"Everyone seems to love the idea," Spencer whispered from where he sat at Brendon's side. Brendon nodded stiffly, taking a sip of wine, and smiling that dazzling smile reserved for donors and the press when a woman looked his way. She tittered and smacked his arm gently, telling him not to tease. He inclined his head and went back to his meal. It was the first dinner of what he hoped would be many more, with proceeds going towards his charity; the one he'd been working on, now, for months, preparing everything, telling only the right people about his plans, and getting it up off the ground. The charity sought to help families who had been torn apart by the war between Beauregia and DURA. Spencer was his right hand man, as he'd always been meant to be, and was in charge of activities to help raise funds for children of the war, who'd either lost their parents or their homes. Brendon had been working nonstop for months, now, and it was finally paying off. When he'd imagined life after school, even after Beauregia had crumbled, he'd never imagined himself the President of a NGO. He'd never imagined working in the non-profit sector. And yet... he couldn't see himself doing anything else, now. He was glad, though, when Spencer turned away from him and leaned in towards Jon, conversing in hushed tones that Brendon didn't even try to hear.

"He's been like this since Christmas," Jon was saying, looking rather agitated. He lowered his voice. "He comes back to us, sobbing and pouring his heart out for once, and then he stops talking to us the next day and starts this-- this thing. I'm not..." he sighed, trailing off. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, the charity, I'm just saying that he's faking it. He's so stiff and cold," Jon shivered and shook his head, popping a piece of carrot into his mouth. "S'not right," he finally mumbled, and Spencer was forced to agree. Though Brendon was doing a lot of good, he was no longer speaking to his friends on a regular basis, and hadn't even spoken to Ryan in over five months. Spencer and Jon had both taken to keeping their worry to themselves, but it was getting harder, especially when they spoke to Ryan at least once a week. Or, Jon did, anyway. Spencer was trying to get Brendon to open up, while Jon seemed to be doing the same with Ryan. It was rather discouraging.

***

"They say the first year is the hardest," Brendon said, then looked over at Spencer, squinting in the sunlight. It had been three months, now, since the first charity dinner, and he was helping Spencer organize and build a children's center. Somewhere kids could go after school to swim, do arts and crafts, read, play sports. All for free. He was proud of his friend. He shook his head. "I still think it's the best thing I've ever done."

***

Ryan groaned and buried his head under his pillow. His head was pounding and his entire body was throbbing with exhaustion and still the screaming. Wouldn't. Stop. Could he get away with throttling the thing? He didn't think so. The quiet he so longed for, and had longed for for four long days now wouldn't come, and he had end-of-term exams to study for and papers to be handed in and Goddamnit, he needed a proper night's rest! He gave another groan and pulled himself out of the soft, inviting bed, deciding to do something about it before the other people in the dorm house came knocking his door down. Again

He reached the drawer that had been softened with blankets and put on the floor in the lack of something better and pulled out the noise machine. Carefully. He wasn't a murderer after all. Then he used the old trick, walking back and forth, rocking, singing a song in a scratchy, sleepy voice. Nothing helped. The screaming didn't even lessen, and by the end of it Ryan had frustrated tears in his eyes and placed the baby back in the drawer before looking up at the clock. It was three in the morning. Ten in the evening in New York. He took a deep breath and picked up his cell phone, pressing in a number he knew by heart by now.

"Hello?" Jon was still laughing about something Spencer had said as he turned his face away and spoke into his cell phone. He hadn't taken the time to check the number, but when he heard the wails in the background, he was confused as to who could be calling him. He didn't have any friends with babies, did he? Frowning slightly, he got up off the couch and walked out of the room, away from the added noise from the television and Spencer's chattering.

"Jon?" Ryan asked, and he knew his voice was frantic and desperate, just as much as he felt, had felt ever since Miriam had knocked on his dorm room door four nights ago and had pushed a bundle of baby into his arms without any explanation other than 'can't take the fucking noise anymore. She's yours now' before she'd run away too quickly for Ryan to catch up with the screaming thing in his arms. "Jon, I need your help, please? Just until the paternity test comes back and I can prove it isn't mine and hand it over to social services? Please? I don't fucking know what to do!" He had to hold back incredibly hard, stay in control, or he'd be sobbing as hard as the kid.

It had been nearly a year and a half since he'd pushed Brendon out of his door, never to see the younger male again outside of television and newspapers. And Ryan had realized that maybe idealism wasn't all it was cracked up to be, maybe Jon had been right all along. Connecting love and sex only led to heartbreak, and while Ryan couldn't say he was interested in falling in love again, being alone in a strange country with all his friends half-way around the world led to an intense loneliness. At first he'd been very hesitant in breaking his own principles, but what did it matter anymore anyway? He didn't have any precious virginity to preserve now, and he'd already learned that the most painful kind of relationship and sex was when you loved the other person. The loneliness and the shattering of his ideals had led to a string of relationships, none of them lasting more than a few weeks at most, and he supposed that since the baby was apparently around three months old and Miriam had been the flavor of the week around a year ago that it wasn't logically impossible. But there was no way it could be true. He wasn't a father and all he had to do was wait for the DNA test to come back and prove it.

"Fuck, Ryan," Jon whispered, jogging to his room so that he could have some privacy. He slammed the door shut and plopped down into his computer chair, running a hand through his hair. "First of all, if that baby feels in any way that you don't care about it, it's not going to stop crying. So you're going to stop this stupid fucking denial and we're going to assume, for now, that the baby is yours," he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Second, you're going to tell me when and where you want me to meet you, and we're going to talk about this when I get there. That clear?" he figured since Ryan had listened to orders his whole life, maybe this straightforward approach would help calm him. He'd have to find a suitable excuse for Spencer and Brendon about this sudden departure, because he would not be telling Brendon about this, but Jon knew that Ryan needed help and was willing to provide it. He knew that he was making it sound like Ryan lived a few streets away, instead of a whole ocean, but he thought that making things sound simpler might help, as well.

"She can't..." Ryan murmured. "It can't, it's not... fuck... no..." His eyes were drooping again, but at the same time he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, breathing a little too quickly before he finally managed to just focus on Jon's voice, face buried in his hands as he slowly calmed down. "My dorm room," he finally answered before letting out a laugh that bordered on hysterical. "A fucking ninety-five square meter dorm room with a fucking baby," he got out, one tear making its way out of his eye. "I've slept five hours the last four days," he added, maybe unnecessarily, but his thoughts weren't exactly making sense at the moment. "As soon as possible, please?"

"Alright, alright, I'll be there," Jon said, then hung up and sighed. He'd take the next plane out.

***

"That her?" he asked, immediately realizing how stupid the question sounded. Of course it was her. Ryan didn't have other random babies stashed in his room. He bent down to peer at her and refrained from saying that she looked like her father. Ryan would definitely not appreciate that. "I, uh... told Spencer, who'll probably tell Brendon, that I came down to help you move into an actual house. I don't know, it seemed like it made sense at the time, though..." he said, ran a hand through his hair before looking up at Ryan. "I brought some money and stuff, so if ever... you know," he shrugged uncomfortably and turned back to the baby. "What's her name?" he asked quietly, wondering if she even had one yet. He'd arrived about half an hour ago, a day and a half after Ryan's phone call. He'd been worried as hell the whole plane ride, but now that he was here, he was sure Ryan would pull through, somehow.

"Yeah," Ryan muttered, blinking slightly, beyond grateful that the baby was quiet for once. "And thanks, for the money. I'll pay you back once I make some." He took a deep breath, raking a hand through his hair only to realize that it was tangled and starting to get greasy. He was in quite desperate need of a shower, really. And a proper meal. "Miriam, her mother, she didn't tell me if she did. She didn't tell me anything, just pushed the baby on me and left." He sighed, glancing down at the tiny face. "And I figured that it wouldn't make much sense to name her before I know for sure if she's... you know." He shrugged and gave a vague smile. "Thanks for coming over," he said, exhaling deeply. "I don't know what I'd have done this last day if I hadn't known you were on your way." And fuck, did he feel pathetic? In less than four months he'd be twenty-six years old, and at the first sight of serious trouble he called his twenty-year-old friend for help. Such a grown-up thing to do. At the moment he didn't feel much like a grown-up at all, though.

Jon sighed, turning towards Ryan fully and pulling him into a hug. "You should name her, yeah?" he said softly, wrapping his arms tightly around Ryan's shoulders. "Unless you made it a habit of sleeping with someone who also made it a habit to sleep around quite a lot..." he trailed off and pulled away, sighing. "Since when have you been sleeping with girls, anyway, Ross?" he asked, deciding that he wouldn't mention how utterly devastated Brendon would be. It was really none of his business, anyway.

"Yeah," Ryan agreed with a hard, mental sigh, in context also agreeing to the fact that the chances of it not being his child wasn't really big at all. Even though they were still the milky blue that nearly all babies shared, the eyes already had the tell-tale almond shape that no Ross could escape. "I actually went to Beauregia quite convinced I was completely straight," he stated, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt that had started to come down. "Turns out I'm bi," he finally concluded with a mirthless laugh. "Best of both worlds, except if I'd been entirely gay at least I wouldn't have been able to knock anyone up." He walked over to the drawer again, bending down and picking up the girl who had started to look a little restless. After nearly six days of almost constantly pretty much getting his eardrums shattered he'd started to pick up on the small signs of impending screaming. He fingered the soft bits of downy blond on the baby's head carefully with his free hand. "How's..." He thought for a moment, trying to remember the proper names. It was a family tradition on his mother's side that at least one name be Gaelic as a reminder of their roots, a tradition he could thank for being Ryan rather than simply George Junior. "Keely?" he finally half stated, half asked. "Keely... Lucía..." He took a deep breath, looking away from the baby. It still didn't feel quite real at all. "Ross," he concluded.

Jon snorted at the names. He liked them, it just seemed odd for Ryan to be saying these things. "Well, she's beautiful," he assured, smiling a bit. He was a bit uneasy at the thought of Ryan sleeping with anyone else but Brendon, but Ryan was old enough to be making his own decisions and he was in no place to judge. He hefted the baby from Ryan's arms and held her against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. "Don't tell anyone, but my grandparents used to babysit kids all the time-- I'm kind of an expert," he boasted, winking at Ryan before walking around the room a bit, a spring in his step to lull the baby as he rubbed her back gently. "What have you been feeding her? And you know how to properly change a diaper, right? Also, we'll need to buy a proper crib, and some clothes..." he trailed off and looked at Ryan, eyebrows raised. "You ready for this?"

Being as tired and still half in shock about it all, Ryan couldn't really muster up the energy to start really thinking about all those things, never mind the probably much longer list of things he also had no idea about. "If she really is mine," he said, and knew the moment the words left his mind that they were of no real consequence. "Then I don't want her raised by strangers." He sucked in a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Besides, mid-twenties is supposedly the best time to raise kids, right? At least I'm not a teenager anymore." He shrugged slightly before nodding. "I'll do it, yeah. I have no idea what 'it' actually entails, but I'll learn and I'll do it. I may not have planned for this, but she isn't supposed to be paying for my mistakes, is she?" The question was really rhetorical and Ryan believed they both knew that, but it was really the best reasoning he could come up with.

Jon smiled at Ryan, glad to hear he was taking responsibility. It had been exactly the right answer. He kept walking around, rocking the baby gently, and humming to her. He broke off a few seconds later, turning to Ryan and grinning. "Wish I had Brendon's voice right now-- I bet that would put her right to sleep," he said, the chuckled softly and went back to his humming. Brendon. He wondered how the boy would take it, and knew right away that it would probably involve a lot of screaming and breaking things if he were ever told. Either that, or he'd bottle everything inside and simply refuse to talk about it. Both were possible when it came to Brendon.

Even after all these years Ryan felt something inside clench at the mere mentioning of Brendon, and with how tired he was he was having trouble controlling his own reactions and turned his face away so Jon wouldn't see. Not that Jon would notice anyway, absorbed as he was in the baby. And what was that? Was he seriously becoming jealous with a baby, and one that was more than likely his own at that? Pathetic, so fucking pathetic. He held back a yawn by sheer force of will, rubbing his face with one hand. "I hate having already asked so much of you, and you've come all the way over and I ask more, but could you maybe watch her for a bit so I can get a couple hours' sleep and a shower?" he asked, hoping that his words were making sense at the moment. He wasn't sure at all, what with how fried his brain felt.

"No problem," Jon answered cheerfully, trying to maybe make Ryan feel better. He hated seeing the guy like this, had grown rather fond of him despite how cold he'd been during school. He smiled at Ryan, knowing that something was wrong, but he didn't push it. It wasn't the time, what with Ryan practically dead on his feet. "She'll be just fine," he assured, then smiled down at the tiny girl in his arms. "She's such a well-behaved little girl, after all," he cooed, which he knew must seem so unlike him. He usually didn't like when people spoke to their kids like idiots, but she was just too cute and he'd had the urge to coo ever since he'd picked her up.

Ryan shook his head, convinced he was dreaming or seeing things or something because Jon seriously hadn't just cooed and nearly used baby speak. He blinked a few times to gather his wits, mumbled a thank you before staggering to his bed. He'd have preferred taking a shower first, but he was simply too exhausted to do anything other than kick off his shoes and crawl beneath the covers before he was out like a light.

***

"Those girls who live a few doors down-- the ones who work at the restaurant down the street? They wanted to know if you'd let them look after the baby sometime," Jon announced one night as they were sprawled on the couch, eating dinner. The baby had been fed and put into her crib (Jon had finally broken down and nearly bought out a baby store, on top of having rented an apartment with Ryan, about two months ago) and she was now sleeping soundly, thank God. He glanced over at Ryan, thinking, not for that first time, how comfortable they looked, living together. He didn't mention that the girls downstairs had thought them a couple-- he didn't think Ryan would find it nearly as funny as he had.

"Those three who are giggling and hiding faces in each others' hair every time I see them?" Ryan asked, one eyebrow cocked in half amusement and half confusion. "I think they'd have to prove to a certain state of maturity before I let them alone with her." He snorted slightly. "I will never understand girls." He rolled his eyes with a small smile and took another bite out of his sandwich, chewing slowly and relishing it. It had been several weeks since the test results had come back, telling Ryan what he already knew: Lucía was indeed his. Then he had searched every hospital in the area for records on when a Miriam Martin had given birth and had finally found out that Lucía's birthday was February sixteenth. Nearly all the papers were finally drawn out, but he remembered clearly a conversation with one of the social workers who'd helped him go over the papers. Children of single parents were always more at risk because their safety net was halved. If something happened to Ryan she could very easily end up in the sometimes brutal foster care system, and despite the fact that he still didn't quite know what to make of the situation, that idea didn't sit very well with him. He'd thought it through a lot, and all he needed now was to ask Jon and hope he agreed. Ryan cleared his throat and looked up through his bangs. "Jon, I was wondering... I know it's a lot to ask, and I owe you so much already as it is..." He took a deep breath. "Would you be Lucía's Godfather?"

Jon, who'd been chuckling quietly, looked up in surprise. Him? Someone's Godfather? He stared at Ryan for what seemed like a long time before he nodded slowly, a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, Ry-- I'd love to," he said quietly, and he felt touched that Ryan thought highly of him; he would never have even dreamed of someone asking him to take on such responsibility. But he was happy for it. He really did love Lucía, as much as he would love his own child. He grinned and shook his head ruefully. "You're going to make me cry, Ross," he chuckled and sighed loudly, finishing off his own sandwich. He wanted so badly to call Spencer and tell him the good news, and his smile faltered a bit when he remembered that he couldn't. But Spencer would have been so happy for him! And Spencer loved kids, worked with them everyday, and he would have been ecstatic to meet Lucía. He was also missing Spencer more and more these days. He hadn't been away from the other man for more than a few weeks in the past six and a half years. But he knew that Ryan needed him, and that Spencer, more than anyone, understood that.

Ryan grinned and reached over with one hand to pat Jon's shoulder. "Not feeling so manly right now, Walker?" he asked with a slight chuckle, which quickly died down to just a regular, soft smile. "Thank you," he muttered. "You have no idea how much that means to me. And I don't think I could've chosen anyone better." Another lopsided grin grew on his face. "You may not have even hit twenty-one yet, but you've been there for her since I first called you. And you're basically the one who's taught me to take care of her. I think that's more than even most forty-year-old Godparents can brag about." He took the last bite, finishing his sandwich and washing it down with a gulp of chocolate milk. "At the risk of sounding even sappier: I couldn't have done this without you."

Jon smiled, reaching over to ruffle Ryan's hair. "I'm glad I could help," he said, turning away for a moment to watch the tv. "And she's not that fussy once her father knows what he's doing," he laughed, winking at Ryan as he remembered the first few weeks which had, literally, been hell. Lucía had cried so much, and they'd almost run out of money with the amount of food, diapers and other essentials they'd had to buy. Other students had come knocking down their door, telling them to keep it quiet or get out. They'd finally done the latter and bought the apartment. But she was behaving well, now, because she had the undivided attention of her father and Godfather. God, he was a Godfather! He'd never get over it.

"Yeah," Ryan agreed with a small smile. "I guess she really is a good girl once you get to know her."

***

Lucía was seven months old when she stopped being an inconvenience and became the person Ryan loved most on Earth. It wasn't an Earth-shattering moments by any means, but it would always feel that way to him. He returned from a lecture, tired and prissy to find Lucía sitting in her playpen, knocking a stuffed toy silly against the floor. Jon was nowhere to be seen, and Ryan got rid of his jacket and walked over to check on the baby when she suddenly looked up, her eyes big and honey brown and identical to his own. Then she lit up in a toothless grin and opened her mouth. "Dada," she babbled. "Dadadadadada." And that was it. He melted into a puddle of goo and had her scooped up in his arms before he was even aware of doing so, holding her as close as he dared. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to let her go.

Jon came out of the kitchen, a dish cloth hanging from his shoulder and his hands soaked, to see Ryan cuddling his daughter like a father should. He smiled widely, watching them both for a moment. Was it weird that he was proud of Ryan for this? That he almost felt like a parent, watching his child hold their child? He frowned a bit, trying to remember when he'd started caring about both Ryan and Lucía this much. It made his heart clench and his longing for Spencer only grew. Ryan was who he saw everyday now, who he could talk to and laugh with. Spencer had been that person for so long, except that he'd also been so much more. It made Jon want to pick up the phone and hear his friend's voice, but he restrained himself. Talking to Spencer would only make him miss the boy more, which wasn't what he wanted right now. Drying his hands on the cloth, he walked forward a bit, smiling again. "Well," he said, trying to lighten his own mood. "Aren't we domestic and cozy."

Ryan turned around with a huge smile on his face, grinning at Jon. "She called me Dada!" he exclaimed proudly, and he didn't think he'd ever stop smiling again. "Can you believe it?" he asked on. "I just came in and she looked up and really recognized me, and she called me Dada!" He knew he was rambling a little, but seriously, if this moment wasn't one to ramble, then he didn't know what was. "Such a clever, little girl," he murmured, grinning down at the baby and brushing a long finger over her tiny, soft, round cheek. And so beautiful, he mentally added, but didn't say it out loud. He had probably used up his mushy quota for the day.

Jon grinned and made his way over, softly stroking her hair. "That's great," he murmured, smiling up again at Ryan. "And of course I can believe it. You're a great father, and you've been taking care of her so well. She recognizes you as someone who loves her and keeps her safe..." he trailed off, kissing Lucía's tiny head and then slapped Ryan on the back. "Congrats, Dad," he said, then chuckled and went back to the kitchen to start cleaning again. It was amazing how responsible he'd become in the last months, and even more amazing was the fact that he kind of liked it.

"Thanks," Ryan murmured, blushing slightly even though he'd only been listening with half an ear, so absorbed in his daughter. He did disagree with Jon on one point, though. He hadn't been a good father and had really only loved her out of duty. He knew that, even if his friend was too nice to say it out loud. But that would end now, he promised himself. He would be the very best father any child could ever wish for, and he'd always love her more than anything. Maybe some day he'd find a significant other with whom it would be good and actually last, but his baby girl would always be the highest ranking love of his life.

***

"You are coming back right this instant, Jonathan Walker, because I am not letting Brendon ruin his life!" Jon, who'd been holding the phone away from his ear because of Spencer's shrieking, could distinctly hear Brendon in the background, as well. "I'm not ruining my life, Spencer!" And then Spencer was yelling at Brendon again, though he obviously hadn't bothered to turn away from the phone, and Jon was laughing silently. He still didn't know what the problem was but, somehow, Brendon had succeeded in royally pissing Spencer off. Jon held up a finger to Ryan before walking out of the living room and to his own bedroom so that he could talk to Spencer in peace.

"Alright," he said, sighing. "Tell me what's going on."

By the end of the conversation, Jon was siding with Spencer and agreeing to come back to New York for a bit. When he hung up the phone, he cursed loudly, and then apologized just as loudly because he hated cursing where the baby could hear him. He walked back to the living room and looked at Ryan wearily as he flopped down onto the couch and rubbed his eyes. "So, I'm gonna have to go back to New York for a bit... seems there's a bit of a problem and my help is required," he said cryptically, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "You gonna be okay alone for a while?"

Ryan felt a small stab somewhere in his gut at the prospect of being alone again. Lucía was there, which was most important, but he couldn't speak with her and get the same feeling of having people around him. He did understand, though, and put on a smile. "I understand," he stated. "And obviously we'll miss you, but it's not like we're the only people depending on you." He patted Jon's shoulder. "We'll be all right, though. So long as you make sure to come back and visit once in a while." Because Ryan knew that maybe it was Jon's intention to come back soon and stay with them again, but he also knew that wouldn't happen. He wasn't blind to how much Jon had missed home, or to the longing looks every time Spencer was mentioned. Ryan and Lucía didn't need him as much anymore, and Jon knew that. He would stay in New York, and Ryan already missed the way things were.

"Okay," Jon said quietly, and wasn't at all surprised by how much he would miss both Ryan and his Goddaughter. He took a deep breath before wandering out of the living room and to Lucía's room. He wanted to say goodbye to her before he even thought about getting his plane tickets and leaving.

***

Brendon had made his decision and it was final. Spencer couldn't change his mind, and neither could Jon, despite the fact that he'd come back at the drop of a hat. He had met with ten women, had dinner with all of them, interrogated them, and then made up his mind. His decision's name was Jennifer Morrison, but she'd told him repeatedly to only call her Jenn, or else. (Brendon had taken that 'or else' seriously because of how scary she'd looked while saying it). She had long, smooth, dark-brown hair and dark, sparkling eyes. She reminded him of Jon in a way because she could go from joking around to serious in the blink of an eye, and then she reminded him of Spencer because when she spoke about something she cared about deeply, her eyes would get a far away look and she would smile to herself, as though forgetting Brendon were sitting right in front of her. She worked in a law firm as a temp, was in her last year of law school, and was exactly twenty four years and three months old. She had studied for years in France and had a slight accent. Brendon immediately fell in love with her.

"I'm not exactly sure how to do this," he finally confided one evening, on their third 'date'. Jenn had smiled and laughed and admitted that she didn't really know what to do, as well. A week later, they had made an appointment with a clinic to get all the information they would need, and they were back less than a month later to do the deed. Brendon held Jenn's hand until he was told to follow a stern-looking nurse. He kissed Jenn's cheek quickly and got up, knowing that what he was about to do would change the rest of his life.

***

Brendon invited Jenn to move in with him four months in. He was constantly scared for her well-being and, since he'd finally bought his own house, had more than enough room for her. She spent most of her time in her room, working for the firm from her laptop, and even enrolled in a woman's only specialized swimming class.

"We all spend the whole class complaining about our feet, or eating habits, or our bladders," she said one night, and then threw her head back, laughing loudly. Brendon chuckled and then took her hand, lacing their fingers together and resting them on her stomach. She smiled and shushed him, though he hadn't been talking, and stayed still for a few minutes until both of them looked up at the same time, she with tears in her eyes and Brendon looking horrified. "Felt that, did you?" she asked, though the answer was quite obvious. Brendon, eyes still wide, nodded. "Happens a lot, especially when I'm very quiet. I think the baby likes it when we talk," she murmured and smiled when Brendon twisted around and put both of his hands on her stomach, leaning forward and placing his ear close, as well. There was another faint thump to his right palm and he looked up at her, grinning widely.

"That's..." but he was at a loss for words. He hadn't counted on liking Jenn so much; hadn't even planned on being around for the pregnancy, but when the doctor's had confirmed that the insemination had been done correctly, he wouldn't have it any other. His baby was in there. Something that was his and only his, that he could take care of and love and spend his whole life with. He wouldn't, of course, spend his whole life with his baby, because, well, they didn't stay babies very long. He'd started this in the hopes of having an heir, someone to carry on his name, but now... now it was so much more. He laid his head on her stomach, very gently, and hummed, letting his eyes flutter close as Jenn gently ran her hand through his hair.

***

Jenn, who'd gone to her Obstetrician earlier, knocked softly on Brendon's bedroom door, grinning from ear to ear when he opened the it. Slipping past him, she sat on the bed with a bit of difficulty seeing as she was in her last two months, and patted the spot beside her for Brendon to join. He sat, a bit reluctantly, wondering what she had found out, and put a hand on her stomach, which was almost a reflex by now. "What is it?" he finally asked, confident that it couldn't be bad news if she was smiling this much. She patted his hand and chuckled a bit, kissing his cheek.

"I'm giving you a boy," she said proudly, choking out a surprised laugh when Brendon suddenly hugged her tightly, repeating 'thank you' over and over.

***

"Looks a bit like an alien, doesn't he?" Brendon said as he held his son for the first time, peering down at his wrinkled, red, face and looking very confused and unsure of himself. Jenn chuckled from her place on the bed, exhausted, and shook her head. Brendon could see that she was tired, but he also knew that she was probably just realizing that their time together was over. He'd made her promise, had made himself promise, that he wanted to raise his son on his own, and he wouldn't marry Jenn, or even live with her when he didn't love her. He didn't know yet if he wanted his son to know his mother, and it made his heart thud painfully when he thought of parting ways with her. But he'd said it in the beginning; no involvement. "Do you want to name him?" he finally asked, voice no higher than a whisper. He almost regretted saying it when she started crying, but saw that she was nodding as well, so he walked closer and let her hold the baby. She sniffled a bit, telling him how pathetic she was, and then was silent, until:

"Isaac."

***

"I would like you both to meet Isaac Spencer Ezekiel Beauregard."

Spencer and Jon stared at Brendon as though he'd grown at extra head until Spencer promptly buried his face in his hands. Brendon thought he was ashamed until he heard Spencer sniffle loudly and then everything was right again. Jon came closer, smiling a little secretive smile, and congratulated Brendon on actually making a right choice. Brendon smiled widely, and then let Jon hold Isaac. Jon smiled as he brought the baby over to Spencer, who still had tears running down his cheeks, and who cooed over the baby for the next several hours. Brendon sat, a proud and happy father. A father!

***

In January of the year Lucía would turn two - Ryan's fourth year of university, Tobias got married. Ryan had gotten an invitation, sure, but it was clearly an empty gesture, seeing as how he was clearly unable to get to New York. Over the years Ryan had started to realize that being best friends with Tobe had really been a thing that was highly dependant on time and place, rather than actual compatibility, and while he would always count the older man among his friends, he couldn't really call him 'best friend' anymore. Ryan's best friend would probably be Jon, honestly, even though Jon's best friends would always be Brendon and Spencer, which made Ryan kind of a pathetic person, but there wasn't really a lot to be done about that. Not being Tobias' best friend anymore, though, was really solidified when, instead of leaving the slot symbolically empty, Ryan's former roommate had written page up and page down about how great his brother-in-law-to-be was, and how he was going to be Tobe's best man. Ryan knew he shouldn't be hurt, not really, especially since Jon, not Tobias, was Lucía's Godfather (which was entirely deserved. Ryan's little girl should have someone who would always be there for her and would cross an ocean in a moment's notice if she needed him, not someone with his own wife, starting his own family. Ryan wanted Lucía to be first priority, nothing less was acceptable. And Jon was the person who'd been there for her the very most the first year of her life. Even though he wasn't very old yet, Ryan didn't believe he could possibly find a better Godparent if he tried). Still, though, he did feel a little hurt, and slightly angry and very overlooked.

Still, the day of the marriage Ryan was angry and restless and not in the best mood for being around a toddler, so he called the sitter and went out to hopefully be able to shut out the thoughts of what was going on on the other side of the Atlantic. He opted not to take the bus downtown and instead walked to the bar just outside campus, one favored by the university students and which Ryan didn't like so much because they all tended to be so much younger than him, making him feel out of place, but it didn't matter much. He walked up to the bar and reached into his pocket for his wallet, only to realize he must've forgotten it. And suddenly he was torn between screaming the head off the small, decidedly innocent, female bartender and running out to wreck the whole damn town. He was starting to breathe heavily, but then a hand descended on his shoulder, warm even through his layers of winter clothes, and he looked over his shoulder. The calm, kind face of the stranger calmed him down more quickly than he could've ever anticipated.

"Forgotten your wallet?" the guy asked in a deep tone, and Ryan could only nod, the fury disappearing like ice under a summer sun. The stranger grinned slightly, removing his hand. "Not to worry," he said, his voice expressive and definitely nice. "I just got a five hundred quid paycheck, and I'm in my generous state." A broad smile lit up his face. "What would you like?"

Ryan wasn't about to question the out-of-the-blue kindness of some guy he'd never even seen before, so he smiled back. "Rum and coke," he answered. "Easy on the coke," he added with a wink.

"You heard the bloke," the stranger told the bartender, still wearing that brilliant grin. "And a pint of Guinness for me, please." With that he gently gripped Ryan's upper arm and led him to an empty booth.

"Thank you," Ryan said without preamble, sliding into his seat. "I'm having a lousy day. Really needed that."

The man shrugged. "As I said," he started in a distinctly, but not all too shabby, Midlands accent. "Just got paid today, and more than I expected, too. Celebrating alone int much fun."

Ryan grinned, leaning back, more comfortable than he remembered ever being around a stranger. "Ryan," he introduced himself, offering his hand. "Ryan Ross."

"Jakob Larsson," the man returned, grasping Ryan's hand in a firm grip and giving it a small shake. "Call me Jaken."

***

Jaken Larsson, Ryan later learned, got his Scandinavian last name, blond hair and pale skin from his Swedish father. He was a fourth year photography major, fine arts minor, and was twenty-four, having traveled for two years after finishing grammar school before he went on to university. Jaken was tall, had nearly four inches on Ryan's respectable five feet eleven, and was broad and muscular without ever looking pumped or fake. A bit like Jon, Ryan supposed. He had light blond hair in a bowl-cut that would have looked ridiculous on most people but suited him so well that Ryan couldn't imagine it being different. He had long, strong fingers that were as fit for holding paint-brush and easel as they were for his preferred media, the camera, and a slim face with a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, high forehead and a long, narrow, arrow-straight nose. His eyes were a nearly turquoise blend of blue and green, a beautiful, cold color, which, however, couldn't hope to be as expressive as warm browns. His lips were thin, mouth a little bit too broad, and much better fitted for talking and laughing and smiling than pouting or sulking. He was also the kindest, gentlest, most easy-going guy Ryan had ever met, and didn't seem to really have a temper at all, artist or not. And then there was his winning point: he adored children and had fallen in love with Lucía the moment he saw her. And since the feelings seemed to go both ways, it was a definite win.

They got together in early February, and in July that marked the longest relationship Ryan had ever managed to maintain. If he were honest, he wasn't actually in love with Jaken. He cared for him deeply, but there were no fluttery love-of-my-life feelings in his chest and stomach. But he was comfortable and happy and content, the sex was good, and he didn't wake up every morning to see his boyfriend and realize how much he hated himself, so perhaps 'true love' was really just an old wives' tale anyway. Jaken felt the same way. They'd discussed it and easily agreed that they were both enjoying the status quo. That was another thing Ryan really enjoyed about being with Jaken. They were open and honest and easy about being that way, and Ryan had never before felt like he could tell someone else every single thing he thought or felt and not be judged for it before, but that was how it was now, and even if they didn't last as boyfriends, he suspected their friendship would last the rest of their lives. He had no objections at all to that.

Also in July, a few days after Jaken's twenty-fifth birthday, came the request that would define a large part of the rest of Ryan's life. It was at the breakfast table, while feeding Lucía milk-softened cereal and lazily getting some toast down themselves, thoroughly enjoying the summer break when the younger of the two adults looked up with a sort of calculating look that didn't really fit him very well. Jaken was incredibly intelligent, but rarely calculating or plotting. "You've gotten pretty good with the composition stuff, haven't you?" he asked. "I mean, what I've heard is bloody brilliant, so..."

"Yeah?" Ryan answered, looking up from feeding his daughter, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively. "I guess after having had to do them so much for the last four years I'm a little seasoned. At least they finally let us start up on contemporary music last year, thank God. Why?"

Jaken shrugged slightly. "I know you've already got enough to do with your time," he stated. "But my little brother is in this band, Dame of Spades, and they're starting to get quite a bit of recognition. The problem is that they don't really have a competent song-writer, so they mostly do covers. A couple of weeks ago a record level agent told them that with their musical talent and ability to connect with the crowd, the only thing stopping them from getting signed is the fact that they play mostly covers and their own songs just aren't that good." He was looking both hopeful and eager now, but with the same underlying calmness as always, letting Ryan know that whatever his reaction, they were still fine. "It's his dream, Ry, it's what he's wanted to do his whole life, and now there's just this one obstacle. So... would you consider maybe writing them an album? I know it sounds like a lot, but it would only be lyrics and vocal arrangements and tips about tempo and effects. They can easily write their own instrumental lines themselves."

It was summer, and Ryan supposed he could use a project to spend some time on. Not to mention how much getting some practice in might help him the coming term. And of course there was the fact that he actually liked writing music. Quite a lot. All in all it didn't sound like such a bad idea. "I'll need to meet them and discuss genres and literary themes and style and... yeah." He smiled, and Jaken grinned back, obviously understanding that this was Ryan's clumsy way of accepting.

***

Ryan's fifth year of university started and in October he and Jaken parted amicably, although being Jaken's boyfriend and not being Jaken's boyfriend weren't much different. When the younger man stayed over he slept on the couch now, and they didn't kiss anymore, not as much as least. Snuggling was still on - Ryan wouldn't know what to do without the touch anyway. Their friendship carried on as Ryan had predicted, and at long last the empty best friend spot in his life was filled. They didn't sleep together anymore. Well, not as much, anyway, but they were as comfortable around each other as always.

The album had been written over the summer break, and after the band had promised Ryan twenty per cent of everything they ever made on the songs he hadn't really heard from them again, but he'd had fun, enjoyed doing it, so he didn't really mind that he hadn't seen any money. Despite being busy with Lucía and passing everything in his final year, he still felt like he needed a hobby, and one thing seemed to come naturally. One Word document was always open on his laptop, and in between papers and lectures and spending time with his daughter he'd sit down and write sporadically, sometimes just two sentences at a time, sometimes two chapters in a single night. It grounded him and in an odd way gave him something to look forward to after a rough day.

He finished the book in March and on a spontaneous decision sent it to a publishing house under the name Ryan Hastings. It had been all he could come up with, and he sure as hell didn't want it to get published or later sold simply because people remembered Ryan from his 'fifteen minutes of fame'. He didn't really pay it much heed, didn't have time since he was suddenly buried in finals and hundred-page-long reports and sheet music and who knew what.

In the beginning of June he turned on the radio and thought he recognized the song that was playing. The next day a small package arrived, containing a CD, a check that was good for 4000 pounds and a short letter.

Dear Ryan

We finally got the deal negotiated home a few months ago and have been in the studio since. We didn't want to contact you before we knew anything definite. It doesn't get a lot more definite than a single out and an album in a few months.

Along with this letter you'll find twenty per cent of what the contract alone brought us home. You'll keep getting your share of the royalties and the future ticket sales, and it won't be nearly enough. Thank you so much. Without you we wouldn't be where we are now, and we couldn't be more grateful.

- Mark, Allan, Mathias and Pattie

Dame of Spades

He could hardly believe his eyes, hadn't had any idea that the songs had been that good. But then a deep feeling of pride and accomplishment unlike any he'd felt in years welled up in him. He was beyond happy, for the band and for himself. And when he took Lucía to the new kid's themed restaurant downtown that evening he didn't even feel guilty about overspending.

A week later the publishing house sent back his manuscript full of yellow sticky-notes and margin scrawls and a letter saying that if he edited it satisfactorily he had a deal. And then a a band manager called and said that his boys were having trouble writing the album, and was he available to help sometime in July? Ryan's future was suddenly set within the space of a few weeks, and he didn't mind the prospects at all.