The Bootstrap Paradox: Part 5

[mokuyoubi]

The sailboat of Greta’s moved much more quickly than either of the other ships, and Michael and Patrick actually knew how to use it. Michael had brought a tonne of navigational maps and devices from the Sea, and Patrick spent half the morning messing around with the engine and the control panel.

He’d come up greasy and sweaty, saying he’d managed to jerry-rig the engine and it should be good for at least a couple of hours of travel, should they need it. Everyone had agreed to save the gasoline in case of emergency and.

They were all worn out from the previous night and the waters were turbulent, which just added to the tension. Michael said it looked like a storm was coming, which seemed to excite Patrick and made Spencer suspicious. As the morning bled into afternoon, the waters grew choppier and the sky dark, clouds heavy and low in the sky.

“We should find some place to lay anchor,” Michael said, and Spencer hadn’t realised how crazy the wind got until he had to shout to be heard over it.

“Where can we go?” he asked.

“We’re close to Black Point,” Michael shouted back, eyes squinted against the wind.

Spencer felt a rising desperation, something close to déjà-vu, all of this too familiar and wrong, and he wasn’t about to get drawn back to his own time, not now, not when he had no idea where Jon was, or if he was even alive.

“Take us there, then,” Spencer decided. “I’ll turn on the engine.” It probably wasn’t the wisest idea, using the gas now, and who knew how long it would last them, but he was willing to risk it.

“You can’t do that,” Patrick protested, fitfully pushing his windswept hair out of his face, following Spencer down the stairs. “You can’t use that now.”

“I’m not going to fight you over this,” Spencer said, and stood at his full height, towering over Patrick. “We’re not going to get stuck in a storm.”

“Spence!” Ryan called from above, voice tight with anxiety and something else. “Spencer, Patrick!”

Spencer spared Patrick one last look before taking off upstairs. They were drawing near to a ship in the distance and it looked worse for the wear, sails tattered, centre mast snapped and hanging at an angle.

“Spence,” Ryan said, grabbing his arm, “Michael says it’s the—”

“It’s The Black Infinity,” Patrick interrupted, voice almost reverent. “Michael…”

“They’re listing starboard, looks like they’ve taken on a lot of water. Storm’s coming from the southeast,” Michael said. “They’re probably headed for Black Point.”

When Spencer went to start the engine the second time, Patrick didn’t try to stop him. Michael looked startled at the sudden speed but he handled it pretty well, and what might have taken them a half hour otherwise had them pulling up alongside the Infinity in a couple minutes.

Spencer felt dizzy with relief, spotting familiar faces leaning over to greet them—Bill, Travis, and Pete. “Pete!” Ryan called, laughing in disbelief and delight. “Pete, you crazy motherfucker, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Pete gave him a slightly bewildered look. “Did I do something to you when I was drunk?” he asked.

“That your magic spy ship?” Bill asked dubiously.

Spencer ignored him. “Where’s Jon?” he asked, surveying the crowd gathered on the deck. There was Gerard with Frank hovering close by and Greta, who didn’t look so sweet and cuddly in her pirate gear. It was kind of hot, to be honest. The three bartenders Alex were all there, too, and a big guy covered in tattoos.

“Jon’s not here,” Bill said. He crossed his arms and was biting his lip nervously. “They…Some of them stayed with the Mamba. Gabe, Jon, Brendon, Tom, Ryland, Victoria, Adam and the Butcher. We got separated by the storm. We were taking on water and they pulled ahead of us and then…they just sort of…Disappeared. It was dark, you know, and they must have got too far ahead of us.”

“They just beat us to the Point, babe,” Travis said, putting an arm around Bill’s waist and drawing him close. The look Ryan gave Spencer said he was thinking just what Spencer was, and it wasn’t good.

Pete grabbed the rope ladder and flung it and himself over the side of the Infinity, quickly shimmying down to the sailboat and landed with a thump on the deck. He immediately set on Patrick, covering his face in kisses, clinging to Patrick’s neck. “Jesus, Pete, get off,” Patrick said, but it sounded more like thank god you’re alive, I love you.

“It’s getting really dark,” Michael said uncertainly, and yeah, it really was. Like, unnaturally dark. Even with the storm it was still early afternoon, but darkness was creeping in thick and fast.

Rain began to fall, warm and gentle, but if the dark horizon was any indication, it wasn’t going to stay that way for long. “We need to get to land,” Pete said. “We’ll have to meet them after the storm has passed. Talio is just to the west. They should be okay with us anchoring there, as many times as we have in the past.”

“Talio,” Ryan echoed. “No. No, we can’t go there.”

“We don’t have any choice,” Patrick said. “I get that you want to find them, but right now it’s suicide to try to rough this out, with this little boat and the Infinity in the condition it’s in.”

“We’re never going to make it before that storm hits us,” Gerard called over the roar of the wind. “Talio is at least twenty miles off.”

“It’s the closest,” Pete shouted back. He started back up the ladder, letting Travis and Bill pull him the last few feet as the wind buffeted him against the side of the ship. “Come on, Patrick.”

Patrick looked torn, eyeing the ladder like it held the answer to life itself. A wave drew the ships apart and back together again and Pete shook his head. “Don’t risk it,” he said, and Patrick looked like he wanted to risk it.

“I thought this is what you wanted,” Ryan hissed, as the two ships headed for Talio, their sailboat in the lead.

Patrick’s lips set in a grim line. “It is,” he said, and Ryan fell silent, suddenly contrite.

It happened suddenly, and without warning. One minute the rain was light and the waves swelled high but gently, and the next the rain was slapping against the deck, waves tossing them roughly from side to side. The darkness pressed in closer and heavier, until Spencer couldn’t even see the Infinity any more.

“Maybe we should turn around,” Spencer said. “We shouldn’t lose them.”

Michael was distracted trying to keep the wheel on course and tossing his wet hair back from his face. “We can’t turn around now,” he said. “You should go below deck and hold on.”

Ryan was already below deck, sitting at the bench behind the table. He’d covered all the surrounding hard surfaces in the extra blankets and was gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

“How did they do this all the damn time?” Spencer asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“This is just like before,” Ryan whispered, words almost indistinguishable over the sounds of the storm.

“I know,” Spencer said. He slid into the seat beside Ryan, putting his hand over Ryan’s.

“I don’t want to go back. Brendon, he’s…” Ryan trailed off, blinking furiously, and looked away, chin tucked into his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave.”

There was a cry from the deck above, distressed and cut off abruptly when the ship banked hard to the side. Ryan gave Spencer a startled look and they both slid free from their seats, scrambling for the stairs.

Michael was still at the helm, clinging desperately. “It’s Patrick,” he said. “He went over.”

Ryan gasped and Spencer felt something like horror in the pit of his stomach. “Where?” he shouted and he and Ryan ran when Michael pointed.

There was nothing, only the waves, dark and turbulent, disappearing into the darkness. “Oh my god, oh my god,” Ryan chanted. “Spencer, he’s…he’s not…” He ran towards the back of the boat, clinging to the railing, searching frantically and Spencer followed, but there was nothing to see.

Another wave hit them and Spencer held tight to the railing, felt like his arm was being jerked from the socket. He cried out in pain and let go purely out of shock. Ryan reached for him, pulled him close and they held onto the railing together, arms tangled.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” Ryan said. “This is all my fault, this trip, the boat, we’re going to fucking die.”

“No, we’re not,” Spencer said, shaking him. “We’re not going to die, Ryan.”

The waves grew stronger, came faster, and then Michael shouted something Spencer couldn’t understand, but when he looked the wheel was spinning freely and Michael was nowhere in sight.

It all seemed inevitable and familiar when a wave finally tore Ryan away from Spencer’s side. He saw Ryan tumbling down the stairs, landing at an odd angle. Spencer went after him, waves pushing him on, making him slip and stumble down. He fell heavily at Ryan’s side, lifting his head out of the water collecting in the cabin. Ryan was breathing, but there was blood on his face, coming from a cut above his ear.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Spencer said, scrambling to lift Ryan and get him settled on the bench, cushioning him on both sides with more blankets. He was torn between going back on the deck to try and get them to land and staying to make sure nothing else happened to Ryan when the door slammed shut.

The ship was tilting at a dangerous angle but Spencer managed to pull himself over, tugging to no avail. The water wasn’t that high. There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to open the door. He fell heavily against it, panting and shaking and fighting the urge to break into hysterical tears.

Patrick had drowned. Michael probably, too, and Ryan was bleeding from his head, unconscious. This was not Spencer’s life. They were going to die. In the fucking 18th century, and no one would ever know or care.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Just stopped. The rain ceased, the wind stopped roaring, the boat settled on gentle waves. Sunlight was peeking through the windows.

Spencer struggled to his feet, feeling heavy and weighed down by the water that came to mid-shin. He tried the door again and it opened outward just a few inches. He gave up on it, searching through the mess of the cabin for the first aid kit he’d seen earlier to tend to Ryan.

By the time he uncovered it from the mess and made it back to Ryan’s side, Ryan was stirring, holding his head and grumbling under his breath. Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Don’t sit up yet,” he said, and laid gentle fingers on Ryan’s cheek, turning his head.

Ryan hissed in a breath. “Fuck, that hurts like a motherfucker.”

Spencer laughed, an edge of hysteria in it. “Yeah…” he poured probably too much antiseptic over the area, dabbing with a cotton swab. Ryan gritted his teeth against the pain and waited in silence until Spencer had finished and placed a bandage over the wound.

“Are you guys alive down there?” Michael called and Spencer jumped to his feet, muscles screaming in protest.

“Michael, you alright?” There was a sound of wood scraping heavily on wood and then Michael stood in the opened doorway.

“Patrick?” Ryan asked hopefully, sitting up slowly.

Michael’s expression was answer enough, but he shook his head ‘no.’

“What do we do now?” Spencer asked wearily. “Do we head to Talio? Or do we go to Black Point?”

“I’m not a navigator, I’m not in command. I don’t make these decisions,” Michael said a little helplessly. “I don’t know what we do now. We’re going to have to stay put until I can figure out where we even are.”

Figuring out where they were was easier said than done. Michael knew a fair big about navigation—even though it wasn’t his job he’d picked it up just from being on a ship. But he said none of the information he was coming up with made any sense.

Spencer didn’t know how much time had passed since the storm began but it seemed to be late afternoon. While Michael went over the charts, Spencer set about organising the cabin, rooting out the food rations. There were plenty, but not a lot of water, which was worrisome.

Michael decided on heading to the northwest, towards Florida, saying he couldn’t be sure of their exact location and it was the safest bet. It was slow going, their sails torn in pieces and Spencer was unwilling to use the gas right now.

Ryan was pale and too dizzy to do much other than lie around. Spencer stayed with him, keeping him from falling asleep. Below deck, he almost didn’t register the sound he was wearing from above until it persisted for several minutes. A distant, faint buzz that was growing closer. He went to the window, straining to hear better.

“Spencer,” Michael called.

Ryan grabbed Spencer’s wrist as he turned to go. “That’s an engine,” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” Spencer said.

“Like hell,” Ryan said. “Take me up there with you.”

There was a speed boat drawing near, when Spencer managed to get Ryan up the stairs. He saw the familiar markings of the Coast Guard and felt a swoop in his stomach, as realisation fell over him. They were back. Jon and Brendon and everyone else were gone. His knees threatened to give out, but he was supporting Ryan, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Need a tow?” a woman called, grinning at them. “Good thing you guys sent out that distress call before the storm got really bad.”

Spencer didn’t remember sending out a distress call, but it had been days ago and he’d been randomly pushing buttons. Or maybe Greta had done it for them. Thinking of Greta and all the other things it brought to mind—Pete, Travis, Gerard and Bill, Spencer suddenly, urgently wanted to get to shore.

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “I think my friends might need medical attention. We had another friend, he went overboard during the storm.”

The woman nodded, turning to the two men standing alongside her. In a matter of minutes they had Michael, Ryan and Spencer on the speedboat and one of the men on the sailboat, and were heading back to shore while two women and a man left on speeders to check out the area.

“They’re looking for your friend, and two more boats are on the way,” one of the men told them. Michael did his best to give them an idea of where they’d been when it happened, but Spencer could tell by the way the officers were acting that no one was holding out any hope.

There was a medic on the boat who bandaged Michael’s wrist, diagnosed as a sprain, and proclaimed Ryan to have a very mild concussion. When they reached the shore, he tried to convince Ryan to have an MRI but Ryan seemed to be thinking the same thing as Spencer about Greta and the others, and shrugged it off.

An officer took all the information they could give about Patrick, which was frustratingly little. Spencer couldn’t remember if he’d ever even been told Patrick’s last name, and even if he had, it wasn’t like he could just give the name of a person who’d been missing for years. Ryan managed to come up with a pretty convincing lie about meeting him in Nassau a couple days before and deciding to go in on renting the boat together, since it was cheaper that way.

“The rental company might have more information,” Spencer said apologetically.

“Guys,” Michael said, when they were back on land and away from the Coast Guard. His voice was blank but his eyes spoke volumes. Spencer was really grateful Michael hadn’t said anything around the military.

“I know,” Spencer said. “We felt about the same way when we first ran across you guys. This is Nassau now.

“Now?” Michael echoed.

“Look, this is crazy, and you’re not going to get used to it anytime soon. But you know how we said we’d seen Gerard and Greta?” Ryan asked. “This is where we saw them. Maybe they got pulled through, too.”

“Pulled through?” Michael asked.

Spencer sighed. “Come on. We’ll explain everything, but right now we have to see if we can find Greta or Pete or someone.”

Michael went along with them willingly, staring at every little thing as they went, from the women on the beach in their tiny bikinis, to the volleyball games, to the cars rumbling alongside the boardwalk. “I thought you guys were…I didn’t realise you were…This can’t be real,” he finished at last. “Patrick was making that stuff up.”

Spencer explained the best he could, filling in what they hadn’t discussed on the Sea, when Patrick was planning their return. For all his protests, and his look of astonishment, Michael seemed to take it in fairly well.

As they neared the surfboard shop, the rental shop came into view, and now Spencer could see, quite clearly, that what he had thought was a façade before was actually part of the hull of the Infinity, fitted around the exterior of the shop. Spencer’s heart beat faster at the sight and Ryan hurried ahead.

The door was locked and the sign, written and decorated in Gerard’s hand, read closed. Undeterred, Ryan hurried into the surfboard shop. Spencer and Michael followed closely, in time to see Ryan accost one of the salespeople. Michael was immediately entranced by the colourful surfboards at the entrance and Spencer figured it was safe enough to leave him there.

“Excuse me,” Ryan said, “but we’re looking for some of the people who work next door. Maybe you could help. Do you know Greta or Bill?”

The guy frowned, taking them in. For the first time, Spencer appreciated the fact that he was wearing the same clothes he had been for over a week, while Michael and Ryan looked like extras from some low budget pirate movie.

“There’s no Greta or Bill that work next door,” the guy said at length. “Mikey answers the phones, and Brian and Bob do most of the office work, when they’re not out on tours.”

“Bob?” Ryan said, jumping at the name. “Tiny, skinny little guy with red hair? About so tall?” He held up a hand to indicate.

The guy’s frown grew. “About this tall,” he said, indicating a much taller height. “Blonde hair, could totally break you in half.”

Ryan’s face fell and he wrung his hands. Spencer stepped in. “Look, they weren’t there this morning. There was a woman, Greta, and—”

“Man, they were closed all day today. Mikey’s in Florida for some concert and everyone else had a big group of tourists they were taking care of all week. I came in at noon and the office was closed.”

“We were there!” Ryan protested. “This morning, around ten. The place was open. They said all their boats were rented out except one.”

The guy’s brows drew close together. “They don’t rent out boats…”

“Wha…yo—” Ryan sputtered and Spencer tugged him away. “Spence!”

“I know,” Spencer said. “Come on. Let’s just call Pete.”

They didn’t have their phones, but someone on the tour was bound to have Pete’s number. They collected Michael and ushered him back to the hotel. The sun was low in the sky when they returned and there was a party on the beach, live music drifting up from the sand.

Most of the group had gathered there and they waved happily to Spencer and Ryan when they neared. No one seemed to have Pete’s number, which was just ridiculous, but one woman did have a flier in her purse that had the number of the company for which Pete worked.

As soon as they got to their suite, Michael was distracted by the bathroom, messing around with the faucets and he kept flushing the toilet, after Ryan showed him how to use it. “This is bloody awesome,” he told them sincerely, and Spencer had to smile at that.

Spencer called the number which rang three times before kicking over to an answering machine for PB and J enterprises. The name of the company on the sheet was Tropical Sunrise Condominiums, which Spencer supposed could be a subsidiary of PB and J enterprises, but this was getting seriously weird. He dialled down to the front desk.

“We’re looking for Pete,” he said, for the fifth time, when the woman didn’t seem to understand. “The guy who picks us up every morning for the tour shit. The guy who was in charge of booking all our rooms. The guy from the condo company, selling the timeshares.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Smith,” the woman said, voice sugary sweet and entirely insincere. “Your tour isn’t part of any timeshare package. Your rooms have been paid for by a private party.”

“What private party?” Spencer demanded.

“We can’t just give that sort of information out,” the woman said.

“But what about the timeshare seminar we attended? And all those people at the timeshare party down on the beach?” Spencer asked.

There was the sound of fingers clicking on keys and the woman said, “I’m sorry, Mister Smith, but your name isn’t on the list for that programme.”

Forty minutes, a trip downstairs and two conversations with hotel managers later, the only information they could get was that their rooms had been paid for by a Mister J. Walker.

They went back onto the beach and managed to hunt down a couple of the guys who’d been at the timeshare seminar, working to sell units. “Oh yeah,” one of the guys said, squinting at Spencer, “you’re the guys who showed up and listened to our whole spiel didn’t even have to be there.”

“What about Pete?” Spencer said. The sand felt unsteady under his feet, ready to give way any second.

“Pete?” one of the women said. “Your friend who knows all the local places?”

“Our…our friend?” Ryan said. “He works for the company!”

The timeshare guys shared a look before turning back to Ryan. “There’s no Pete at this branch,” one said, after a pause.

“I’m going to kick Pete’s ass so fucking hard,” Ryan muttered, when they got back to their room.

Michael was passed out on Spencer’s bed, freshly showered and borrowing some of Spencer’s pjs. He didn’t look out of place in them. Spencer felt vaguely bad about dragging Michael with them, and could only hope that Michael would be okay in the present. Spencer was still trying to figure out how they were going to get Michael back to New York, if necessary, because they couldn’t leave him here by himself.

Spencer wasn’t letting himself think about Patrick at all, because if he did, he might break down or something. Yeah, the guy had been an asshole, but dying—drowning—that wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone. And he couldn’t imagine what Patrick had been through in three years. There was no saying Spencer wouldn’t be the same, after that much time spent in the past.

Ryan showered, and then Spencer, and they got dressed in fresh clothes before deciding to head down to the club. Michael was dead to the world, not that Spencer could blame him. He wanted to pass out, too, felt like it had been days since he’d slept, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, they ordered room service for Michael and left him a note to stay put.

Night had fallen entirely when they made their way out onto the crowded city streets. They’d only been gone about a week, and only a few hours had passed here, but it felt so much longer. Spencer was a sort of stunned silent by all the lights and noises and the people pressing in on all sides. If it was so bad for him and he had lived with this his whole life, how weird must it be for Michael?

It was still fairly early, but The Littlest Mermaid opened at lunch time and stayed open throughout the evening, even when it was dead. The bouncer at the door wasn’t one they’d seen before, and Spencer was pretty familiar with them by now, the way they instantly let Pete in on sight. This guy was big and dangerous looking, but there was nothing particularly mean about him. He waved them in with a look that warned against misbehaviour.

None of the Alexes were behind the bar. Instead there were two women—one tall and skinny with a nice sleeve of tattoos, the other a tiny, perky looking thing with white blonde and black streaked hair.

Spencer couldn’t help a swell of anger at the sight. This was getting ridiculous. Every time they’d come in, it had been an Alex behind the bar. Just like with the closed boat shop and the non-existent timeshare company, he felt like someone was playing some epic joke on him, only it wasn’t remotely funny.

Ryan strode over to the bar, tossing back his hair, and gave the women a belligerent look. They both went to him, the tall one leaning her hip against the bar and eyeing him like she wasn’t impressed. “What can I get for you?” she asked.

“I’d like Pete,” Ryan said.

The woman—her multicoloured nametag read Alicia—laughed. “We don’t have any Pete on the menu, sorry.”

Spencer pursed his lips. “Pete,” he said, stepping up to the bar. “He’s tiny, covered in tattoos, really fucking loud, has red streaks in his hair, friends with the owner.”

The smaller girl, her name tag labelling her as Caz, shrugged. “Wentz? Yeah, he usually doesn’t show up until way late. I think. I’m sorta new around here.”

Ryan drew a sharp breath and Spencer felt cool relief seep through his chest. “We need to get a hold of him,” Ryan said.

Alicia dabbed at the counter with her rag, even though there was nothing there. “You’re gonna have to wait around,” she said. “He’ll show up eventually.”

Ryan looked rebellious and Spencer spoke quickly, before Ryan could. “What about Travis. Is he around?”

“Travis is really popular. He DJs at lots of clubs. I have no idea where he is tonight,” Alicia said. Her expression grew pissier with every word, which Spencer couldn’t understand. He and Ryan, they were the ones with a reason to be pissy.

“Look, someone around here has to have Pete’s number, right? Some way to get a hold of him. If he’s friends with the owners, maybe they have it,” Spencer said, trying to smile.

“You want me to go ask the owners for someone’s number for you?” Alicia asked. She snorted. “Seriously, what the fuck is this? Did Pete put you up to some weird dare or something?”

“Can we just talk to someone who might be able to fucking help us?” Ryan snapped, and Alicia took a step back from the bar. Caz looked hesitantly between Ryan and Spencer, like unsure of what to do with them.

“Look,” Alicia said, “I don’t want to have to get Zack to get you guys out of here. You should just go on your own.”

Ryan looked at Spencer, and all of those years of friendship stretched between them, telling Spencer what Ryan had in mind. As one they turned, but instead of heading for the door they headed for the private balcony Pete favoured. They’d seen the door leading to the offices behind it, and it was worth the chance.

“Hey, what the fuck!” Alicia protested. She was tiny, but she could probably kick Ryan’s ass, at least.

Spencer picked up the pace, grabbing Ryan’s elbow and propelling him forward. He could hear Alicia and Caz making a lot of noise and a rumbling, low voice that sounded like the bouncer’s. He didn’t care. They took the stairs two at a time, the bouncer and bartenders hot on the heels and the door opened before Spencer or Ryan got anywhere near it.

“What’s all the noise?” Brendon asked, and then his eyes fell on Ryan. Brendon was dressed in girl jeans about two sizes too small for him and a tropical print button down that hugged his curves. He managed to make it look good, with a soft fall of brown waves over his forehead and glossy lips.

When Ryan dashed forward, hugging Brendon close and tight, Brendon looked like he belonged. Like he’d never belonged anywhere else.

Brendon laughed, pulling back enough to tip his head back and jerk Ryan down for a kiss, longer and more involved than the one they’d shared on the deck, what seemed like a million years ago. “I’ve been waiting almost two years to do that,” Brendon murmured, parting just slightly before leaning back in for another kiss.

Ryan shivered and pressed closer, arms twining around Brendon’s neck. Alicia said, “huh,” and went back down the stairs to tend to the bar, while Caz and Zack stared on, waiting.

“Where’s Jon?” Spencer asked, the words getting caught up in his throat on the way out. “He’s here, right, he’s…”

“We thought you guys weren’t getting back until tomorrow,” Brendon said. “Patrick did the calculations.”

“Patrick’s okay?” Spencer said in a rush.

Brendon laughed, pressing his nose into Ryan’s neck. “You should have seen him, when we found him, all water logged, and Pete was like this is the second time I’ve found you this way, Patrick Stump, no way you’re convincing me you’re not a merman, now. Sort of where we got the name for the club. That, and because you’d said it, of course.”

Ryan ran his hands down Brendon’s back, like he couldn’t believe Brendon was there, and Brendon twisted around to get into his pocket without actually letting Ryan go. He fished out a phone and tossed it to Spencer, who caught it with numb fingers.

“Patrick’s calculations had you coming back tomorrow afternoon. He came back three days later, and after putting together some different accounts, he came up with a way to map departures and returns. I guess he was a little off with you guys. We would have been waiting for you, if we’d known…

“We used the info from your phones to figure out where you were from and when you came here so that we could make sure everything happened just how it should, right down to you seeing Gee and Greta and everyone. We didn’t want to risk not having you guys come back…”

Brendon paused to kiss Ryan again, hands hooking in Ryan’s back pockets. It was sort of obscene, the way they were clinging to each other, and Spencer couldn’t be anything other than really happy for them.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Ryan panted, between kisses, “but what’s with all the sudden affection?”

“Two years, Ryan Ross,” Brendon said, and kissed him again, hard. “Two years,” softly. He pressed his forehead to Ryan’s and looked to Spencer. “Jon’s number one on speed dial. But he should be here by now.” He shrugged and nuzzled Ryan’s throat. “Never know with Jon. He might still be asleep.”

“So,” Zack said slowly, “everything’s okay up here?”

Brendon beamed, nodding and tugged Ryan even closer, though there was no space between their bodies. “Zack, this is Ryan,” he said proudly.

Zack cracked a smile. “I sort of got that,” he said.

Spencer ignored them both, flipping open Brendon’s phone and thumbing to the one button. A picture of Jon came up on the screen, looking much the same as he had when Spencer had seen him last, almost two days ago. Two years, he thought desperately. He contemplated the call button long enough that the phone went dark in his hand, impatient.

“We were going to meet you at the beach,” Brendon repeated, murmuring to Ryan, but loud enough for Spencer to hear. “Travie and Bill and Gabe were planning a big shindig, booze and weed and music and stuff.”

“I don’t even care anymore,” Ryan said fervently, and Spencer knew he meant it. It was strange to see. He’d never expected Ryan to fall in love for real, and hard like this, but it was impossible to mistake, there in his eyes as they roved over Brendon’s features. “I don’t care,” he said, and kissed Brendon again.

Spencer pressed the ‘select’ key on the phone, watching it light up again, Jon’s picture still on the background, asking ‘call?’ He bit his lip. Maybe he should just wait. Two years was a really long time, and of course Brendon had waited, because he was adorable and innocent and maybe slightly insane in a Ryan attracting sort of way.

But Jon was really charming and sexy, and he was experienced, even if he wasn’t a slut, and two years was a long time to wait on someone just because you’d had a good week together once, not knowing what would happen if and when you ever saw each other again.

“Hey, party on the balcony,” he heard Jon say, before he saw him. It was the same voice, warm and gentle and Spencer’s heart leapt into his throat.

Zack and Caz stepped apart to let Jon up and Spencer couldn’t breathe. He was still Jon, all soft brown eyes and lazy smile, but his hair was longer, curling at the back of his neck and around his face, and he was fresh shaved, and nowhere near as tan as he’d been the last time Spencer had seen him.

Jon just smiled wider when he saw Spencer, a slow spread from his lips that lit up his eyes and Spencer couldn’t have moved if the whole place caught on fire, caught by the expression.

“Hey,” Jon said, and Spencer was across the balcony without processing the movement of his feet, arms around Jon’s neck, and it didn’t matter that Jon was smaller; he caught Spencer’s weight happily, staggering just a little, when Spencer jumped, wrapping his legs around Jon’s waist.

“Hey,” Jon said again, even softer, and lifted his face to meet Spencer’s kiss. It was different without Jon’s beard, soft skin on soft skin, lips sliding together in welcome, familiar and sweet. Two years, Spencer thought, and tried to say with that kiss how sorry he was, how he would make it all up to Jon, given the chance.

When Spencer leaned back, Zack and Caz were gone and Brendon and Ryan were tucked into one of the booths, practically horizontal, making out, hands roaming. Spencer sheepishly climbed down from Jon, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sorry,” he said.

Jon laughed and tugged Spencer close again. “Seriously? You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“Um. I can leave,” Spencer said, mostly teasing, but with an underlying uncertainty.

“Please don’t,” Jon said, all joking aside. Spencer thought he might actually melt under that gaze, steady and knowing. Jon palmed Spencer’s ass and Spencer jumped at the touch, rolling his hips against Jon’s.

“I know it’s only been a day or so for you, but it’s been a lot longer for me, and not all of us have Brendon’s patience, and I really need to fuck you right now, and I’m clean, and please say yes, Spencer.”

Spencer let out a surprised, pleased huff of laughter, and nodded his head against Jon’s shoulder. “Fuck, yes, are you kidding?” he said, and just kept laughing when Jon grabbed his wrist, dragging him along the balcony to the door at the back.

It wasn’t that Spencer was expecting anything in particular, but the office was somehow not what he would have imagined. It was trendy and new, like the rest of the club, with a glass topped desk and matching coffee table, and leather furniture. The view from the window showed the bright lights of Nassau’s nightlife, electric and shiny.

Jon let go long enough to get into the drawer of the desk and fished out a condom and a bottle of lube. “I haven’t been fucking around, before you even suggest it, and don’t think I didn’t know you were going to,” Jon said, glaring playfully.

“Pete stashed these things all over the place a couple weeks ago, saying I’d need them when you got back. He put ‘em all over mine and Brendon’s house and in our offices and in my wallet and shit.” He laughed and shook his head. “Pain in the ass, but he was right.”

“Jon,” Spencer said, and grabbed the hem of Jon’s dark green Henley, tugging. “Just fuck me.”

Jon’s eyes sparked and he pushed Spencer back into the sofa, drawing kisses from him. They wrestled together for a minute, discarding clothing left and right until it was all skin on skin. Jon was warm and hard against Spencer’s body; real.

“Spencer, I’ve been going crazy, waiting,” Jon said, when they settled together on the sofa, Spencer’s head resting on the arm. Jon was hard against Spencer’s thigh, so close to where Spencer wanted him, and if it had been difficult going without this for a few days, Jon seriously must have been losing his mind after two years.

“You don’t have to any more,” Spencer said. Jon’s slid his hand between Spencer’s thighs, fisting his cock and pumping twice before searching lower with fingers slick and warm.

“Do it,” Spencer panted, and Jon pushed two fingers in, twisting his wrist just right.

Spencer arched his back into the touch, and didn’t try to stifle the whimper that rose from his throat. Outside the office the music of the club was thrumming loudly enough to cover the sounds they made.

“How…” Spencer said, rolling his hips against Jon’s hand. Jon was good, fingers gentle but sure, pressing deep and finding just the right spot. It was more purposeful, skilled, than Jon’s fumblings from before, and not that Spencer was complaining, and he wanted to believe that Jon had waited, but two years was a long time. “When did you…”

Jon bit Spencer’s thigh, hard enough to turn the skin bright red at once and make Spencer jump. “We’re going to have to work on your trust issues,” Jon said, and thrust a third finger in alongside the other two, rubbing roughly against Spencer’s prostate.

“And while I wasn’t quite the man whore you believed me to be, I had slept with women before you. And I’ve done some research here. It’s essentially the same thing. Just different…parts,” he said, and grinned, as he stroked that spot over and over, and Spencer’s legs trembled.

“Jon,” Spencer said, “come here, fuck me, please,” in a rush, reaching out.

Jon pulled his fingers free and got himself ready slowly, taking his time opening the condom and rolling it over his cock, watching Spencer watch him. Spencer groaned in frustration, hooking a foot behind Jon’s knee and tugging.

Jon laughed, falling forward, catching himself with his arms braced by Spencer’s head. He was beautiful and so open in his happiness, and it made Spencer’s breath come faster. Made him feel light-headed with a rush of confusion and relief and affection and lingering fear that somehow this might not be real.

“I was worried I’d never see you again,” Spencer said, reached out to brush a hand down Jon’s cheek. Jon turned his face, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s wrist, and pushed forward, sinking into Spencer’s body.

Spencer’s breath caught and he held it, wrapped his arms around Jon’s shoulders and wound his hands through Jon’s curls. Jon rested when he was all the way inside and Spencer thought he could stay like that forever, stretched and open and full of Jon.

“Wouldn’t let a little thing like two hundred years keep me away from you,” Jon whispered, and Spencer closed his eyes against the sudden stinging, let Jon catch his mouth in a kiss. Knew that it was true for him, too. If Jon hadn’t been here, Spencer would have fought his way back to find him.

“I,” Spencer said, and swallowed hard. He opened his eyes, finding Jon’s. “Jon, I…”

“I know,” Jon said, and smiled so sweetly. “Me too.” And he moved, slow and steady. Spencer moved with him, bracing his heels against the sofa and pushing up to meet every thrust.

It could have been over quickly, or it might have gone on forever, but it just felt right, coming apart when Jon’s hand finally closed around Spencer, jerking in time to his thrusts. Spencer moaned through it, still working back on Jon’s cock until Jon’s hips lost their rhythm and he buried his face in Spencer’s neck, biting down hard enough that Spencer’s cock tried to get excited again.

Jon fell against Spencer’s chest, hugging him around the waist, fingers clasping and sliding over Spencer’s skin, damp with sweat and come. “I’m totally going to be ready to do that again in about ten minutes,” Jon said and Spencer could feel the grin against his collarbone matching the one spreading over his own face.

They finally stumbled out of the office over an hour later, clothing and hair rumpled. It was obvious to anyone with eyes what they’d been doing and sure enough, as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, they were met with thunderous applause.

In the time they’d been busy, the Mermaid had filled up with familiar faces. Brendon and Ryan were still all over each other in one of the booths, but they’d been joined by Pete, Patrick, the entire crew of the Mamba and Greta, Gerard and Frank. Down below the long haired Alex was behind the bar with Caz and Alicia, and Cash was chatting him up.

“I called everyone while you were…busy,” Brendon said, managing to pull his mouth away from Ryan’s for a second.

Jon rolled his eyes and leaned in to whisper to Spencer. “I’m honestly really impressed that they’re still here and still clothed. Brendon’s been talking, in some detail, about what he’s been planning for Ryan’s return.”

“Please, don’t tell me,” Spencer said, because there were things he definitely did not want to know about Ryan’s sex life. Like. All things, about Ryan’s sex life.

“I’m really sorry about the miscalculation,” Patrick said. He looked a lot more at home here, dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt, a trucker cap pulled low over his hair. “I made a window that started tomorrow at four, but these things aren’t always precise. Or if they are, I can’t figure out how.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Spencer said, feeling generous. Mostly because he’d just come three times in a row, and he was glad Patrick wasn’t dead. “We thought you were…”

Patrick waved a hand. “I couldn’t cross over to the same time as you and the boat was tied to your time, so I got sucked back without it,” he said.

“Luckily,” Pete said, slinging an arm over Patrick’s shoulders, “we were there to rescue him.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, flushing, “lucky me.” Pete whispered something like “don’t front” against the skin of Patrick’s neck and Patrick turned his head to let Pete kiss him for a brief second.

“Patrick was a lot stricter than you, about the whole ‘no sex’ thing. He wouldn’t give Pete any until he’d been checked out at a hospital, the whole deal,” Jon said in a whisper.
“How did he...” Spencer trailed off, uncertain where to start. “How did you guys do all of this? How did you get to the hospital without any papers? And you and Brendon own this place?”
“Well, the Infinity got back before we did,” Jon said. “Patrick had most of that figured out by the time we showed up, eleven months later. Money will get you pretty much anything, and he had a ship full of guys who knew where to find some really old, really valuable treasure.”

Everyone welcomed Spencer warmly. Some more warmly than was strictly necessary, because Spencer seriously didn’t need Gabriel groping his ass, but whatever. It was nice everyone was here and alright. Bill, once again with terrible hair, gave him a quick hug and said, “I’m really glad you okay and stuff, but please tell my you have my Michael Guy.”

Spencer had totally forgotten about Michael, and was sure the guilt showed on his face. “He’s at the hotel. He was really trashed. Hadn’t slept in days.”

“We should go rescue the poor dear,” Bill said solemnly. “Introduce him to the various pleasures of the twenty-first century…”

“It’s our duty,” Mike agreed. “As good friends and good crewmates.” Sisky and the Butcher nodded their fervent agreement, and they, along with Travis and Gabe, disappeared.

Bill called over his shoulder as he left, “We’re still having that party tomorrow. 5. By the shop. Mikey’ll be back for it.”

“I got the good shit,” Gabriel said, and then they were gone.

“Time doesn’t change all things,” Patrick said wisely.

Their party thus diminished, it was easy for the remaining members to squeeze into the round booth with Brendon and Ryan, who shot everyone pissy looks at being interrupted. Alex and Cash came up bearing shots and Alicia opened the balcony bar to keep them caught up.

Somewhere around the fifth shot, Frank somehow appeared on the booth between Ryan and Spencer, seemingly out of nowhere. Spencer blinked at him. “I wanted to apologise,” Frank said, and he sounded sheepish. Looked it, too. In fact, he looked like a sheepish, cuddly bunny, like it would be absurd to suggest he was the person responsible for the scab on Ryan’s neck.

“Yeah?” Spencer said, unimpressed.

Frank hung his head. “I was a total dickhead to you guys, and it was really unforgivable, I know…” He eyed Ryan’s neck uncertainly, and Spencer could understand. Frank had been here for over three years, and now he was witnessing fresh evidence of what he’d done.

“I know it’s unforgivable,” Frank said again, “but I was worried about Gee, you know, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted him back.”

Ryan’s face softened and he put an awkward hand on Frank’s shoulder. “We’re cool,” Ryan said, and Frank’s shoulders sagged in relief, then tightened again when he looked anxiously at Spencer.

“You touch Ryan again, I’m going to have to kill you,” Spencer said speculatively. “But I can sort of understand where you were coming from.”

Frank smiled and it was all sunshine and slightly deranged puppies. He gave Spencer a smacking kiss on the cheek and Ryan one over his healing cut. Ryan raised a brow, holding his hand lightly to the cut. Frank just grinned unrepentantly and wriggled out from between them, under the table, resurfacing next to Gerard.

Spencer watched them bemusedly. Gerard had a goofy smile just for Frank, and the two of them looked like complete, dorky idiots in love, nothing like the scary guy in the leather jacket from the boat rental place, or the knife happy psycho from the Sea.

It was really nice catching up with everyone—listening to Alex and Ryland talk about their music, or Nate and Joe going on and on about surfing, or Andy showing off all his really awesome tattoos acquired in the past couple years.

Still, Spencer was hyperaware of Jon beside him, the warmth of Jon’s body pressing close, and Jon’s hands roaming over his side, down his back, playing with his hair. He sort of wanted to get out of here.

Nate was in the middle of a story about a hippy on the beach when Jon nosed aside Spencer’s hair, putting his lips to Spencer’s ear. “I hope you weren’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon,” Jon said casually, breath coming hot and fast against Spencer’s skin, “because I’m taking you home and not letting you out of bed for the next month or so.”

Spencer found Jon’s hand blindly, linking their fingers together, and looked at Ryan. Ryan tipped his head to the side, reading Spencer’s face, knowing. He waited for Spencer, like there was even a choice.

Spencer thought about New York. About their nice apartment and the great job he’d got, only at the expense of what he’d really wanted from his life. He thought about winter in New York—biting cold wind and snow soaking his shoes—late nights with Ryan and early mornings when he didn’t want to get out of bed, and how Ryan’s eyes got dark and cold as the season when the nights grew longer and longer.

He said, “There is nowhere else I want to be.”

Ryan’s smile was soft and secret, covered quickly by Brendon’s kiss. Spencer leaned into Jon’s side, nuzzled Jon’s chin, up, up, until Jon lifted his face for a kiss, long and consuming. “Take me home, Jon,” Spencer whispered.


Epilogue