencer," Jon says when he finishes rambling, and Spencer glances at him uneasily. "Do you like me?"

Spencer stares for a second, his heart climbing into his throat, thudding against his ribcage and his fingers tingle as he squeezes the can.

"One-five-seven-eight!" calls a voice from the audition room area and Spencer recognizes his number.

"I have to..." he says, getting up and heading for the door, fingers trembling, and it's all he can do to stuff them in his pocket, curling around the list again.

*