Muze, Daddy
Part One: Phone Call
Andrea fell asleep on the couch during The Nightmare Before Christmas, curled up next to Spencer who had a protective arm around her. Ryan was watching the pair of them, expressionless. He had, many times and particularly of late, wondered if he was selfish for bringing Andrea into this world. Not for her sake. She was happy, they had money, she made the four of them laugh on a daily basis.
He was, however, worried about the affect she was having on his three band mates. Had he forced them to mature a bit too much, a bit too quickly? He had offhandedly mentioned it to Pete once. ’Don’t be stupid, Ryan. Everyone loves Andrea.’
And Brendon . . .
Brendon Urie was worrying him in more ways than one. Reading Andrea bedtime stories, insisting on taking her out while claiming Ryan need a ‘break’. The older boy nearly lost it when he found out Brendon had given her a time-out for kicking Jon.
’I’m her father, not you.’
‘You keep bitching about her never getting punished and then you get pissed when I actually do something? Don’t you d—‘
“Then tell me when I get back. She’s not your kid.’
Brendon had simply rolled his eyes and left.
* * *
”You have a kid?” Pete asked. He had been spending a week in Los Angeles, but had flown to Vegas after Ryan called him.
“Apparently.” the younger boy said.
“Are you sure it’s not just someone trying to get money from you? Or somebody trying to make you look like an asshole who ignores his kid for a record deal?” They were sitting at Ryan’s kitchen table, looking at the papers Ryan had been given.
“No, it’s not.” Ryan said. “I dated their daughter. Kelsey. I just . . . I didn’t know.”
“These are her parents trying to sue you?” Pete asked, tapping the paper. Ryan nodded. “Why isn’t she?”
“She, uh, died.” Ryan answered. He wished he felt guilty, upset, something. After all, she had died giving birth to his daughter. “My name wasn’t on the birth certificate. I don’t know how they found out.”
“Well, they just want money.” Pete said. “Because you’re . . . you. Otherwise they would have tried to find you sooner.”
Ryan looked up at his friend, biting his lip. “I . . . I want her. She’s . . . mine. I want her.”
There was a pause. Pete closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. “I’ll find you a lawyer, Ry.”
* * *
Ryan panicked when Andrea wasn’t in their room the next morning. She was always in the room when he woke up, whether she was sleeping or coloring or going through his back pack. He stumbled out of the room, the illogical part of his mind overshadowing the logical. Sure enough, Andrea was in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. Spencer, Brendon, and Jon were in various places around the room.
“Daddy!” Andrea shrieked, crawling out of her chair and running across the room to him. Ryan managed to reach out and catch her before she tripped about two feet from him. “Uh-oh.”
He laughed and scooped her up in his arms. “’Morning, punk.” he said, kissing her forehead.
She stuck her tongue out before laughing and giving her father a kiss on the cheek. “Down now.” Ryan let her down and she scurried back to the table, letting Spencer help her back into her seat.
“You’re doing some instrument stuff at noon.” he informed Ryan. “Until two or so, they said.” His cell phone went off and he pulled it from his pocket, leaving the room.
“Uh, Bren?” Ryan said, nodding toward the doorway. The younger boy followed him from the room. “I, um . . . I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday.” He stared at his hands. “I just . . . she’s getting out of hand and I’m sick of her getting excused for it just ‘cause she’s three.”
Brendon nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Well, not really, but I’ll try to.”
Ryan laughed, putting his arms around Brendon, knowing the younger boy would return the hug and not ask any questions, not try to comfort him with words. Sometimes Ryan just needed to feel arms around him, hands on his back. Sometimes he needed to not be such an adult.
He pulled back and Brendon dropped his arms to his sides, giving Ryan a smile and walking back to the kitchen. Jon walked into the room as the younger boy sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands and tugging at his hair. “Fuck.”
“Hearing voices again?”
“Shut up.” Ryan muttered, voice slightly muffled.
“You okay?” Jon asked, a bit more serious this time.
“No.” Ryan answered shortly before standing up and walking toward the door. “But I will be.”
“You know,” Jon said quietly, “you don’t have to be strong for her all the time.”
“Yeah,” Ryan answered, “I do.”
* * *
“You called Pete?” Ryan yelled, storming into the room and yanking Jon up by the collar of his shirt. “What the hell makes you—“
Jon pushed Ryan off of him. “Because he’s the only one you listen to half the time. And someone needs to talk some sense into you.”
The younger boy glared at him. “Fuck you.”
Spencer sat down on the couch beside Jon after Ryan stormed out of the room. “You noticed it, too?” he asked.
“Who wouldn’t?” Jon grumbled.
“Noticed what?” Brendon asked, walking into the room.
Spencer snickered when he met Jon’s eyes. He smiled innocently up at Brendon. “Expect a visit from Pete in a few days.”
“Why?”
“God, he’s as bad as Ryan.” Jon said, looking up over his laptop at the vocalist. “Pete’s coming to talk some sense into Ryan.”
“Why? What’s wrong with Ryan?”
“Oh, dear God.” Spencer collapsed against Jon in a fit of laughter, leaving Brendon looking confused and embarrassed when Jon joined in on the laughter. He shifted uncomfortably before turning and walking toward Ryan and Andrea’s room.
Ryan was tell Andrea a bedtime story. Literally telling, not reading. Brendon had never heard the same story twice, when he dared to listen. This was Ryan and Andrea’s world where sometimes it was fine to intrude and other times it could mean a screaming match.
“They flew, but the birds couldn’t fly over the lake. They stayed long enough to call the turtles though. Then the prince and the princess stood on the turtles’ backs and were carried across the lake. They walked up the path to the castle and when they got there, the king and queen ordered a feast and everyone lived happily ever after. The end.”
Andrea smiled, then pouted, then smiled again. “More?”
“Tomorrow.” Ryan promised, leaning down and kissing his daughter’s forehead. “Under the covers now. ‘Night, princess.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, Andrea.”
His smile dissipated when he turned and saw Brendon at the door. He didn’t say anything until he’d stepped into the hallway and shut the door. “What the fuck do you want?”
Brendon bit his bottom lip, feeling thoroughly out of place at the moment. “I, uh . . . Spence and . . . oh, never mind.” he huffed, turning and walking down the hall to his room.
Ryan closed his eyes, guilt washing over him. What was up with him lately? Male PMS? Early mid-life crisis? A desperate need to get laid after two and a half years without sex? No, that was Spencer talking. Sighing, he walked down the hall and pushed Brendon’s door open. The younger boy had his Sidekick out and was in the process of sending a text message, probably one regarding Ryan being an asshole.
“Bren?”
“What?” Brendon’s tone was short, but not exactly angry.
“I’m—“
“—sorry? Again?” It was bitterness in Brendon’s voice, and a bit of hurt.
Ryan didn’t say anything for a moment. He sat down next to Brendon on the bed. “I’m being a dick.”
“Yeah.” Brendon agreed.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, listening to me telling her that story.” Ryan said. “I just feel stupid sometimes. Like, maybe you guys won’t understand? You’ll think it’s weird, a prince and a princess crossing a lake on turtles.”
“No weirder than your lyrics, really.” Brendon said. “They’re stories for a kid, Ry. Of course they don’t make sense.”
Ryan leaned his head against Brendon’s shoulder. “I’m thinking maybe she shouldn’t be here for this. Maybe . . . maybe she should go somewhere else.”
“Why?” Brendon asked, patronizingly. “She’s your kid, Ry. You can’t just drop her off somewhere because you’re sick of her. Where the fuck is she supposed to go anyway?”
“I’m not sick of her.” Ryan said sharply. “I’m just not sure this is the right place for her. She’s three and she’s in a recording studio. She should be playing dolls or something.”
“Andrea hates dolls.”
“I didn’t mean it literally, Brendon. Jesus.” Ryan moved closer to the other boy, resting his forehead against Brendon’s shoulder. “Don’t try and tell me that you guys aren’t sick of her.”
“We’re not.” That was Spencer’s voice, coming from the doorway. Jon was standing beside him, giving Ryan a look no one could place. “If we were sick of her you’d know it, Ry.”
Brendon nodded. “You know you’d hate it if she was gone.”
Ryan sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
* * *
”Really,” the lawyer began, “there’s no real reason you shouldn’t get custody. You don’t have a criminal record, you don’t do drugs, you have an apartment and you’re financially stable.”
“Is the touring going to count against him?” Pete asked. He had insisted on coming along and Ryan had let him, not really wanting to go alone. “The lifestyle?”
“Not if it’s presented in the right light. Plus, there’s the fact that they’re after money. It doesn’t look good.”
Ryan’s fingers were dancing on his thighs. He’d barely spoken since they’d gotten to the office. It had mainly been Pete and the lawyer talking. “How long?” he asked finally. “How long until I get her?”
“No more than a few months. If that.”
Ryan nodded, biting the inside of his cheek when Pete squeezed his shoulder.
* * *
Andrea wasn’t in the room when Ryan woke up the next morning.
He tried not to cry.
He was, however, worried about the affect she was having on his three band mates. Had he forced them to mature a bit too much, a bit too quickly? He had offhandedly mentioned it to Pete once. ’Don’t be stupid, Ryan. Everyone loves Andrea.’
And Brendon . . .
Brendon Urie was worrying him in more ways than one. Reading Andrea bedtime stories, insisting on taking her out while claiming Ryan need a ‘break’. The older boy nearly lost it when he found out Brendon had given her a time-out for kicking Jon.
’I’m her father, not you.’
‘You keep bitching about her never getting punished and then you get pissed when I actually do something? Don’t you d—‘
“Then tell me when I get back. She’s not your kid.’
Brendon had simply rolled his eyes and left.
* * *
”You have a kid?” Pete asked. He had been spending a week in Los Angeles, but had flown to Vegas after Ryan called him.
“Apparently.” the younger boy said.
“Are you sure it’s not just someone trying to get money from you? Or somebody trying to make you look like an asshole who ignores his kid for a record deal?” They were sitting at Ryan’s kitchen table, looking at the papers Ryan had been given.
“No, it’s not.” Ryan said. “I dated their daughter. Kelsey. I just . . . I didn’t know.”
“These are her parents trying to sue you?” Pete asked, tapping the paper. Ryan nodded. “Why isn’t she?”
“She, uh, died.” Ryan answered. He wished he felt guilty, upset, something. After all, she had died giving birth to his daughter. “My name wasn’t on the birth certificate. I don’t know how they found out.”
“Well, they just want money.” Pete said. “Because you’re . . . you. Otherwise they would have tried to find you sooner.”
Ryan looked up at his friend, biting his lip. “I . . . I want her. She’s . . . mine. I want her.”
There was a pause. Pete closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. “I’ll find you a lawyer, Ry.”
* * *
Ryan panicked when Andrea wasn’t in their room the next morning. She was always in the room when he woke up, whether she was sleeping or coloring or going through his back pack. He stumbled out of the room, the illogical part of his mind overshadowing the logical. Sure enough, Andrea was in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. Spencer, Brendon, and Jon were in various places around the room.
“Daddy!” Andrea shrieked, crawling out of her chair and running across the room to him. Ryan managed to reach out and catch her before she tripped about two feet from him. “Uh-oh.”
He laughed and scooped her up in his arms. “’Morning, punk.” he said, kissing her forehead.
She stuck her tongue out before laughing and giving her father a kiss on the cheek. “Down now.” Ryan let her down and she scurried back to the table, letting Spencer help her back into her seat.
“You’re doing some instrument stuff at noon.” he informed Ryan. “Until two or so, they said.” His cell phone went off and he pulled it from his pocket, leaving the room.
“Uh, Bren?” Ryan said, nodding toward the doorway. The younger boy followed him from the room. “I, um . . . I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday.” He stared at his hands. “I just . . . she’s getting out of hand and I’m sick of her getting excused for it just ‘cause she’s three.”
Brendon nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Well, not really, but I’ll try to.”
Ryan laughed, putting his arms around Brendon, knowing the younger boy would return the hug and not ask any questions, not try to comfort him with words. Sometimes Ryan just needed to feel arms around him, hands on his back. Sometimes he needed to not be such an adult.
He pulled back and Brendon dropped his arms to his sides, giving Ryan a smile and walking back to the kitchen. Jon walked into the room as the younger boy sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands and tugging at his hair. “Fuck.”
“Hearing voices again?”
“Shut up.” Ryan muttered, voice slightly muffled.
“You okay?” Jon asked, a bit more serious this time.
“No.” Ryan answered shortly before standing up and walking toward the door. “But I will be.”
“You know,” Jon said quietly, “you don’t have to be strong for her all the time.”
“Yeah,” Ryan answered, “I do.”
* * *
“You called Pete?” Ryan yelled, storming into the room and yanking Jon up by the collar of his shirt. “What the hell makes you—“
Jon pushed Ryan off of him. “Because he’s the only one you listen to half the time. And someone needs to talk some sense into you.”
The younger boy glared at him. “Fuck you.”
Spencer sat down on the couch beside Jon after Ryan stormed out of the room. “You noticed it, too?” he asked.
“Who wouldn’t?” Jon grumbled.
“Noticed what?” Brendon asked, walking into the room.
Spencer snickered when he met Jon’s eyes. He smiled innocently up at Brendon. “Expect a visit from Pete in a few days.”
“Why?”
“God, he’s as bad as Ryan.” Jon said, looking up over his laptop at the vocalist. “Pete’s coming to talk some sense into Ryan.”
“Why? What’s wrong with Ryan?”
“Oh, dear God.” Spencer collapsed against Jon in a fit of laughter, leaving Brendon looking confused and embarrassed when Jon joined in on the laughter. He shifted uncomfortably before turning and walking toward Ryan and Andrea’s room.
Ryan was tell Andrea a bedtime story. Literally telling, not reading. Brendon had never heard the same story twice, when he dared to listen. This was Ryan and Andrea’s world where sometimes it was fine to intrude and other times it could mean a screaming match.
“They flew, but the birds couldn’t fly over the lake. They stayed long enough to call the turtles though. Then the prince and the princess stood on the turtles’ backs and were carried across the lake. They walked up the path to the castle and when they got there, the king and queen ordered a feast and everyone lived happily ever after. The end.”
Andrea smiled, then pouted, then smiled again. “More?”
“Tomorrow.” Ryan promised, leaning down and kissing his daughter’s forehead. “Under the covers now. ‘Night, princess.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, Andrea.”
His smile dissipated when he turned and saw Brendon at the door. He didn’t say anything until he’d stepped into the hallway and shut the door. “What the fuck do you want?”
Brendon bit his bottom lip, feeling thoroughly out of place at the moment. “I, uh . . . Spence and . . . oh, never mind.” he huffed, turning and walking down the hall to his room.
Ryan closed his eyes, guilt washing over him. What was up with him lately? Male PMS? Early mid-life crisis? A desperate need to get laid after two and a half years without sex? No, that was Spencer talking. Sighing, he walked down the hall and pushed Brendon’s door open. The younger boy had his Sidekick out and was in the process of sending a text message, probably one regarding Ryan being an asshole.
“Bren?”
“What?” Brendon’s tone was short, but not exactly angry.
“I’m—“
“—sorry? Again?” It was bitterness in Brendon’s voice, and a bit of hurt.
Ryan didn’t say anything for a moment. He sat down next to Brendon on the bed. “I’m being a dick.”
“Yeah.” Brendon agreed.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, listening to me telling her that story.” Ryan said. “I just feel stupid sometimes. Like, maybe you guys won’t understand? You’ll think it’s weird, a prince and a princess crossing a lake on turtles.”
“No weirder than your lyrics, really.” Brendon said. “They’re stories for a kid, Ry. Of course they don’t make sense.”
Ryan leaned his head against Brendon’s shoulder. “I’m thinking maybe she shouldn’t be here for this. Maybe . . . maybe she should go somewhere else.”
“Why?” Brendon asked, patronizingly. “She’s your kid, Ry. You can’t just drop her off somewhere because you’re sick of her. Where the fuck is she supposed to go anyway?”
“I’m not sick of her.” Ryan said sharply. “I’m just not sure this is the right place for her. She’s three and she’s in a recording studio. She should be playing dolls or something.”
“Andrea hates dolls.”
“I didn’t mean it literally, Brendon. Jesus.” Ryan moved closer to the other boy, resting his forehead against Brendon’s shoulder. “Don’t try and tell me that you guys aren’t sick of her.”
“We’re not.” That was Spencer’s voice, coming from the doorway. Jon was standing beside him, giving Ryan a look no one could place. “If we were sick of her you’d know it, Ry.”
Brendon nodded. “You know you’d hate it if she was gone.”
Ryan sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
* * *
”Really,” the lawyer began, “there’s no real reason you shouldn’t get custody. You don’t have a criminal record, you don’t do drugs, you have an apartment and you’re financially stable.”
“Is the touring going to count against him?” Pete asked. He had insisted on coming along and Ryan had let him, not really wanting to go alone. “The lifestyle?”
“Not if it’s presented in the right light. Plus, there’s the fact that they’re after money. It doesn’t look good.”
Ryan’s fingers were dancing on his thighs. He’d barely spoken since they’d gotten to the office. It had mainly been Pete and the lawyer talking. “How long?” he asked finally. “How long until I get her?”
“No more than a few months. If that.”
Ryan nodded, biting the inside of his cheek when Pete squeezed his shoulder.
* * *
Andrea wasn’t in the room when Ryan woke up the next morning.
He tried not to cry.