Learning to Fall.

Spencer, for his part, only complained for about five minutes about unloading a car of groceries by himself. "Aren't you rich now that you're married to Pete? Can't people, like, deliver this shit to your door?"

Ryan unpeeled a banana. "People who deliver shit to your door don't know to randomly pick up things that aren't on the list," he answered with a shrug.

The boy laughed. "Like the gigantic box of popsicles I bought?"

Ryan's face lit up. "Yes. Like that."

Spencer had flown out three days before and Ryan hadn't talked to Pete or Patrick since they'd left. He missed Pete, but he was actually enjoying not having him around. He hoped that didn't mean bad things about their marriage. He knew he couldn't raise a baby by himself. And he really didn't want his marriage to be a joke. It was already a mistake (probably). He didn't need it to be a joke, too.

They were still laughing about the economy sized box of popsicles Spencer had purchased when Ryan's cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, his eyebrows furrowing at Patrick's name on the screen. "Hello?" he asked, pressing the phone to his ear.

There was no sound for a moment and Ryan was starting to think he'd been pocket-dialed and then suddenly, Patrick spoke. "Pete's gone."

Ryan didn't know what to think at first. He glanced at Spencer who was watching him, concern painted on his features. Ryan gave a weak smile he didn't entirely feel and slowly walked out of the room. "What do you mean . . . gone?"

"He went to Chicago to stay with his parents," Patrick said. "For a couple weeks."

Ryan nodded, somewhat dazed, leaning against the wall in the hallway. He felt empty, like how he imagined he'd feel once he'd had the baby. "When did he leave?" he asked, voice soft, strained.

"Yesterday."

Ryan almost dropped his phone. "Yesterday?" he repeated, the softness completely evaporating from his voice. "He left yesterday and you didn't tell me?"

Patrick at least had the decency to sound somewhat ashamed. "He told me not to."

The boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, Pete told me he was a new-born turtle in a hundred year old tortoise shell. You might want to take what he says with a grain of salt."

"It's not the same thing, Ry." Patrick didn't mean to sound patronizing when he said it, but he did, voice stern, frowning.

Ryan's jaw set, his free hand clenching into a fist. "Yeah, well, fuck you, Patrick. He's not your fucking husband. You're not seven months pregnant, so fuck you!" He screamed, not bothering to end the call as he slammed his phone against the wall, not even flinching when he heard the crunch of the screen breaking. He dropped it to the carpet, stomping to the master bedroom.

Spencer was already following him down the hallway after hearing his best friend's outburst at Patrick. When he entered the room, Ryan was still yelling, swearing, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled open dresser drawers and started throwing Pete's clothes onto the floor. "Fucking . . . jackass . . . not even thinking . . . selfish prick . . ."

"What did he do?" Spencer asked, voice somewhere between awe and fear. "Ryan, what did Pete do?"

The boy turned away from the dresser, a tee shirt in his hand. His entire body had seemed to shift when he heard Spencer's voice, his limbs caving in on him. "I can't do this," he said flatly. "Why the hell did I think I could do this, Spin?"

The younger boy had answers. He had a million of them, but he bit his tongue and just walked toward Ryan, wrapping his arms around the boy and letting him cry, trying not to suck in his breath as he felt the baby kicking between them.

---

"You can do this, though," Spencer told Ryan. It was a few hours later. They'd watched a movie, eaten. Spencer had called the phone company and they were over-nighting a replacement phone. Now they were in the master bedroom again, Spencer gathering up the clothes from the floor and handing them to Ryan, who was sitting on the foot of the bed and folding them.

The boy sniffed. "You sound awfully certain of that."

"I am," Spencer said, turning and holding out a shirt, pulling it back when Ryan reached for it. The boy looked up at him, frowning, eyes somewhat narrowed. "You can do anything, Ry. You've always been able to. You just have to want to."

Ryan leaned forward, tugging the shirt out of Spencer's hand and folding it, movements jerky, tossing it onto the growing pile beside him on the bed. "I want this," he mumbled. "I do."

Spencer handed him another shirt. "Then you can do this."

---

They put Pete's clothes back in the dresser and didn't talk about the incident for the rest of the week. Spencer took Ryan to his doctor's appointment a few days later and Ryan told the nurse Pete was out of town for a few days. Not technically a lie. "So, that's the thing I'm going to be an uncle to?" Spencer asked when the sonogram video appeared on the screen.

Ryan laughed dryly. "What makes you think you get to be an uncle?"

"Dude, I'll be the best uncle ever. Shut up." Spencer smiled, leaning forward to examine the images more. "That looks like a real baby. How long until you're due again?"

Ryan looked at the screen, at the feet, at the hands, at the head. "September fifteenth," he murmured. "Two days before Jon's birthday. Almost eight months now." He looked at the ultrasound tech who was frowning somewhat, honing in on something on the screen. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately fearing the worst. He stared at the screen again, looking for a cord wrapped around the baby's neck.

She gave a small laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. The angle just looked strange for a second. I thought maybe we'd made a mistake with the sex."

"Yeah, like you need anymore estrogen in your life," Spencer teased.

Ryan smacked his best friend's arm, looking at the screen again. "I don't care what it is as long as it's healthy," he said quietly. He wished Pete were there. Pete would be holding his hand, like he always did, making comments about how the baby's fingers looked perfect for playing guitar, even though there was no way to tell from the sonogram. He'd be flirting with the tech, but in that sweet innocent way that made Ryan smile.

"The baby looks perfectly healthy," the woman said, smiling. "Let's get a new picture for you. Do you want a copy to send to your husband?"

Ryan nodded distantly, accepting the paper towels that were handed to him when the technician left the room to get the sonogram pictures. He wiped the blue gel substance off his skin, making a face at the strange sensation he still couldn't get over. Spencer was wandering around the room, looking at the posters on the wall that listed signs of the flu and what to expect for every month of pregnancy. "I miss Pete," Ryan said suddenly, causing the younger boy to turn and look at him.

"You could call him when we get back."

Ryan shook his head, sighing heavily and struggling to push himself up from the position on his back. He felt like a turtle that had been flipped on its shell. Spencer came over to help him up. "I don't want to have that conversation on the phone." He sighed. "I don't--"

The door opened and the technician came back in, handing Ryan the photos in a manilla envelope. "Just see Miriam on your way out to schedule your next appointment and you know you can call us if you need anything."

"Thanks," Ryan told her, opening the envelope as they stepped into the hallway, examining the black and white image that he could now decode perfectly. "It's like a blueprint of a baby. You have to know how to read it, especially when they're little."

"I am so glad Haley's going to be having our kids," Spencer said as they made their way toward the receptionist. "Like, no offense. I think you've got to have a lot of balls to have a kid."

"My balls are bigger than yours?" Ryan asked, eyebrow raised.

Spencer laughed. "I'd rather not have a battle of testicular fortitude if it's all the same to you."

"You brought it up." But Ryan wasn't even listening to the other boy's answer. He was still staring at the ultrasound picture, eyebrows furrowed, thinking. Oliver wasn't even born yet and he was already so much like Pete. Or, at the very least, he had a way of making Ryan feel the same way Pete did.

---

"I think you should call him and tell him to come back," Spencer said. They were in Ryan's bed, both leaning against the headboard--Ryan with half a dozen pillows behind him--watching Juno, which had been Spencer's bright idea.

The boy just shook his head, barely glancing up from his new phone, which he was setting ringtones on. "I don't want to have that conversation on the phone."

"So tell him to come back so you can have the conversation here," Spencer repeated, growing more agitated. "I mean, what are you going to do? Just ignore him and have the kid all by yourself and pretend you're not married anymore?"

"He'll come back eventually," Ryan mumbled. "I have his dog." He wasn't in the mood for the conversation, the confrontation, Spencer's stupid logic making so much sense it made him want to scream. He just wanted to ignore it, pretend there wasn't a problem. If he didn't think about it, he could convince himself Pete was at Patrick's and Spencer was visiting for the hell of it.

"And you expect him to just walk in and apologize, right? And actually mean it and know what he did wrong?"

Ryan looked up sharply, narrowing his eyes. "Well, he should."

"Just like you should call him." Spencer sat up, turning on the bed, facing Ryan, his legs tucked under him. "But you're not going to, and neither's he. Okay? He just . . . he's like you. Unless you tell him what he did, he's not going to admit it."

Ryan pursed his lips, looking back at his phone. "I'm not like that. And I'm done with this conversation."

Spencer sighed, watching Ryan put his phone down on the nightstand and reach for the glass of grape juice next to the alarm clock. He was running out of ideas. Ryan's stubbornness was formidable enough on its own terms, but when coupled with pregnancy it became a deadly weapon that wouldn't listen to any form of a reason. "Fine," he said quietly. "But seriously, Ry, do you even love Pete?"

The fingers on the glass tightened and Ryan's jaw clenched. It took him a moment to swallow the liquid that was already in his mouth before he set the glass back down. His hand squeezed into a fist that he dug into his side, trying so much to ignore the presence of Spencer sitting next to him on the bed, staring expectantly. He could feel his neck growing hot and the baby started to kick. Not hard kicks, softer, but incessant, almost like he was simply nudging Ryan with his foot, only from the inside out.

He didn't know how to answer the question. Was there any answer to the question? Of course he loved Pete. Just like he loved Brendon and Spencer and Jon. But that wasn't what the question meant. It was that 'in love' thing, where you cross over to the other side and you're supposed to see the world through rose-colored glasses and feel like you belong to something that's going to change your life. Ryan was angry and upset and felt like crying. His feet were swollen and his jeans had an elastic waistband in them. There was no way he'd reached the point of rose-colored glasses.

Spencer sighed and turned back toward the television, leaning against the pillows and the headboard again, watching the movie that probably hadn't been that great of an idea to put in the DVD player in the first place.

Ryan turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes closed. He felt somewhat nauseous now, his head spinning like a carousel. He just kept seeing moments, snippets, like a movie trailer of his life since he'd agreed to go to that chapel and put on the ring Pete had picked up at the mall the same day. He could remember how much Pete had smiled when he'd agreed to go, how he was practically beaming afterward, most of his teeth showing in his smile. And then when he'd moved in, Pete had tried so hard to make sure everything was okay, telling Ryan he could have whatever dresser drawers he wanted and they could make the closet bigger if they needed to.

Burning pizza a few weeks before Ryan had started to show and couldn't go outside anymore. The smoke alarm going off and Hemmingway barking like it was a gunshot. They'd laughed so hard and Ryan had let Pete bend him over the counter afterwards. Sex wasn't such a commodity at the beginning, not when Ryan was smiling and able to let go and forget. But then he'd started to show and he'd felt so ugly, so fat, so not himself. Started questioning everything, from people to motives to himself. And he'd had every right to, but had he shut Pete out in the process?

The night by the pool, when Patrick had been there and then left, when they'd fucked on the couch in the living room and Ryan had left immediately after, refusing to snuggle or cuddle or even really kiss Pete. Had he been running from something he'd caught a glimpse of or did he really just feel fat? Was he jinxing himself before he even knew what he was trying to do?

And that night, when he'd caught Pete with the girls, was he lying to himself when he said he never even thought about the prospect of Pete sleeping around? Was he really secretly terrified that Pete had been looking at someone else, talking to someone else, having fun with someone else? Or was he really just angry about crossing lines and boundaries? Why wouldn't he look at Pete afterward? Why wouldn't he talk to him? Was he worried about something he'd see in himself more than something he'd see in the other's eyes?

Why did he seem to care so much about someone he claimed to not care that much about?

Ryan turned his head toward Spencer, reaching his hand out and nudging it against his best friend's wrist. "Spin?" he whispered, voice shaking somewhat.

The younger boy turned to look at him, blue eyes soft. "Yeah, Ry?"

"I'm in love with Pete."

Spencer shifted, moving his hand to squeeze Ryan's, giving a soft smile that didn't show any of his teeth until he spoke. "Yeah, I know. So what do you want to do about it?"

---

The next morning, Spencer woke up to a thud and Ryan's soft swearing. He rolled over, burying his face under the pillow before remembering his best friend was pregnant so he needed to at least check. When he sat up, he saw Ryan setting a suitcase on the foot of the bed. "Are we going on a trip?" he asked. "Or is that your overnight bag?" He immediately glanced at the white wristband that was sitting on Ryan's nightstand. No lights were lit up on the device and it wasn't beeping. He exhaled gratefully.

"We're going to Chicago," Ryan said, walking over to the dresser and pulling one of his drawers open. "So you should pack when you get up." He was fully dressed, his hair brushed. "I'd like to leave after lunch."

Spencer was completely awake after he'd heard 'Chicago'. "We're going to . . ." He rubbed at his ear, making sure he'd heard correctly.

"To get Pete, yeah," Ryan said, turning again, this time with clothes in his hand that he made sure were properly folded before he began putting them in the black suitcase. He'd been up most of the night, thinking about Spencer's question. The baby had been uncharacteristically quiet with his kicking, as if letting Ryan collect his thoughts and straighten them out.

Spencer looked confused for a moment, letting those words roll around and sink in before he stood up. He still wasn't sure he'd heard correctly and he needed to pee. But when he came out of the bathroom, Ryan was still putting clothes in his suitcase, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "You do realize you're pregnant?"

Ryan turned to look at the other boy, eyebrow raised. "Wow. Really?" he asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He returned to the dresser. "Yes, I'm aware. Which is why we're driving, not flying."

"You know we're more likely to get in a car wreck than a plane crash, right? And what if you go into labor early?"

Ryan shut the dresser drawer quickly, leaning forward, seething. He waited for a few moments, trying to fight back all the nasty things he wanted to scream. "Look, either you drive me or I'll call Brendon. And if Brendon drives me, the chances of that car wreck are going to increase exponentially." He looked at his best friend. "You're the one who asked me what I wanted to do about this."

Spencer gave a small noise of frustration. "I thought you'd call him and tell him to come back. I didn't realize you were planning a road trip halfway across the country." He sighed, sitting down on the bed. "But I guess you need the culmination of the grand gesture, huh?"

"Something like that."

Another sigh and Spencer stood up. "I need to eat first. Then I'll pack. I'm driving the whole thing though. It'll take a few days."

Ryan nodded. He didn't say anything else as Spencer left the room, just continued grabbing clothes and then went into the bathroom to pack toiletries. He still hadn't planned exactly what he was going to say to Pete, but he'd scribbled down a few things in his journal. The three drunk girls hadn't been forgiven or forgotten, but they could be, he'd decided, if they talked about it. Spencer was right, as usual. Ryan needed to say something if he wanted Pete to acknowledge the boundaries he hadn't drawn. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn't the only person figuring out what being married meant.

"And you better be good on this trip," he told his stomach, pressing a hand to where he could feel the baby pressing against him. "Stay in there until you're supposed to." He set the things he'd gathered back down as he felt the familiar sensation of his bladder demanding to be emptied and sighed. "This drive is going to take a week if I have to stop and pee every two hours," he muttered.

---

They didn't leave that day. Patrick wasn't in town. Ryan made Spencer call to see if Patrick could watch the dog, but he wasn't going to be back in the city for a couple of days. Spencer crossed his fingers that the minor setback would be enough to deter Ryan, but it wasn't. Not that Spencer had truly expected it to. Instead, Ryan had called Brendon, bought him a plane ticket. He couldn't get in until the next afternoon, but Ryan decided Hemmingway could be alone for a couple of hours so he and Spencer were going to be leaving at ten. He left a house key for Brendon inside a bird house Pete had randomly sitting on a shelf in the garage.

"You still don't think calling makes more sense?" Spencer asked as Ryan rolled his suitcase out to set it by the door.

"Of course calling makes more sense," Ryan replied shortly with a slight huff. "That's precisely why I'm not calling."

"You and Pete are a match made in Heaven," Spencer said with a roll of his eyes. "Perpetual riddlers, you two."

"We're writers, Spin."

"Isn't that what I said?"

They spent the rest of the evening watching movies and randomly checking out loud to make sure they'd packed everything they would need, including an entire bag filled with snacks for Ryan that was currently sitting on the kitchen counter in case the pregnant boy felt any need to add to it.

Spencer was on his laptop, looking at directions and planning, in his head, how far he could drive in a day, what towns they would get a hotel in. He was hoping to avoid major cities, avoid the press. New York and Los Angeles took the prize for worst paparazzi, but that didn't mean other places wouldn't have photographers. Fortunately, the route they were taking lead through cities like Denver and Omaha, which weren't particularly known for their interest in pregnant guitarists from rock bands.

"I guess tomorrow we should put all the pillows in a suitcase," Ryan said. "I don't know how a hotel's going to feel about my request for a dozen pillows."

"I'll take care of it," Spencer told him. "You should go ahead and get some sleep though."

"I don't know how well I'm going to sleep." Ryan gave a tiny smile, slipping his hands under the blanket to rub at his stomach. "It's pretty stupid to be nervous about seeing him, isn't it?"

Spencer shrugged. "I don't think so. I get nervous talking to Haley after we fight sometimes. And you're married, so that's got to make it worse." He cocked his head to the side, thinking to himself for a moment. "What's it like being married?"

Ryan laughed. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

---

Spencer woke up before Ryan, around eight. He turned on the coffee pot and took the suitcases out to the Tahoe while it brewed. He'd wake Ryan up in forty-five minutes or so, give his friend time to shower and fret about anything he might have possibly forgotten. He still wasn't sure this impromptu trip to Chicago was a good idea, but it was a better idea than Brendon driving. And even if he could convince Brendon to say no, Ryan would either fly or drive himself and neither of those seemed to be a better idea to Spencer. At least if, God forbid, Ryan went into early labor on the road, they'd be able to drive to a hospital relatively quickly.

Once the suitcases were in the car, Spencer poured himself a cup of coffee and looked at the weather on his laptop. It was supposed to be clear skies all day, with the chance of a little bit of a rain in Utah, which Spencer was hoping to make most of the way through before it got too dark. Two more cups of coffee and he went upstairs to wake Ryan. The boy was already up, however. It didn't look like he'd been awake for too long. He was just coming out of the bathroom when Spencer opened the door. He was yawning, still dressed in pajama pants and a loose shirt.

"'Morning," Spencer said, smiling. "You still want to do this?"

Ryan waved his hand dismissively. "Just make me something for breakfast. I'll get dressed and come down."

"Any special requests?"

"Something I can cover in syrup." Ryan pulled open the dresser drawer and tossed a pair of maternity jeans behind him on the bed along with a clean pair of boxers. "After I eat we can go."

Spencer hesitated at the door. "Maybe we should wait until Brendon gets here."

"We're leaving after I eat," Ryan said again, voice sharper. "Now get out so I can change."

Spencer went back to the kitchen, throwing some frozen waffles into the toaster and checking his email one more time before he powered down his laptop. There was GPS in the car, but he still went to scoop up the directions he had printed out from the office. Spencer was nothing if not notoriously organized, a plan for the situation and a back-up plan in case of emergency.

When he came back into the kitchen, the waffles were done and he put them on a plate, pulled the bottle of syrup from the microwave as he tucked the directions inside his laptop case. Ryan came wandering in a moment later, practically inhaling the waffles before putting two more in the toaster and peeling a banana. "Have you double and triple-checked everything?" he teased.

Spencer idly flipped him off, zipping up his laptop case and making sure his phone and cell phone chargers were in the outside compartment. "Where's the charger for your wristband?" he asked.

"Fuck." Ryan made a face that brightened into a smile when his second serving of waffles popped up in the toaster.

"I'll get it," Spencer said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I have to make sure we didn't leave any lights on anyway. Just finish eating." He disappeared into the hallway and Ryan leaned back against the counter, continuing to eat his breakfast, one hand absently resting on his stomach, his fingers tapping in time to the baby's kicks.

---

They'd barely gotten out of the city when Ryan made Spencer pull over at a gas station so he could pee. "This is gonna be a really long drive, isn't it?" Spencer asked as he got out of the car.

"Probably."

And it certainly seemed to be. It reminded Spencer of when they'd first started touring in the van. Except with only the two of them--and one of them being pregnant--there weren't a lot of antics going on in the back seat and there was no Brendon to do impersonations and suggest crank calling people on their cell phones. Instead Spencer just kept switching playlists on his iPod while Ryan attempted to get comfortable in his seat, eventually falling asleep, but only for about twenty minute increments at a time. Every few hours they stopped so he could go to the bathroom.

"So where are we planning on staying?" Ryan asked when they were almost to Vegas.

"Not here," Spencer said. "Hopefully most of the way through Utah."

It was weird driving through Vegas without stopping. Ryan wanted to suggest stopping by Spencer's house, but he didn't. He wasn't sure if stopping would have been more Spencer's benefit or his. It would have been nice to see Ginger. "How's your mom, by the way?"

The younger boy smiled softly. "She really wants to see you after the baby's born. I think she's convinced she's going to be Grandma Smith or something."

Ryan shifted in his seat, laughing a little. "She might as well be."

"Figured as much." Spencer grinned. "She got out all our baby books and made me look at pictures of my sisters."

Ryan laughed outright at that, feeling the baby kick sharply when he did, almost indignant. "Do you remember . . ." He sighed. "You remember when we used to bribe them to take the fall for all the shit we did and they didn't know any better and then your mom would punish us twice?"

Spencer joined in the laughter, nodding. "Dude, and the first time my mom punished you and you told her she couldn't 'cause she wasn't your mom? And so she sent you to the corner for mouthing off?"

"I love your mom, man." Ryan sighed, looking out the window wistfully. "Seriously. I hope I'm as good at this as she was."

It was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the music and the other cars on the road. Spencer was wrestling with the words in his head, knowing he had to say it, just not sure how. "You . . . you're not going to end up like your dad, Ry. You know better."

The older of the two nodded stiffly, still looking out the window. He hoped Spencer was right, but he wasn't the optimist that Brendon was. He saw the worst case scenario most of the time because that was what he liked to write. "I need to pee again."

"Just wait until we get through the city," Spencer said, turning his full concentration back to the road.

---

They got their hotel room around seven. Ryan went to take a shower while Spencer brought in the suitcases and called a Chinese restaurant that delivered. The drive hadn't been that bad. No major traffic jams and they hadn't seen any accident, just a small fender bender when they first crossed the state line into Utah. If the traffic and weather continued and everything went according to plan, they'd make it past Denver the next day, then past Des Moines, and then into Chicago on the fourth day.

Spencer had every intention of convincing Pete to make Ryan stay in Chicago to have the baby. And after he did that, he planned to go surprise Haley at her apartment. He deserved to get something out of this crazy road trip, especially since he was doing all the driving. (Not that he would have let Ryan drive anyway.)

He plugged his laptop in and his cell phone, turning on the television set. He wanted to check the weather, his e-mail, and see if there were any pictures of Ryan popping in and out of gas stations on the gossip sites. There were no such pictures.

---

They were about an hour from Denver when it happened. Ryan was sleeping, head against the window, drooling slightly, when he woke up to the loud, incessant beeping. Spencer was gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. "Is that your phone?" Ryan asked, confused.

"I think it's your wristband," Spencer said, shortly, his lips hardly moving with the words.

Ryan shook his head. "No. No, it's not. I'm not even eight months yet."

The other boy switched lanes, his face not even showing a hint of a smile. "I'm getting off at the next exit, but . . . yeah, you're in labor, Ryan."

"I'm not. The baby's not even . . ." And then he screamed. A small scream, but certainly not a scream anyone should be making in the middle of traffic on the interstate. The contraction had only been for a few seconds. It hadn't even hurt all that bad, he just hadn't been expecting it. He couldn't feel the baby kicking, just movement. Like fluttering on crack. "I'm not far enough along yet," he whispered as they made their way onto the exit, pulling into the first gas station they saw.

Spencer turned the car off and was immediately digging around in the back seat, looking for the bag he'd put the wristband and the charger in. When he emerged, he was holding the white device in his hand. It was screaming and the little red lights were flashing.

Ryan stared at it, his eyes welling up with hot, angry tears. It wasn't fair. His arms wrapped around his stomach, protectively, not wanting the baby to think it was his fault, but wonder why the hell this couldn't this have waited until September like it was supposed to. "It's false labor," he whispered, his voice thick but somewhat hopeful. "It's false labor, Spin. False contractions."

The boy wasn't buying it for a minute. "Well, if it is, they'll be able to tell us at the hospital." He held out the wristband to Ryan, hoping that actually holding and touching the device might make him realize what was going on. Then he shut the car door and ran into the gas station.

Ryan gingerly held the device in his hands, feeling the tears break the barrier of his eyes and slip down his cheeks. It seemed like the beeping was getting quieter, but that was only because he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. It was as though he could hear the rush of blood through his body. All the sounds were growing distant. Ryan didn't even look up with the driver's door opened and Spencer climbed in, closing it shut behind him.

They were already out of the parking lot and back on the interstate before Ryan realized they were moving. "Wh-Where are we going?"

"Hospital should take about twenty minutes to get to," Spencer said, grabbing the wristband out of Ryan's hand and putting it in the center console, fumbling around in the backseat and producing a tee shirt to put over it, shutting the console again to try and muffle the noise. He glanced at Ryan. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

The older boy shook his head, still trying to grasp what was going on. "I don't want to go to the hospital," he whispered. "I want to go get Pete."

The younger boy shook his head, checking over his shoulder before moving into the faster lane of traffic to his left. "Pete's going to have to come to us, Ry."

"But I--"

"You're in labor," Spencer interrupted. "I'm not driving you to Chicago while you're in labor. Are you freakin' mental?" The way he looked at Ryan was probably what set the older off, like he were a bug or had just sprouted a new appendage from his face.

When Ryan spoke it was a half-hysterical almost-scream. "It's not like my water's going to break and I'll have the baby in the damn car. They have to operate. We can still drive there."

Spencer's eyes widened slightly at the suggestion that Ryan seemed to believe was actually an option. "I'm taking you to the hospital," he said in a low voice. "They give you that wristband for a reason."

The boy opened the console, rolling down his window and tossing both the shirt and the wristband onto the street, expression defiant as he turned back to Spencer. "There. Wristband's gone."

"Ryan, you idiot." The boy swore, running a hand through his hair. "We're not going to Chicago, okay? I'll call Pete when we get there. You have to go to the hospital. You can't 'just wait', all right? If the baby's in you for longer than it needs to be, then it'll get hurt."

"He hasn't been in long enough!" Ryan shrieked. He slumped forward, arms around his stomach again, defeated. "I can't do anything right," he whispered. "I can't even keep a baby in me for long enough."

Spencer's hand reached out, rubbing at Ryan's shoulder for a moment. "This isn't your fault. It just happens."

Ryan continued to cry until they had reached the hospital parking lot. Then he had another fleeting contraction before he climbed out of the front seat that wiped the tears from his eyes. "I wish Pete were here," he whispered to Spencer as they walked to the doors of the emergency room.

The younger boy had a protective arm around Ryan's waist, the other resting on his shoulder. "I'll call him as soon as we get you checked in, okay? He's going to fly right out, Ry, I know he will."

Ryan nodded, his arms still wrapped around his stomach.

---

The nurse that helped Ryan with his admission was named Jackie. She looked like she was only a few years older than him, with hair a shade darker. "How far along did you say you were?" she asked as she helped him onto the table.

"Thirty-five weeks," Ryan whispered, laying back when she told him to.

"I'm going to do a quick ultrasound," she told him, "just to make sure these aren't false contractions. It's rare in men, but it does happen. I'll also be checking to see if there's anything we can give you to stop the labor." She gave him a soft smile. "I'll bring your husband back as soon as he finishes filling out the forms."

"He's not my husband," Ryan told her as she squirted the ultrasound gel onto his stomach. "He's just a friend. We were driving to Chicago to get my husband." He turned his head away from her, his nose stinging with the threat of tears.

"Sometimes it takes twelve hours before you're ready to deliver," the woman said gently. "There's still a chance he could make it out here."

Ryan appreciated the sentiment.

---

Pete was lying on the pull-out couch in his parents' basement when his cell phone started to vibrate somewhere near his head. He hadn't been answering it, just checking to see who was calling before grunting and tossing it somewhere else so he wouldn't have to deal with it. If it wasn't Ryan or Patrick, he didn't care. Unfortunately, the name showing on his caller ID right now was Spencer's and Pete knew Spencer was staying with Ryan because Patrick had told him. So, reluctantly, he hit the 'accept' button and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, voice cracking from disuse. He'd just woke up from a ten hour nap.

"Ryan's in labor," Spencer said, voice quicker than usual, but not frantic. "We're in this town about half an hour outside Denver."

Pete wasn't sure what he was supposed to focus on at that moment: the fact that Ryan was having the baby or that Ryan was thirty miles from Denver while he was almost eight months pregnant. "You're in Denver?" he croaked out, reaching for the glass of stale water next to the bed to clear his throat.

Spencer hesitated, like a child who's just been caught in a lie. "Ryan . . . wanted to come see you in Chicago," he mumbled, feeling the heat rise up in his cheeks. "I didn't have a choice." But as quickly as the embarrassment had come, it was pushed aside by logic and Spencer's inordinate sense of responsibility where Ryan was concerned. "You need to get the first ticket you can to Denver. I'll text you where we are."

"Is he . . . okay?" Pete asked, sitting up, his head suddenly drowning in the actuality of the situation. "He's not due until the middle of September, Spence. It's only the beginning of August."

"He'll be fine. Just get out here or I'm going to strangle you with your own bass strings when we get back to L.A." He hung up the phone and smiled at the receptionist who was giving him a rather peturbed look of her own. "I don't have his insurance information," Spencer said, handing her the rest of the paperwork he'd filled out. "But his husband'll be here later. I don't know his doctor's name either, but you can ask Ryan."

She gave him a stiff nod and pursed her lips as she entered the information into the computer. "Anna, will you please take this gentleman back to Ryan Ross's room?" she asked the pretty blonde girl in the other chair who had to be just out of college.

Anna smiled, a little too happily, nodding. "Right this way, please," she chirped as she walked around the desk, beckoning the boy with her finger. "I think it's just so sweet how well you're taking care of your friend," she purred as they made their way through the corridors and, finally, to an elevator.

"Thanks," Spencer said, voice dry. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. "Did they, uh, take him to the maternity ward?"

The girl nodded. "At least it's a weekday," she said.

Spencer didn't understand what she meant. "Sorry."

"It's a weekday," Anna repeated. "So hopefully his husband can get a flight in." She walked him down the hallway, babbling about where he could get coffee and where the vending machines were. When they stopped outside Ryan's door, she gave him a smile with the tiniest hint of smirk. "My shift doesn't end until six, so if you need anything, I'll be downstairs. Anything at all."

Spencer gave a somewhat fake smile before slipping into the hospital room. "That nurse totally wants to sleep with me," he told Ryan as he pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. He leaned in, squeezing Ryan's hand in his. The boy in the bed looked pale, drained. He was in a hospital gown, but he smiled weakly at the other boy. "You okay, Ry?"

"Did you call Pete?" the boy asked, not answering the question. The answer relied too much on the answer he received to give it anyway.

"He's coming," Spencer said with a nod. "He'll be here, Ry."

The boy squeezed Spencer's hand back, tighter than the younger boy expected, causing him to wince slightly. Ryan leaned in closer, his eyes probing. "And if Pete . . . if he doesn't get here in time . . . you'll stay with me, right?" His voice was desperate, pleading. "Please, Spin."

"I won't go anywhere," the younger boy promised.

---

In Chicago, Pete was throwing his iPod and cell phone charger into his suitcase, along with the handful of clothes that he'd scooped off the floor. He really didn't care what he was packing at this point. He just made sure he had a journal and an iPod so he wouldn't end up overdosing on Xanax during the flight. "Mom?" he called, walking up the stairs, suitcase in his hand. "I need a ride."

"Just take the car," the woman called from the living room.

Pete set his suitcase down and went into the room where his mother was watching television. "I can't take the car," he told her. "I need a ride. To the airport. Ryan's in labor."

Dale turned, eyes widenening as she did. "I thought he wasn't due until September."

"He's not," Pete said, hands checking his pockets for his wallet and phone. "So can you, like, shoes and stuff? Please? Now?" His wallet wasn't in his pocket. "Dammit." He took off for the basement again, leaving his mother to sit on the couch for a moment before launching herself up, slipping on the first pair of shoes she could find, grabbing the car keys off the table. "Andy!" she called up the the stairs at her youngest son who was home from college for summer break.

The boy appeared after a moment, looking like he'd just woken up. "I'm taking Pete to the airport. Ryan's having the baby. Call your dad and Hilary and let them know."

Pete came up from the basement, checking his wallet to make sure he had his ID and credit cards before picking the suitcase back up. "Mom, come on," he said, walking toward the door. "I don't even have a ticket yet. We need to go." He was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from letting the tears that he could feel in his chest slip out.

The two of them made their way out to the car, Pete putting his suitcase in the backseat. "I'll drive," he offered, holding his hand out for the keys, but his mother shook her head.

"You're too anxious. You'll get us in a car accident."

As if that were a reminder, Pete climbed into the front seat of the car and immediately began digging around in his suitcase. "Just go," he told his mother, while she waited for him to sit down properly and buckle. "I'm just looking for something."

Uncertainly, years of experience and scolding her children to 'sit down and face forward' working against her, Dale put the car into drive and slowly pulled out down the street. Pete, meanwhile, had found the Xanax bottle and had shaken two pills into his hand, popping them into his mouth and dry swallowing without water. Finally, he slipped back down into his seat, pulling the belt across his chest. "Do you think I'll be able to get a flight?" he asked, concern finally evident in his voice for the first time since he'd come out of the basement.

"It's a Wednesday, honey. I'm sure they have flights available." She got onto the interstate, calculating the time in her head. "Not that you should have left Los Angeles in the first place," she added.

"I know, Mom," Pete muttered, turning and staring out the window, letting his forehead rest against the warm glass. He could feel the tears threatening to spill again. He knew he never should have let L.A. He had just convinced himself if he had, that Ryan would have to talk to him. He'd never expected the idiot to drive to Chicago to have that conversation. At least Spencer was there. That was the only consolation he could think of at this point. Spencer would be able to keep Ryan from completely losing his mind.

"It'll be okay, baby," she said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. "I'm sure it'll all be fine."

Pete wasn't so sure, but he nodded anyway, crossing his fingers that there would be a flight, that he'd be able to get to the hospital in time, that he'd be able to fix this mistake that was all his fault.

---

"It's all my fault," Ryan whispered to Spencer. "Fuck. If I hadn't overreacted or kicked him out, this wouldn't be happening." There were tears in the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them tightly shut, trying to erase his surroundings. He didn't want this to be happening. Not now, not here. And as much as he loved his best friend, not with Spencer.

"It's not your fault he went to Chicago," Spencer said sternly. "And it's not your fault he brought those girls home." He moved from the chair, sitting on the edge of Ryan's bed. "Look at me, Ry," he ordered, voice even, but firm. The boy in the bed opened his eyes slowly. "It's your fault we're in Colorado. It's not your fault he fucked up. It's your fault you wouldn't talk to him, but it's his fault that he left instead of talking to you. Pete's coming. You'll fix everything then, okay?"

Ryan nodded, trying to fight back the rest of the tears, trying to force a smile that didn't quite make it to his face before Spencer's phone rang.

"Damn." The younger boy stood up, checking the ID before pressing the device to his ear. 'It's Pete,' he mouthed to Ryan, turning away from the bed to take the call. "Hello?"

"I got a flight. I just went through security. Plane lands in about two and a half hours and I'll have a rental car waiting so hopefully just three hours, three and a half." There was a brief hesitation on the line. "Will I make it?"

Spencer sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I don't know."

The boy on the other line licked his dry lips. "Okay. Just . . . just take care of him for me if I don't."

"I will," Spencer promised.

"Can I talk to him?"

The boy turned toward the bed, pressing the phone against his chest to muffle the sound. "Do you want to talk to him?" he asked Ryan.

The boy nodded, holding his hand out immediately and pressing the phone to his ear when Spencer handed it over. "Baby?" he whispered, voice cracking.

"Hey, Ry," Pete said gently, the tears he had been fighting finally filling his eyes. "Spin says you're doing really good, baby. I'm going to be there as soon as I can."

Ryan squeezed the phone tighter, as if by doing so Pete would be able to feel it through the lines, like a hug. "I . . . I love you," he said, voice shaking. "I didn't want to tell you over the phone, but I just . . . I want you to know before you get on the plane. I love you. For real." He sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. He looked up to gauge Spencer's reaction, but the boy had already quietly slipped from the room into the hallway. "I'm glad I married you," he added, voice hot and fierce even through the tears.

Pete nodded, not sure if he could speak and keep from crying. He stopped and leaned against the wall near an empty pay phone bank. "I love you too, Ry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for the girls, too." He ran a hand through his hair, mentally cursing at himself. "I just . . ."

"We'll talk about it later," Ryan said, his own tears slowing. "Not right now. The nurse is back, baby, I need to go," he murmured.

"I love you, baby. I'll see you soon," Pete said desperately, wishing he could say more, but not having the words. "It's all going to be okay, Ry," he added at the last moment, wiping at the tears that were now slipping down his cheeks.

"See you soon," Ryan murmured. He ended the call, holding the phone to his chest for a moment. The nurse gave him a soft smile, lifting up the side of the blanket to feel his stomach.

"Contractions getting worse?" she asked. "Or staying the same?"

"I'm having them a little more but they aren't hurting any worse," Ryan said, smiling weakly when Spencer came back in the room. He held out the phone, which the other boy took, sitting back down in his chair. "I told him," he whispered. "He's not gonna get here in time, is he?"

"I don't know, Ry," Spencer said, reaching out to squeeze Ryan's hand, brushing the hair from the other boy's forehead. "But he will get here."

---

Pete was on the plane, listening to Panic's first album, trying to level out his breathing, trying not to imagine that Ryan was in the delivery room now, scared, shaking, wondering where he was. He hated himself for what he let happen, for what he pretended was okay. And if he hadn't decided to play the bachelor for one stupid night, he'd be holding Ryan's hand right now and their own doctor would be getting ready to perform the C-section.

He tugged his earphones out when the stewardess came around with drinks. Pete was sitting in a first class seat next to the window and the flight was only half full. "Can I get, like, a gin and tonic?" he asked.

"I'll just need to see your ID," she said with a small smile. After checking his birthdate, she handed it back. "I know I recognized you," she added with a grin. "How's that husband of yours?"

"Great," Pete lied. "Totally pissed I made him stay home, but, yeah, fine." He nodded, flashing a quick smile.

The woman recognized her dismissal. "I'll be back in a moment with your drink. Just let me know if there's anything else you need." She turned on her heels and walked back up the aisle.

Pete put his earphones back in and stared out the window, hoping against hope that he'd make it in time.

---

"We're going to start prepping for surgery," a nurse said, pulling Spencer into the hallway. "You're more than welcome to say with him, but we need to get you washed up and into scrubs." She lead him down the hallway and had him wash his hands, then helped him put on the scrubs over his clothes. "I know it seems like a lot, but we want to keep the room sterile," she explained as she also handed him a mask, gloves, and something to put over his hair.

"The baby's going to be okay, right?" Spencer asked. He never would have asked if he'd been in the room with Ryan, but he could ask now.

The woman gave a reassuring smile. "He's almost eight months along. Statistically, changes are the that the baby will be fine, just underweight." Spencer moved to grab her wrist as she began to turn, thinking better of it and letting his hand fall back to his side. But the woman turned to look at him, cocking her head to the side. "Something else?"

"I know there's risks."

She sighed, not unkindly. "The baby might develop some infections, but they're generally easily treated. He might need help breathing for awhile, but he might not. The long term affects are rare and not very severe." She smiled before putting on her mask. "Now come on. We're going to start soon."

When they reentered the room, Ryan looked up at Spencer, giving a small smile and looking absolutely terrified. There was a sheet hanging across his abdomen, serving as a screen so he wouldn't have to see the doctor and nurses working. Spencer took a deep breath and then moved next to the bed, putting his hand on top of Ryan's. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know you wish it were Pete."

"I just don't to be alone," Ryan said in a voice quieter than a whisper, not wanting anyone else in the room to hear. He didn't even like admitted his weaknesses to Spencer, let alone a room full of strangers.

"Okay, we're getting ready to start," one of the nurses said. "You might feel some pressure, Ryan, but you're not going to feel any pain." She looked at Spencer. "It's fine for him to talk during the procedure, just try to keep the conversation calm."

He nodded, looking back at Ryan. "I bet you really didn't plan on this when you decided to go to Chicago, huh?" Spencer teased.

Ryan gave a weak laugh. "Yeah, but I knew it would happen eventually. You had no idea you were going to have to watch." He squeezed the boy's hand. "Thank you."

Spencer shook his head. "Don't mention it."

Ryan gave a small gasp. It wasn't pain. It was that pressure the nurse had mentioned. It felt like four or five cold hands pressing down on his stomach, squeezing. And he immediately stopped thinking about Pete and started thinking about Oliver, wondering if the baby was scared, if he'd come out kicking. And would he be healthy? Was it his fault he'd gone into labor early? Had he been too stressed? Could stress trigger early labor?

"We didn't set up the crib yet," Ryan said. "We didn't get the nursery done." A tear slid down his cheek. How could he have not gotten the nursery ready? Why had he wasted so much time second-guessing his marriage?

"I'm sure Pete'll get it taken care of," Spencer said gently. "Don't worry about it, Ry. Oliver'll never know."

Ryan nodded, his eyes feeling heavy. "I'm tired," he mumbled. "Am I supposed to be tired?"

Spencer felt Ryan's hand go limp before he heard the machines start beeping. A nurse was pushing him out of the room while he was still yelling Ryan's name, trying to figure out what had just happened. "You need to stay out here," she told him. And then she was gone and Spencer was left standing in that hallway, feeling useless. He'd promised Ryan he'd stay. But he was trying to look through a door without windows.

---

Ryan felt like he was floating for the moment before he opened his eyes. And when they did open, there was a boy sitting in the chair, his head lying on top of his arms on the hospital bed. Ryan lifted his hand up, his fingers gently brushing through the black hair.

Pete sat up, relief spreading across his face as he stood, his lips pressing against Ryan's mouth, desperate. "I was so worried," he breathed.

Ryan blinked, vaguely remembering that the C-section seemed to have ended without a baby. "I passed out?" he asked, voice soft.

Pete nodded. "You're okay though. Nothing bad happened. Your blood pressure just dropped too quickly." His thumb brushed over Ryan's bottom lip. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

Ryan opened his mouth to reply, but then his eyes flashed with realization. "The baby? Where's the baby? Oliver. Is he okay?" He sounded frantic, trying to sit up.

Pete gentle pushed him back down. "He's fine, Ry. I saw him." Pete's voice started to crack. "He's beautiful." He nodded. "A little small because he's early, but he's perfect. I'll have the nurse bring him in, okay? Just . . . don't move too much, okay? You have staples in you."

Ryan nodded, lying back down, watching Pete disappear into the hallway for a minute. As soon as Pete was gone, Spencer poked his head in, giving a shaky smile. "Hey. Dude, you gave me a heart attack, I swear." He gave the boy in the bed a gentle hug. "And your baby's adorable."

"Thank you for everything," Ryan told him. "Really, thank you."

Spencer nodded. "I'm gonna get out of here and let you and Pete have some time alone. I checked into a hotel. I just, um, wanted to tell you . . . I told Pete what you said about the nursery. He called Patrick and you'll have one when you get home."

Ryan smiled, a geniune smile, his face looking younger than it had in a while. "Thanks. Now, get out of here." He pushed at Spencer jokingly. "You deserve some sleep."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Spencer said, nodding. He left and Pete came back in a few minutes later.

"The nurse is going to bring him in." Pete sat down on the edge of the bed, taking one of Ryan's hands in both of his. "Look, before we get all carried away with the baby stuff . . ." He sighed, staring at their hands clasped together, searching for the words he'd memorized and repeated and then, somehow, forgotten. "I would haven't done anything with those girls, but I know I shouldn't have brought them back. It was wrong. I just . . . felt single and got carried away and . . . it was stupid."

Ryan brought his free hand up, letting it rest on Pete's cheek, causing the other boy to look at him with soft brown eyes. "I think I forgot that this marriage wasn't just new to me," Ryan murmured. "I think I expected too much from you. Next time I'll try to talk to you before I flip out, okay?"

Pete nodded, twisting his head to plant a soft kiss to the inside of Ryan's wrist.

The door opened and a nurse Ryan didn't recognize came in with the baby in the hospital crib. "Would you like to meet your son?" she asked. Her smile was so geniune as she lifted the baby up and brought him over.

Ryan was certain he'd cried enough in the past eight months to last him the rest of his life, but the tears came again as the nurse laid Oliver in his arms. "And he's healthy?" Ryan asked, looking at her. He had to be sure, had to hear it one more time.

"He weighs a little less than he would if you'd been full-term, but he's perfectly healthy. You'll need to watch him and he might get colds and things easier in the first year, but you have a healthy baby boy." She smiled at the three of them on the bed. "I'll give you some time alone now. We can fill out the birth certificate later."

The last time Ryan had held a baby it was a friend in Vegas who had an eight-month-old who just thrust her child into his arms and said, "here, hold him while I get his bottle." She had laughed at Ryan after, said he was holding the baby like a sack of potatoes. Ryan wasn't sure he'd improved at all, but Pete just smiled.

"You just need to make sure you support his head because he's not strong enough to hold it up himself yet," he said gently. "He's got your nose. And your eyes."

"He's not kicking anymore." Ryan chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the newborn on the top of his head. "No one to kick?" he cooed. "He smells so clean." Pete pulled his phone out of his pocket and Ryan shook his head, turning away. "I look shit," he protested.

"You're beautiful," Pete told him earnestly. "Now look at me and smile so I can get a picture of you with our baby."

Slowly, Ryan turned back toward the camera, looking down at the baby and then up at his husband. He'd felt so ugly during the pregnancy and now he could understand why, looking up from the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. But Pete had just called him beautiful, even though his hair hadn't been washed since the surgery and he was wearing a drab hospital gown. In that moment, Ryan thought maybe he was beginning to understand what being married meant.