The conference had been... long and boring. By the time Brendon was being driven back to Ryan's, he was exhausted and it was nearing midnight. The only good thing about the whole night had been the many people promoting and supporting his charity, and his alone. He was sure that it had gone well, but it had taken entirely too long. Sighing, Brendon paid the cab driver his fare before opening the door and stepping out of the car. He walked up the drive to the front door and turned the doorknob, only to see that someone must have locked it when they'd retired for bed. Biting his lip, Brendon let his forehead rest against the cool door as he knocked softly enough that it wouldn't wake the whole house, but loud enough to hopefully be heard. Being left outside was not what he needed right now, and he found himself wishing that he'd had the intelligence to have asked for a key, or at least for the door to remain unlocked. He knocked again.

Ryan was up on the roof, his laptop with him, typing away on the ninth chapter of his next novel, when he heard the knocks and belatedly remembered that Señorita Sanchez always locked the door behind her before she left and he'd forgotten to tell her not to. He quickly saved the document and put the computer on standby before walking to the edge of the roof, leaning over the waist-high railing. "I'll be there in a minute," he called down, keeping his voice hushed. He pulled his hoodie a bit tighter around himself and went back to the stairs, leaving his laptop and glass as well as the pitcher of wine where it was. He'd bring it back inside later, or maybe bring Brendon up here with him if they were talking tonight. He went down, through his room and down the hall before he ascended the second set of stairs and reached the front hall where he quickly came to the door, unlocked it and opened it with a smile. "Welcome back."

Brendon smiled wryly. "Finally," he muttered, shaking his head and pushing his way inside. He smiled brightly at Ryan, though he knew he must look as tired as he felt. And if he didn't, it would be a miracle. He was wearing one of his best suits, pitch black with a dark red dress shirt underneath and a black tie. He had even styled his hair, though as he ran his hand through it, now, he knew it must be an utter mess. "That conference was entirely too long," he said, chuckling softly and making sure to keep his voice down. "How was Isaac? Where did they put him to sleep? He didn't make a fuss, did he?"

"He's in Spencer's room," Ryan answered. "Seemed perfectly fine, honestly." He gave a small smile and reached out to give Brendon's shoulder a small squeeze. "You look tired as hell," he stated. "Maybe it'd be better if I just let you get some sleep and we'll talk some other time?" He cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. "Hungry, or thirsty, or anything?" he went on, not even sure himself if he were trying to fill the threatening silence or just attempting to be a proper, polite host.

Brendon grinned, proud that his son had managed a night without him. He shook his head. "No, no, I'm good. Tonight is good. Though, I am famished," he informed, nodding to himself before frowning a bit. "All they served us were those damned finger foods that people always devour because they're never enough to fill you up," he chuckled again and shrugged. "Kitchen?" he asked, knowing that if he and Ryan didn't at least talk a little bit tonight, they would convince themselves to put it off until it was possibly too late. And he didn't want that. He wanted to talk, and he wanted to do it now. Couldn't wait. Wouldn't.

"Let's get some food in the kitchen and then go onto the roof," Ryan suggested. "It's lovely up there." He didn't say that the roof of this house was probably the one place in the whole world where he felt the most comfortable and that if he were to speak about all these things, then he need a place like that to be able to handle it. He headed for the kitchen where he knew there was still a good bit of the dinner and dessert left in the fridge. He found it quickly and stacked up a plate of the Cassola del Tros, handing it and an empty wine glass to Brendon before dishing up two plates of Crema Catalana, which he kept in his own hands as he led the way up the stairs and through the hall and his bedroom, now absent of Jaken's belongings, and back up the stairs to the roof. "Probably my favourite place in the world," he stated as he sat back into his chair, looking out at the moon-bathed view, huddled slightly into his hoodie again. The nights really were cold.

Brendon sat down, as well, the cold reminding him that suits really weren't the best in any kind of weather. He smiled softly and nodded. "It's nice," he said, his voice no higher than a whisper. He wondered for a moment if he should go change into some warmer clothes, but decided that it wasn't worth it. Staying here was. Sighing, Brendon dug into the food, once again reminded by how hungry he was, and how delicious everything out here was. "You're having flashbacks or-- whatever, of being shot," he stated, though made it sound like a question. He'd already eaten half his plate and figured it was time to say something.

"Not always of that," Ryan stated softly, keeping his eyes on the view before scooping up a spoonful of the dessert and carefully chewing the caramel crust. "Sometimes it's just regular panic attacks." He chuckled wryly. "I couldn't afford to panic back then but it seems I can now. And it's just... fear that's powerful enough that it feels like it could kill me if I don't just run as far and as fast as I possibly can. Or it's guilt. That hand grenade, remember? Did you know it killed three guys and mutilated two others? And the ones I shot. Sometimes it's harder than all hell to live with the fact that I'm a... killer." His voice grew so soft it was barely audible on the last tones. And it really was something he had never forgiven himself for and probably never would. He had never wanted to cause anyone's death, but when the choice had come down to two friends and the boy he'd believed was the love of his life versus a bunch of anonymous uniforms it had been so fucking easy. "In the beginning that was mostly what it was, but after your visit, and years following... well, some of it was regular heartbreak, I suppose. Everyone has felt that, right?" Another small burst of laughter that was anything but happy made its way through. "But I'd also have flashbacks to you not responding when I... poured everything out, basically, or responding in anger, and that would give me panic attacks again, because although I'd already lost you, the feeling of you slipping away contained in those were nearly as frightening as the war itself." He exhaled, and while he was suddenly afraid of just those reactions again, unresponsiveness or a bad reaction, again, it also somehow felt like a weight lifting off his shoulder. "It was true, what I said to you. I had to get over you or I'd have destroyed myself."

Brendon sighed and shook his head. "Survivor's Guilt," he said softly, turning to look at Ryan. He leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes after a few moments, not entirely sure that he had heard right. "You know, I felt horrible when I thought that I had left my parents to die. I was free, wouldn't be caught in a country being torn by war, and they were being attacked, directly. I thought I was a horrible human being, for the longest time I was so angry with myself, especially during the time that I had no idea if my mother had survived," he said, his voice pained as the memories came back, suddenly, and he almost felt exactly like he had all those years ago, thinking that his mother had died. "But then I thought, if I had stubbornly stayed behind, and tried to get to my parents, you might have been killed. Spencer might have been killed. Jon might have been killed. By doing what you told me to do, or not to do, I made sure that three more people were safe. And you did the same," he shrugged and caught his breath, opening his to look at Ryan. "They would have killed us for the sake of their country, but you saved us for the sake of-- of love, I'd like to think. You have to move on; stop thinking of it as killing and start thinking of it as saving," he smiled a little, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry that I caused you so much pain, and uncertainty and-- and everything. I didn't want to," he said, his voice pleading for Ryan to believe him.

"I know you didn't," Ryan muttered, finishing the dessert and grabbing his glass again, standing from the chair and walking to the edge of the roof that faced down to the creek, leaning against the railing. "It was too soon for us, after everything. That Christmas was a mistake, but what's done is done. I believe that if you had the chance to do it over now, you'd do it a lot differently, even though you'd probably still have trouble empathizing with other's problems if you were angry enough." He glanced over his shoulder, flashing a small, teasing smile to take the sting out of the words. The mood had needed a bit of lightening, and he hoped that's what he'd provided. Kind of. "And I guess the problem with 'killing' and 'saving' is that while it was happening I thought of it as saving, but I had to go and second-guess myself." Another wry expression on his face although Brendon had no chance of seeing it from where he was sitting. "I can't do much except work through it as it comes and hope it keeps getting better." He was silent for a long while, listening to the faint rhythm of the waves hitting the coast, the sound soothing and familiar to his ears. "I'm not sure how much you know about my life after you left," he stated, voice going soft again. He took another sip of the wine, swirling it around his mouth before swallowing. He wasn't sure he wanted to speak about this, especially to Brendon, but he also kind of thought he probably had to. Knowing about Ryan's failures should help the younger man make up his mind. "I slept around a lot." He kept his eyes fixed on the silver-painted ocean and knew that he wouldn't be able to meet Brendon's eyes at the moment if he tried. He was too ashamed suddenly. "And although I guess that's how it's become over the years, in the beginning it wasn't because of a sudden death of ideals. It was just loneliness that got stronger, really. I'd been alone most of my life, but I'd suddenly been given a glimpse, however false I was in it, of how things could be, and after everything that had happened I couldn't stand it anymore, and I didn't know any other way. So, really, if you're picturing me as anything close to perfect you need to think again." He took a deep breath. "I guess how alone I felt while we were running and then while you visited didn't help at all. It was like... I was never alone, but no one was really with me, if that even makes sense. Jon, when he came to help out with Lucía, helped with that a bit, and Lucía, when she was old enough to really be seen as a person. But you need to understand that the reason Jaken means so much to me is that although I don't love him as more than a friend and never really did, he was the first person after my mother to really make me feel like I wasn't alone." It was probably quite a ramble, but it was something he'd had to say, and again he felt the lighter for it. He just hoped it made sense to Brendon as much as it had to Ryan himself.

At the end of the speech, Brendon got up and stood next to Ryan, making sure not to touch him. He would let Ryan make the decision on whether they should touch right now. He sighed softly and leaned on the railing, as well, staring down into the darkness. "I understand," he finally said, though it hurt him to say so because it hurt him to think of Ryan with other people. And to have Jaken shoved right back into his face didn't feel very good, either. He shrugged awkwardly, with another sigh, and looked over at Ryan. "We're pretty good at being polar opposites," he said, chuckling and shaking his head. "I don't know if this will help, but I am sorry about how I acted, and if I could go back, I would do everything differently. And I never, ever thought of you as a killer," he said quietly. "More like... one of the best things that ever happened to me," he chuckled again, remembering all the times that he had tried to convince himself that Ryan had been a mistake, just a horrible part of his life that was in the past. But he'd never been able to put Ryan in the past, no matter how hard he'd tried.

Ryan fought down the urge to tell Brendon to please not say something like that, please not even think it. He wasn't worth that affection, especially bordering on adoration as it seemed to be, and the fact that Brendon couldn't see that just made him more sure that the younger man was still only seeing what he wanted to see. Specifically, the fictional Ryan Hastings who had never existed out of shams and book covers. Ryan drew in a harsh breath, determined to hold back the tears that he could suddenly feel stinging his eyes. Brendon's last statement lingered almost like a pain in his chest, a bad one, and made it hard to breathe, and he gripped the railing more tightly, trying to get a hold of himself. He knew Brendon was wrong and yet it warmed nearly as much as it hurt to hear those words, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning in as he had that afternoon, his side against the younger man's, his head on Brendon's shoulder and the weight on him that seemed too heavy again resting on someone else even if for just a short moment. "Not a lot of good can have happened in your life," he muttered, biting his lips and breathing deeply again.

Brendon brushed a shaking hand through Ryan's hair and sighed. "I bet I know what you're thinking," he whispered, turning a bit more into Ryan, but making sure not to disturb his head. "Brendon is confusing me with Ryan Hastings, again," he chuckled bitterly and sighed. "I'm not, though. I've been around you these past two days, and you're pretty much a completely different person. Even that Christmas, you were so different... and, yet, here I am. Still in love with you. Do you get that? You changed, in the blink of an eye, and I still can't get over you. I thought I had. I convinced myself I didn't still care about you, after that Christmas. But I was lying. You were so brave, bringing us across the border. Getting shot. Being put on trial, and exiled from your home... I think that I knew, even if you weren't who I thought you'd been, that after everything.. I still cared about you, because of everything you did do," he said. He wanted so badly for Ryan to believe him. "So stop thinking," he finally muttered, barely restraining himself from kissing Ryan's forehead.

Exhaling deeply, Ryan turned a bit more until he could comfortably all but bury his face in Brendon's shoulder, even if he had to crouch down a bit. Brendon had grown over the years, but still wasn't as tall as Ryan. He took a shuddering breath and felt the first tear leave his eye, only to be absorbed by Brendon's blazer, which would probably be ruined from the salt. Ryan would have to buy him a new one. Something was coiling, furling and unfurling, all too painfully, in Ryan's chest, and he didn't know what to do. Maybe, though, if Brendon could read him as easily as that, he had caught onto the actual Ryan more than Ryan had thought. "I'm sorry," he murmured, voice muffled by Brendon's shoulder. "I just never know what to think. I spent so long being jealous of a fucking persona who didn't even exist. He got so many things I wanted and I didn't know how to deal with it and sometimes it was hard even for me to keep us separate." He paused for a breath, another tear leaking out and the hand not holding his wine glass lifting to fist tightly at Brendon's blazer. If he was already crying on it he didn't imagine something like this could do more harm. "I guess I'm just... used to thinking of myself as inferior to him, especially after that Christmas."

Brendon hugged him back tightly and did kiss the top of his head, now. He sighed, a lot of the tension slowly ebbing out of him, stiffness that he hadn't even realized had been there, just disappearing. "For one thing, you are completely real, and that makes you infinitely better. You have a daughter who adores you, who is very well brought up and would make anyone proud; another few thousand points to you. You have a... a best friend who loves you enough to stay by your side whenever you need him. Another friend who would drop anything to fly across an ocean just so that he could help you. A mother who loves you. A career, or two, that you love..." he trailed off, smiling into Ryan's hair. "I could go on, but I think you get the point," he chuckled, hoping that he did get the point, and see how amazing he was as Ryan Ross.

The fight seemed to just die out in him a moment later, and Ryan stopped the protests. He was just clinging on now, no longer trying to stop the tears from falling. People said time healed all wounds, but even when they scabbed over Ryan believed they would keep festering under the surface. You needed to cut it open and suck the venom out to really have a chance for it, and this felt like one of those cases. It hurt like nothing else right now, but he knew that tomorrow he would feel lighter than he probably had in years because one of the wounds he'd kept buried and had barely noticed for years might just start really healing now. But still, he couldn't stop another pain from blossoming too, had to clamp his lips shut to keep from speaking when he knew the words would come out ugly and accusing. But why the fuck couldn't Brendon have been like this years ago, when Ryan was still in love with him? Why couldn't he have been spared the pain of the years in between? He pushed the thought away resolutely. People didn't just need time to heal, they needed time to grow up as well. Ryan knew he had needed that, and that even when he was the age Brendon was now, he'd still been a stupid, clueless kid. He understood, even if that didn't make it hurt less, but instead of vocally uttering it - he wasn't sure he could, right then - he managed to put the glass down and wrap the previously occupied arm around Brendon's neck, pulling the younger man so close that he might as well have tried to climb inside his skin.

Brendon exhaled loudly, relieved, and didn't even care that Ryan didn't seem to want to get a word out. This was better, somehow, and he hoped that some thing would at least be resolved. Or on their way to it, anyway. He sighed again, kissing the top of Ryan's head because he didn't think he'd get a chance to kiss him anywhere else any time soon. Just because he wanted to give Ryan time, and he wanted to give himself time, and he didn't want to rush into things like they had at Christmas. A few kisses and some hand-holding didn't make everything disappear; he knew that, now. He didn't even know how Ryan really felt, only that some part of him needed the contact and that he was finally giving into it. After a few moments, Brendon stepped back and cupped Ryan's face in his hands, searching his eyes for any sign that he was, after all, okay, or any sign that he wasn't, and gave him a hopeful smile.

Ryan, for a moment, felt as though he was going to falter and fall without the support, but he managed to catch himself, giving a feeble, teary smile back before turning back around, facing the ocean view again and picking up his glass once more, emptying it before running the opposite arm over his eyes, the escaped tears catching in the fabric of the hoodie. He felt exposed, suddenly, and a little foolish to have been crying like that, to have needed the support so much when he was supposed to be a mature adult who didn't really need much at all. "Thanks," he muttered when he thought his voice was steady enough for it. He turned around slowly, keeping his gaze averted. "You've changed too," he stated after a few moments of silence. "I can still recognize you, but you've... grown up. It's good on you."

Brendon felt himself blush, and immediately cursed himself for it. He wasn't a teenager, after all. Somehow, though, having Ryan tell him that he was grown up made him feel like a child getting a praise from their parent, and he felt himself grin after a moment. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'd like to think so," he chuckled and shook his head, once again turned to look out over the railing. After the heartfelt words and minor excitement, though, he was starting to feel his exhaustion all over again, and he sighed softly, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I'm dead on my feet, though," he said regretfully, looking over at Ryan and giving him an apologetic look. "D'you mind...? Unless you had something more to say, of course."

A smile finally managed to form on his face, and Ryan looked up to meet Brendon's eyes at last. "Go sleep," he instructed softly, reaching out and giving the younger man a small push in the direction of the stairs. "If we need to talk more we can do it tomorrow," he added reassuringly, walking back to his chair. "I'm just going to finish this chapter and then I'll head down to bed too." He poured himself another glass of wine, turning the laptop back on as he sent a smile over his shoulder. "Sleep well, and don't snoop through my room too much when you go through," he added with a slight wink. There was still a certain amount of pain and melancholy swirling in the pit of his stomach, but it sure as hell wasn't as bad as it had been a moment earlier.

Brendon chuckled rather loudly and made his way to the stairs. "I would never go through your things, Mister Ross," he said importantly, and then disappeared into the house. He made his way to his own bedroom rather quickly so that he wouldn't even get the temptation to touch anything in Ryan's. He'd changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth before he remembered to check on Isaac. Tiptoeing across the floor, Brendon opened the door to Spencer's room and peeked in, smiling widely when he saw his son, curled up against Spencer and sucking his thumb. It was a bad habit, and Brendon knew he should find ways to stop it, but Isaac only did it on occasion, so he never thought of it. Shrugging, he went back to his own bedroom and managed to fall asleep, glad that he'd finally talked to Ryan, and smiling softly.

***

It was their last day. Brendon, Jon, Spencer and Isaac had a flight, the next morning at ten am, and it was their last day. With Ryan. Brendon had woken up with an upset stomach, though he knew it wasn't because he was actually sick. He had no idea what was going on. Would he just be leaving Ryan? Would they see each other again? They'd been making such progress, and Brendon had been sure that Ryan would at the very least make plans for them to return. But he hadn't. Not yet, anyway, and it had put Brendon on edge. He had dressed Isaac in silence, even though the boy kept babbling and poking his face. Feeling completely deflated and unsure of himself, he had gone down to breakfast, surprised to see Jon and Spencer already at the table, smiling widely. Sighing, Brendon had taken a seat and served himself, knowing that a portion of his own breakfast would go to Isaac.

"How would you like to go for a walk?" Jon asked brightly, speaking to Lucía. Brendon turned his attention back to his meal, not waiting for her response.

Lucía looked up from her churro, smiling brightly and nodding so hard her hair was bobbing all over the place. She swallowed as she had been taught to do before speaking. "Can we walk on the beach?" she asked. "Pleasepleaseplease? And bring the little boy?"

Jon looked over at Brendon, smiling, only to have Brendon shake his head. "I think I'm going to keep Isaac," he said pointedly, though not unkindly, "here with me," Brendon explained, smiling a bit though it seemed strained. He saw Spencer shake his head out of the corner of his eye, but didn't turn to him.

"Brendon--" Spencer cut himself off when Brendon did turn to look at him, and then seemed to gather his courage to speak. "Brendon, it's just a walk. I'll go with them," he offered, but Brendon stubbornly shook his head.

"I'd really rather he stayed here, with me," he said, firmly, though his voice was soft.

Ryan followed the conversation silently, the increasingly disappointed face of his daughter always lingering on the edge of his vision. Lucía really seemed to have taken quite a liking to the often rude little boy, and she was well aware it was their last day with them, for now at least. Jaken had already gone back to England, and Brendon, Jon, Spencer and Isaac were going tomorrow. He didn't blame his daughter for wanting to make the best of the time. "I can't speak for Spencer," Ryan finally stated, voice soft. "But Jon is incredible with children and I'd bet you anything that he'd die before letting either of those two get hurt."

"I've already left Isaac alone multiple times this week, and I want to spend time with my son. I don't want him out of my sight," Brendon said, trying not to grit his teeth, but it was getting rather hard. Why was everyone against him in this? He wanted to keep his son safe, and he would not be able to live with himself if something happened to Isaac and he hadn't been there. Losing his son, a prospect always in the forefront of his mind, was not something he could deal with. Ever.

"It's just a walk, Brendon. I'm sure we'd be back within a couple of hours," Spencer chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, and almost missed Brendon's muttered 'no'. He sighed and shook his head, looking over at Jon, who looked furious.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bren," Jon spat, then reigned himself in and forced himself to calm down. He shot a small smile to Lucia. "Looks like it'll just be you and me, darling," he said softly.

Lucía pouted, but hopped out of her chair obediently, walking over to take her uncle's hand. In the process she turned around and stuck her tongue out at Brendon, matching it with a scathing look that made her honey brown eyes look nearly as cold as ice. Ryan found himself shuddering and he wasn't even the recipient of it, but damn, his daughter sure knew how to glare. "Luce," he muttered. "What did I tell you about that tongue?" The girl pouted again before turning away and dragging Jon with her towards the path leading down to the beach. "Well," he said, turning back to the others. "That made for a great atmosphere." He rolled his eyes slightly and pushed his plate away. "It's a commonly known truth that the closer you hold someone who doesn't understand the world, the farther they'll push you away once they do understand, but luckily I don't believe that's something I have to be too worried about." He got up, rolling his shoulders a bit in the process. "I do believe it will feel warmer inside, so excuse me." And with that he walked back inside, heading for the studio in the basement to put the final touches on that demo. He'd planned to do it the following day when everyone had left, but it looked as though he might as well get to it now.

"Brendon Beauregard, what is your problem!?" Spencer glared at Brendon as soon as everyone had left, staring pointedly when Isaac started squirming and pointing at the two people making their way down to the beach. Of course, Brendon simply held him closer and told him firmly, 'non'. "Why the hell couldn't you just let us take him to the beach? For Christ's sake, Brendon, it's only down there. You probably could have fucking watched us for the whole two hours we were gone! Even that little girl, who is much, much younger than you are, knew that you were just being an asshole!" he exclaimed, wincing afterwards at the amount of time he'd sworn, but one look at Isaac showed him that the little boy was too busy pouting and whining to notice.

Brendon tightened his grip on Isaac, glaring right back at Spencer. "You're always trying to take him away!" he accused, and Spencer stared at him as though he'd lost his mind. "He's my son, not yours! And, yeah, maybe I'm not the best father. I'm certainly not as good as Ryan, because look how well she turned out!" he spat, and Spencer could see his eyes going wide, his screaming getting hysterical, and he knew that Brendon was having one of his fits. The ones he got when he thought that no one believed in him, and that everyone was trying to conspire against him behind his back. Spencer had always thought that it was because Brendon had prepared his whole life to be hated and undermined, and now he was striking back because he'd never been taught how to really deal with it.

"No one's trying to take Isaac," Spencer reassured calmly. "Listen to yourself, Brendon. Do you really think Jon and I think that you're a terrible father? Don't you think we would have said something by now?" he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We've talked about you being too over protective, though," he reminded. He looked up again and bit his lip. "You have to stop with the 'the whole world is against me' thing. I know you're tired, you've been in meetings and this week's been emotionally draining for all of us. But you can't use that as an excuse to keep your son by your side at all times. He deserves to have some fun."

"He's all I've got," Brendon whispered miserably, and he could feel the tears pooling in his eyes. He closed them tightly and drew in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," he said, after a few minutes spent in silence. Brendon bit his lip and let Isaac slide down to the ground, and the little boy hurried inside without a backwards glance, making Brendon's heart leap into his throat. He choked back a sob and covered his face with his hands when he heard Isaac call out 'Ry-un!' quite loudly from inside. He'd just wanted to spend time with his son.. he'd already left him alone more times than he was comfortable with, this week, and he'd started to feel guilty. And now he was feeling guilty all over again, for a completely different reason.

***

Ryan turned around on the landing at the sound of his name and saw a small ball of energy rushing towards him. He immediately ran back up the stairs and managed to catch Isaac before the little boy toppled down the stairs in his rush. "Hey, little guy," he murmured, hoisting the small body up to sit on his hip. Ryan sent him a small, sympathetic smile before deciding to just leave the subject be. It was Brendon who needed to work stuff out, not Brendon's son. "Do you like music?" he asked instead.

Isaac nodded eagerly and clapped his hands. "Ummm, yes!" he assured, smiling widely to show off his tiny teeth. "Let me walk!" he demanded suddenly, squirming in Ryan's arms. "Papa ne me laisse pas, mais toi oui," he said solemnly, then broke out into a big grin.

Sighing slightly, Ryan carefully put the small boy down but kept a tight grip on both his hands. "I need to hold onto you until we're down the stairs, though," he stated. "It's pretty steep, and you don't want any boo-boos, do you?" He thought for a moment, helping Isaac take the big paces down each stair, making sure never to loosen his hold. "That's what your papa is scared of," he added softly. "When kids get boo-boos their parents feel like they're getting them too, you know?"

"When uncle Spencer was babysitting me, and I climbed out my crib, Papa said I could have falled down the stairs, or hit my head, and then he was crying but I said I was a big boy!" he proclaimed proudly, remembering how his Papa had laughed at that, but still looked sad after. He knew Papa hadn't wanted him to see him cry, but, like a big boy, Isaac had tottered into the kitchen because he could hear Papa and Uncle Spencer arguing. He'd been proud of himself for climbing out of his crib all alone, but Papa had said not to do it again, and then he had started sleeping in Papa's big bed, and that was better than any crib.

"That you are," Ryan agreed, letting go of the boy's hands when they reached the basement. "And you know he's just scared because he loves you, right?" Although truthfully Ryan doubted that was the whole reason, it was the best explanation to give to one so young. He opened the door in front of him and led Isaac into the studio he'd had installed when he bought the house, smiling in pride as he looked around himself. The demo would wait till tomorrow as had been his original plan. He couldn't exactly work with a loud, out-spoken boy there with him, but he was sure they could come up with something else to do down there, as long as he kept an eye on the boy and the equipment to ensure neither was hurt. "Do you know any good songs?"

Isaac walked around the studio, careful to only skim the many surfaces with his small hands. He didn't want to break anything. He looked back up at Ryan when the question was asked, his eyes wide and bright. He shook his head. "Jus' the ones Papa sings, and Matante sings en français," he said. "Show me some," he demanded suddenly, flashing Ryan another grin.

"I thought we could play one together," Ryan stated with a small smile, walking to the wall where he picked out a guitar and took it down. Then he walked over to the instrument board, fiddling with the controls and settings for a moment before smiling. "You know Frère Jacques, don't you?" he asked.

Isaac smiled and nodded. He followed Ryan when he went to get the guitar, and then followed him back towards a big machine that he had no clue what it could possibly do, and then looked around. He looked a bit fearful for a moment. He knew that the song could be sung in English, as well as in French, because his Papa had tried to teach him the English version, but he only knew the French one by heart. "In... in French, right?" he asked softly, afraid that he wouldn't know the words and they wouldn't be able to sing. It was so much nicer in French, anyway.

"In French," Ryan agreed, opening the door into the isolation room and leading Isaac inside. He found a chair and stood it in front of the microphone before plugging in his guitar and lifting the little boy up to stand on the chair. "Sing into this," he instructed, tapping the microphone before he found the remote control and pushed the rec button. Then he walked back to stand next to Isaac and started strumming the guitar softly, waiting to see if the little boy would be able to sing on his own or if Ryan would have to do it with him.

Isaac looked at the microphone and squirmed nervously. He looked up at Ryan, though, and saw that he looked perfectly at ease, and so decided that it might be safe to sing, even if it was just a little bit. Inching closer to the edge of the chair, he brought his mouth right near the microphone and exhaled softly into it. "Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?" he started, his voice a bit weak, but as he went on, it grew stronger and he concentrated on trying to sing like his Papa, because everyone said he did. "Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines! Ding, ding, dong! Ding, ding, dong!" he giggled on the last 'dong,' then looked up at Ryan and started over again, more sure of himself this time as he bobbed his feet along to the music. "Frère Jacques, frère Jacques! Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines! Ding, ding, dong! Ding, ding, dong!"

Ryan felt a wide smile growing on his face, fingers moving automatically over frets and strings. He'd played it with Lucía enough to know it by heart by then, but while Lucía was a fair singer for her young age, well... Ryan had to be honest and say that she had absolutely nothing on Isaac. The small boy's voice was still high and childish, but already extremely beautiful; adorable and innocent. When they'd gone through it four times he stopped playing and went to the remote to stop the recording. "That was amazing, kiddo," he stated with a broad smile, walking back over, remote in his pocket now, and ruffled Isaac's hair affectionately. "What about Mary Had a Little Lamb, or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, know any of those?"

Isaac nodded eagerly again, beaming under the praise. "What's that?" he finally asked, pointing at Ryan's guitar. He'd seen one, once or twice, but never close up. He knew it was an instrument. Papa had told him all about those when he'd asked about the piano in the living room. He liked instruments, but this one was fairly knew.

"It's a guitar," Ryan answered, still smiling. "It's a little big on you, but maybe if you keep visiting I can teach you a little when you get big enough to hold it." He winked, strumming a random chord and letting it die. "Which one would you like to sing, then?" he asked.

Isaac was ecstatic at the prospect of learning the guitar. He'd only just started striking random keys on the piano at home, much to his Papa's amusement. "Mary had a little lamb!" he announced, because that was one that Matante Jenn had taught him and one he liked very much, despite it being in English. "It's long," he said seriously, and scrunched up his face into a look of concentration to help him remember all the words.

"I'll help you sing when you start to forget the words," Ryan promised and pushed the rec button once again. Then he started strumming once again, playing a little intro before sending Isaac an expectant smile.

Taking a deep breath, Isaac started. "Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb, it's fleece was white as snow," he grinned. "Everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went. Everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go!" his slight French accent pronounced itself a bit more as he sang, though he didn't stumble on any of the words. "It followed her to school one day, school one day, school one day. It followed her to school one day, which was against the rules. It made the children laugh and play, laugh and play, laugh and play. It made the children laugh and play, to see a lamb at school," he giggled at this part, because he always giggled when they came to where the lamb was in school. He'd never been to a school, but he knew it would be funny to see a lamb anywhere. "And so the teacher turned it out, turned it out, turned it out. And so the teacher turned it out, but still it ling- lingered on!" he bit his lip and looked up at Ryan, hoping that the stumble wouldn't ruin the song. The words were getting harder.

Ryan flashed him a small smile and joined in in the hopes of giving the boy a bit of confidence back. "And waited patiently about, patiently about, patiently about, and waited patiently about till Mary did appear. Why does the lamb love Mary so, love Mary so, love Mary so, why does the lamb love Mary so? the eager children cry. Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know, loves the lamb, you know, loves the lamb, you know. Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know, the teacher did reply," he finished with the Isaac, and let the last chord linger for a little bit before reaching into his pocket and pushing the button on the remote control again. "Come on," he said, lifting Isaac off the chair and putting him on the floor. "We can go listen to your awesome little voice now." He opened the door and hung the guitar back with the others before walking over to the control board where he plopped into his chair. "Want to sit on my lap so you can see what's going on?" he asked as he leaned in and pressed play, fiddling slightly with the controls to get the volume on Isaac's voice up a little before going back to the start and playing it again, confident it would sound fine now.

Isaac hoisted himself up into Ryan's lap and sat facing the front, avidly watching everything Ryan's hands did. When his voice and Ryan's guitar filled the room, he gasped and smiled up at Ryan. "That's me!" he said, almost making it sound like a question. He bounced up and down in Ryan's lap a bit, excited that he was hearing his voice, and it sounded so good. His Papa would be so proud! "Can Papa listen to it, too?" he asked meekly, looking up at Ryan and putting his small hand on the man's cheek.

Grinning, Ryan nodded. "You sound brilliant, can you hear that?" he asked softly. If it were Lucía he would've hugged her or kissed her cheek, but this was Brendon's child, not his, so instead he just ruffled the thick mane of midnight-black hair. "We can burn CDs," he stated, already finding an empty CD to put in the burner and pressing the buttons to make the order. "And then you can give them to whoever you want to listen." He was grateful he'd picked a quick burner and could already take the CD out and replace it with another. "How many do you want?" he asked.

Isaac frowned a bit, counting off on his fingers who he would want to give a CD to. "Papa," he said, lifting one finger. "Matante, Uncle Spe'cer, Jon..." he held up the four fingers, then added a bit shyly, "Keely?" He wasn't sure if she would like his singing, but she liked songs, so maybe she would want one. He couldn't very well leave her out.

Ryan nodded, a smile still lingering on his face. "Five it is," he agreed. "Or six. You want one just for you, don't you?" He absent-mindedly changed the CDs again, putting the fifth on the table with the first four. Less than a minute later number six joined the previous. Then he found six cases and quickly slipped them in, writing 'Isaac singing' in black marker over the fronts. And then he handed them to the small boy. "Go hand them out then," he instructed with a small wink.

Isaac grinned and slid off Ryan's lap, the CDs in hand as he hurried up the stairs as fast as his legs would take him. Following his instincts, he went up to his and Papa's room and found him there, along with Spencer, lounging on the bed. Papa looked sad. Isaac climbed onto the bed, with only a bit of help from Spencer, and grinned as he showed them the CDs. "What's this?" Brendon asked, smiling. "Isaac singing?" he grinned. "Is that so? Well, I finally have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard in recording!" he winked. "Do you want to find somewhere to play it right now, or wait until Uncle Jon comes back so we can listen to it together?"

Isaac grinned, flopping down onto his Papa's chest and burrowing his face into his neck. "Later," he said softly, then giggled when he felt someone tickling him.

"Alright," Brendon whispered, rubbing Isaac's back absently, and looked over at Spencer to finish their conversation about nothing important.

***

The last bits of sun were playing behind him, in the west above the land, but Ryan was facing towards the sea as always, fingers seemingly flying over the keyboard of his laptop as new words and sentences appeared quickly on the open document in front of him. He'd put Lucía to bed about an hour ago and then left the guests to pack their belongings so they were ready for the flight the next morning before retreating to the roof as his habit was. He'd finished the demo earlier, after Isaac had run up to join the others. He'd suddenly just been in the mood to get the vocal track down, and now the file was sent off and he felt incredibly satisfied.

***

Brendon had put Isaac to bed extra early so that the boy wouldn't be exhausted for their flight in the morning. He'd been rather excited today, anyway, what with having his own CD and wanting to show it to everyone multiple times. Finally, Brendon had just finally had it play in the living room and Isaac had jumped around, singing along to his own voice. Brendon had to admit that his son sounding amazing on the two tracks, and the fact that Isaac was so happy had made him grin all day long. Now, though, he was just finishing up his packing and feeling melancholy about leaving. He hesitantly made his way to Ryan's room, peeking in before creeping inside and climbing the ladder. knocking on one of the steps to announce his presence and peeping up to look at Ryan, hoping he wasn't completely out of line in coming to see him.

Ryan looked up from the computer with a small smile. "Come on up," he offered, stretching slightly before leaning in to put the laptop on standby. He recognised Brendon from the head of dark hair that was the only thing yet visible from where he was and chuckled slightly. "I hope you don't get tired of that CD too soon. I have a feeling he isn't going to want it to stop playing for a while." He grinned to himself, taking a sip from his glass, just Coke this time, and watched as more than just Brendon's hair emerged. "He's pretty talented," Ryan added, cocking an eyebrow. "And just so you know, I promised to teach him to play the guitar when he's big enough to hold it, so you'd better keep bringing him around."

Brendon beamed, staring at Ryan for a few moments before walking over and sitting down next to him. He nodded. "I will," he said softly. "And he's already teaching himself piano, so... don't be surprised if the next time you see him, he learns far more quickly than he should," he smiled. "And he's pretty adamant about you meeting Jenn, you know. Which means he wants to keep you," he winked and then chuckled at the absurdity of it. Of course, though, Isaac would love Ryan. Like father, like son, after all. He sighed softly. He wanted to make plans, arrange dates when they would see each other again, but he didn't want to push Ryan. Didn't want to impose. And what if Ryan was just being nice? What if he never wanted to see him again?

Smiling softly, Ryan gestured towards the chair across from him and leaned back comfortably. "I think he's the type who'll eventually play every instrument known to man. And probably a few more." He gave a short chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "You know you're welcome any time, right?" he asked finally, voice growing more serious. "I know I said 'forever', but I like to think we've worked past that. And having you around has been nice. I'm going to miss you." After a moment's hesitation he reached out his hand and settled it over Brendon's, squeezing for a moment before pulling back again. He was still a little wary about too much contact, about moving too quickly. They had too much of a past not to be cautious, but he also knew he was warming up to the younger man again. And maybe, just maybe, the feelings he once had hadn't been entirely dead. Not as strong or desperate as they had been, granted, and he wouldn't say he was in love with Brendon. But he did like him, a lot, however juvenile that sounded. And maybe he wasn't as opposed to the rest of the feelings returning as he had been.

Brendon grinned childishly and leaned back in the chair, content. He hadn't been really, truly, content with his life in a while, and it felt good. Better than he'd ever remembered. "I'll... make sure to visit as much as I can," he promised. "And I'll get Jon to come with me so he can start seeing Keely semi-regularly again," he chuckled softly. "Thanks." They sat, in silence, for what could have been only a few minutes, but felt infinitely longer to Brendon. Finally, he pushed himself up and took a step towards the stairs. "I should probably sleep... for the flight tomorrow and all," he said, smiling awkwardly.

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "I'll just stay out here another half hour or so. Then I should be able to finish this chapter." He groaned slightly. "I have a deadline in two months, actually. I just tend to deliberately forget that little fact." He smiled slightly, looking up at the younger man before he pushed himself out of his chair and walked over, wrapping his arms around Brendon and hugging him tightly. He leaned in, intending to peck Brendon's cheek, but when they for some reason turned their heads simultaneously, it ended up hitting the younger man's mouth instead, and Ryan felt shock course through his body, unable to move for long moments until he wrenched himself away, blushing. "Sorry," me murmured. "Bad aim."

Brendon stumbled back a little, opening his eyes because they had fallen shut, and blushed as well. He gave a lopsided grin, muttering "S'okay," before hurrying back down into the house lest he jump Ryan right then and there. Once he was back in his room, he flopped down onto his bed and smiled into his pillow. Bad aim or not, Ryan had wanted to kiss him.