He remembered a few blankets, and set the kettle to boil.
Mum was nothing if not on time.
He slipped upstairs to lay the collar in the box on Brandon's pillow. Spencer thought it was better than to force the choice with Bran's Dom staring him in the face.
Remembering his guest, he flew down the stairs, nearly running into his door as pushed it open.
"Abs?" he panted, afraid she'd gone.
The injured woman was curled on her side, cradling her arm. Tears slipped down her face. "I'm here."
"Fuck, fuck," Spencer said, coming over. "Sorry, I've been.. occupied. C'mere," he kicked off his loafers as he crawled on the bed.
"It's okay. It jus' stings, is all," Abby lied, wincing as his presence rocked the bed. It didn't matter to her, really, as long as he was next to her. She'd suffer an earthquake at this point if he would just look at her.
"I'll text Mum for saline. You're massively dehydrated," he said, gingerly pulling her into his arms. He pulled her hair away from her face. "Still pink. We need some aloe for your face. Looks like a sunburn a bit." He stroked her cheek. "God, I'm awful at this, really awful."
"You're no' awful. It's a weird situation, I don't think anyone would be good at it," Abby said, trying to soothe him. She coughed. Her chest and throat felt raw, like someone had lit a fire inside her. "It's alrigh'. Jus'- Jus' don't send me to hospital."
"I'd bring the hospital to you before I did that," Spencer promised, pulling out his phone with one hand to send out several texts to his mother.
[hospital grade saline requested - sh]
[pain killers n burn cream if able - sh]
[not for me!]
He kissed the top of her head. "No, life's just gone to nightmare and my parents will be converging on the flat in an hour or so," he said.
"Should I leave? I'm sure I can manage a place-" Abby's fist, tight in his shirt, said otherwise.
"Don't you dare," Spencer growled. "You're to stay put. I'd like my mum to meet you, and you're not to leave this bed. Otherwise I will send you to hospital, and make certain you stay there."
[Should I be concerned? -MM]
"You wan' your mum to mee' me? We've already met, and she didn' seem keen on meetin' again," Abby replied softly, pleased at the outburst. Even if it meant she wasn't right for wanting it.
"Meet you proper," Spencer said. "As my.. what are we, Abby? Friends? More? I know really shitty time to be asking, but I've got umm, an hour to work on defending your honor and Brandon's, and make sure my mum doesn't pull my life out from under me."
[girlfriend in fire, no hosp - sh]
Abby got sort of quiet and still, picking at the buttons on his shirt. She kissed his chest. "What do you want to be?"
Spencer swallowed. "Ah, girlfriend?" he asked. "Girlfriend. That's good for me. You?"
"Um, I mean, you're not really givin' me time to consider. Still, it ain't the worst idea I've ever heard," Abby replied, trying to tease him. "Girlfriend. For now." She hid her face. "What is your boyfrien' goin' to say about it?"
"He'll bitch and moan, and get over it," Spencer pffted. "Besides, he's my sub. He needs me. Is that going to be a problem? Before you answer - we went to get tested together. Results - weren't good."
"What kind of not good?" Abby wheezed, frowning. Her eyebrow quirked up. "Are you- erm, healthy?"
"I am," Spencer said, rubbing her collarbone gently. "Brandon is.. not. Which is why we're having this family meeting here. I'm not putting him out for it, either, Abby. I don't work like that."
"I understan'. Am I allowed to think abou' it?" Abby asked, petting his shoulder.
"Always. You're always allowed to think and rethink anything," Spencer said. kissing her forehead. "My sister's boyfriend called me greedy," he murmured with his lips to her skin.
"Ain't his girlfrien' greedy? From wha' people in the ol' neighborhood said, she's got Thad following 'er around like a lost puppy. Why are you greedy?" Abby asked, not knowing she was letting something slip.
"For trying to keep you both at once," Spencer said, pulling away to examine her. "Thad. The stranger from your shop." His eyebrows rose. "Finch," he hummed. "Sister, sister, what trouble you find."
"Oh, did you no' know? Don't go tellin' 'er I tol' you!" Abby mumbled sleepily. The door downstairs banged open and closed, Brandon's heavy footsteps thundering up to his room.
"Lips are sealed," Spencer said, kissing her skin again. "Rest for now. I'll hold you til you fall asleep, okay?" She was warm - too warm - against him. He wanted to let himself just relax into his soft bed, but the footsteps overhead reminded him of the Talk to come. She whimpered, but her body relaxed into him, eyes fluttering closed. Bran's shoeless feet padded into the bathroom, shutting the door. The pipes started to run in the shower.
Spencer listened to him shower, stroking Abby's face gently, soothing her back to sleep. Dad had always insisted sleep healed the best (while Father had deplored the act). He wished he could simply let her sleep through the pain and healing entirely, but the skin on her hands was already showing her dehydration.
***
Freya had her face pressed against the glass of the car window as Sherlock drove. She actually gasped as 221 came into view.
"Oh please, it's only a building," Sherlock drawled, pulling the car up alongside the curb. Inside though, his heart was racing.
"Sherlock, what if it were Spencer?" John asked quietly from the back seat, his arm around Mary. She'd fallen asleep against his shoulder and unknowingly snuggled into him. They'd still never talked, never come around to being as good of friends as they used to be, and he'd honestly meant to so that things at the cottage were less tense, but still. It felt good to have her there. "We'd be just as concerned."
"John, in case you've lost what little deductive skills you gained in our time together, it does concern Spencer just the same," Sherlock said, turning the car off. He looked at his twin in the passenger seat. "Reckless children."
"Reckless indeed," the twin rumble of Ford's voice agreed. His hand was on Freya's shoulder, leaned forward to comfort her. "He should've been in rehab. Although, as we all know, these little problems have a way of cropping up even after treatment."
Freya yanked opened the car, pulling him out with her. "He was no better than either of us, and I pushed too hard," she sniffed. "Should've let him fall on his face when he was a bit younger, make a few more mistakes."
"This is not your fault, chicken," Ford said, halting her with a firm grip. "He's a grown man. He made his choices, and he'll deal with them."
"Are we there?" Mary asked, looking confused when it was John's face she was staring up into. He nodded, lips pressed in a grim line.
"Help her out, John," Sherlock said, getting out to follow Freya and his brother.
Freya was tugging her lover with frenetic energy. Fuck everything, she wanted her baby. The door had been left unlocked, and she hurried up the stairs.
"In here, Mum," Bran's voice called from the kitchen. Pasta and sauce smells wafted in the air. "Making you dinner so you don't waste away."
"Oh sweetie," she said, melting. It did smell delicious. Garlicky and savory. "Come, come here," she demanded, thin arms outstretched. Ford hovered in the shadows, watching his son step forward and lift the little woman off her feet.
"Ah. See you brought that along with you," Brandon hummed in her ear. Mary and John were coming up the stairs. "Father."
"Son," Ford said with a nod.
"Mum!" Finch came from the sitting room, down the stairs to let her mother lean on her, too. "Spencer said you were coming."
Freya was busy kissing and hugging over her son, petting his hair and chastising him for being rude to his father - as usual.
"Mum?" Spencer said, rubbing his eye as he came into the kitchen from his bedroom. He'd accidentally fallen asleep.
"Coming upstairs, love," Freya said, sniffling and cupping Brandon's face.
Spencer caught Brandon's eye and flushed bright red.
Sherlock, John, and Mary had made it upstairs by the time Spencer made it to the den. He went over to take his mother by the arm. "Jesus H Christ, Mum, did you bring everyone?" he asked.
"I'm only here to see to your burn victim. Perhaps show me to her?" John said firmly, peeling his son's hand away from Mary's arm. He raised the kit in his other hand. "I've got salve and saline, and I used to be a doctor."
Spencer nodded. "I know, Dad. I did everything you taught me," he said, gesturing for John to follow him back to the bedroom. "She didn't want the hospital," he said. "I think the people after her might've followed her there and finished the job."
Abby lay where Spencer had left her. He leaned down, stroking her hair softly.
"Abs," he whispered. "Abby, love, wake up a bit. I've got you a doctor."
She rolled over with a groan. "You never le' me sleep long."
"Sorry, blame me," John said, sitting down gingerly next to her, beginning a cursory examination. He tilted her face towards him, surveying the damage. "Don't worry, I'm a doctor. At least that's what I tell the ladies." He winked at her, and she wheezed a laugh.
"Dad!" Spencer said, laughing. He rounded the bed to help Abby sit up. "Face burns weren't anything worse than first degree. It's her arm that's the worst." He swallowed nervously.
"I'm getting there. Fire damage is severe, Spencer, I have to know what I'm working on," John scolded. He made an approving noise of Spencer's dressing, delicately undoing the bandages on Abby's arms. "Oh dear. You were very, very lucky, miss."
Spencer let out a shaky sigh of relief. "Is she going to be okay?" he said, stroking Abby's hair again. He knew she was in pain. "Dad?"
"Of course she will. It's going to hurt like the dickens for a while, but you'll be fine," John said, his doctor smile in place. He began to treat her. Rather than let Spencer see her in pain, Abby looked up at him with wide eyes.
"Weren't you meant to be somewhere?" she asked with a pointed glance at the door.
Spencer looked between her and the door. "Yeah," he said, hopping up to dance uncertainly on his feet. "Dad'll take care of you. He's the best, really he is. Even if he claims to be retired." He threw a blinding smile at Abby and hurried back to the noise.
"Mmm, God!" Freya said, making a noise closer to something one would hear in the bedroom than the kitchen. She had a spoon in her hand. "Sinfully good."
"Mum, stop showin' off for him," Brandon muttered, his arm around Finch. Everyone was crowded in the living room with pasta and drinks. Mary reached out to her son from her position on the floor.
"Baby creature," Mary said.
"Mummy," Spencer said, crumpling down to nudge against her like a kitten. "You look tired," he whispered softly in her ear.
"Hmm, I'm not tired," Mary lied, squeezing him. "Too much rest. That cottage is dull."
"You could always move out," Ford suggested with a mean glint in his eye.
Freya reached out to smack his arm. "B'have," she said around a mouthful of food. "Sherlock's always blowin' something up."
"Am not!" Sherlock countered. "It was only the once."
"Twice," Freya replied.
"And he hasn't even found all the cherubs," Mary said thoughtfully, cuddling Spencer. She petted his hair, like she'd done when he was a child. "Someone must look after him, clearly John is getting to old to do so."
"If you move out-" Ford wheedled, eyebrows waggling.
"You could still move in," Mary sniffed.
Sherlock looked up from his pasta. "You could still move in," he said, voice a bit softer than usual.
Spencer snorted. "You'd kill him," he whispered in his mother's ear.
"I know that, you know that," Mary whispered back with a giggle.
"As entertaining as this chatting is, perhaps we should consider why we're all here before we start to remember why we all left," Ford purred, leaning back in his chair to watch his son cuddle Mary's daughter. "And what we're going to do about it."
"It's none of your god damn business. I don't even know why you're here," Brandon told him.
Freya reached out to pat Brandon's knee. "Because he's your father, for all your fussing," she said, sitting her plate on the coffee table. "Sweetheart, this is serious news." Her eyes immediately started to shine.
"Mum, don't start. There's nothin' to be done about it," Brandon murmured into Finch's hair.
"But there is something that can be done about your rampant alcoholism," Ford said. Brandon seethed.
"I never asked you. And I'm not-" Brandon stopped when Finch reached out to grip his knee.
"Stop," she whispered.
Spencer stiffened in his mother's embraced, almost moving to intercept her. Jealousy roiled through his veins.
"Baby, we've been over this," Freya said. "We're enrolling you in a program, along side your treatment with the hospital. Therapy visits, mandatory."
"You need help, Brandon. Even if you don't see it," John agreed from the hall before turning into the kitchen to wash up. Brandon's lips pressed together tightly, and his cheeks heated. Embarrassed at everyone ganging up like this, embarrassed to admit he had a problem.
"Yeah. So you say," Bran whispered.
"So I say," Sherlock countered. "I'm not your father, your mother or even your Mare-mare, but we share the same genetics and the same affinity for addiction. My drug of choice was always less socially acceptable than yours, thus the temptation was easier to ignore, but there are times when I was alone- " He couldn't look his brother in the eye. "When the addiction made me think the drug made me better. Made the world easier to handle, makes your mind slow down and it all stops."
"I'm not you. And I'm not him," Brandon replied smartly with a nod at Ford. "This was an accident, this wasn't-"
"Shut up and for fuck's sake listen to your elders for once in your spoiled, pampered life," Ford snapped coldly. "You've managed to get yourself into a fix, you're unable to handle it on your own and thus reached out to your mother, and here we are at your summons-"
"I didn't summon you!" Brandon hissed.
"Well, you have me. You have Sherlock and your mother and the harpy and John. You have all our attention, now shut up and listen because clearly you aren't well enough to make your own choices," Ford said sternly.
Spencer shifted back against his mother, leaning back into the crook of her neck.
"Brandon, this is your life," Freya said softly. "As a family, we want to help you. And whether you want it or not, whether you sit in therapy or refuse to take your medications - you're going. I've found a AIDS specialist in London, and several places that have AA meetings, as well as a private addiction therapist."
"Busy were we?" Spencer huffed.
"So were you," Mary said with a pointed look down the hall. "Actually, my son, if you would kindly help me to my feet, I should like a chat with you in private."
"Yes, Mummy," Spencer said, nudging a shoulder beneath her arm to help her to her feet. He'd wanted to talk to her as well, but he felt pointed out. He had wanted to clean himself up better, put on a suit instead of a blazer and jeans. To look the part of the adult he wanted them to see.
"I guess you'll be wanting to see her," Spencer asked as they moved into the kitchen.
"Ah, at the moment I'm more interested in you," Mary murmured, halting him with a hand on his shirt. A meaner echo of the movement Abby was so fond of doing, even if his mother was unaware. "What are you doing with the both of them?"
Spencer's face went up in flames. His ears burned.
"Failing apparently," he whispered.
"Are you being safe?" Mary asked, holding onto him, leaning back on the counter.
"Define safe," Spencer said. "Yes, I'm using condoms, no blood. Bran and I had sex once, mother. Just once. There's been very little of anything since. Abby and I have always used protection. I used gloves when I was treating her burns. I'm trying very hard for consent, Mother, but Brandon is not that easy. And Abby?" He looked down. "She's not- she's- she's just my girlfriend, alright?"
Mary's eyebrows raised. "I'm more concerned about what is happening with you and Brandon than you and the creature in the bedroom. And you will not use that sarcastic tone with me for being concerned about you! You've taken several people telling you to gain confidence and turned into a person who collars other people. Don't think that Angelina didn't call me after you picked up your most recent purchase." Mary's eyes softened. "I'm concerned. I don't want you to lose who you are." She didn't want him to turn out like Jimmy, either.
"This is who I am, Mum," Spencer said defensively. "I'm not forcing it on him. It was an offer. An offer made no matter what the results of his tests. Bloody hell, he's probably going to throw it back in my face, but he won't have me if I'm kind to him. Only if I'm firm." He ran a hand over his face. "Doesn't matter anyway. It's bad for him, isn't it? Not healthy. Mental."
"I cannot say one way or the other. I'm not a bloody therapist," Mary sighed, closing her eyes, tipping her head back. "You'll know when to end it? If he can't and you're hurting him?"
"He's always hurting," Spencer said. "But if it comes to it, I'll end it to keep him safe. I do love him, Mum. I thought you were alright with me and him."
"I was. I mean, I am," Mary said, opening her eyes again to look at him. "But you're acting in such a way I've become concerned. For both of you. I don't even know how Violet managed two boys. You're so much trouble."
"Three," Spencer corrected.
"Please, Mycroft was practically a woman," Mary said with a disdainful look in her eyes and a wave of her hand. She tapped his hand. "I've got my eye on you, young one."
"Yes, Mother," Spencer said, deferring to her. "I want the McCannady's off Abby. I'm asking, a favor. Please."
"I shall have to talk to a few people, but I don't think that should be a problem," Mary answered smoothly. "I've been meaning to have them taken care of for your kidnapping. The other adults relieved me of my duties for a small while, I only just retrieved my property."
"I hope Father was punished soundly," Spencer said giving her a lupine grin.
"He wasn't involved. The others, however, have their comeuppance waiting for them," Mary replied with a tight grin of her own. She held out her hand. "Come along. Back to the others or introduce me to the bane of your sister's existence. Either one, but I'm sick of standing here."
"Yes, Mummy," Spencer said, leading her back to his room. "I want you to meet her. As my girlfriend this time, Mum. Please."
He was smiling, hoping she was feeling better after John had looked after her.
"Abby?" he said, opening the door. She lifted her head, barely, at the sound of her name.
"'M'wake," she mumbled. John had given her pain medicine, but it was doing nothing to dull the ache of her wounds.
Spencer came in, pulling over a chair for his mother and then perched on the bed. "Did Dad take care of you?" he asked, touching her gently. "Any new care I need to worry about?"
"No," Abby said, nervously realizing the queen-like woman that she'd met before was back in the room with her. "Nothing to fret over. I'm alrigh'."
"You've been in a fire, you're hardly alright," Mary said, folding her hands in her lap.
"Mum's right," Spencer said, grabbing another pillow to help Abby sit up. He held one of her hands. "Ah, Dad got you hooked up. Fluids. Luckily my room is right next to the lav." He laughed nervously.
"Your Dad seems nice," Abby said softly, unsure of how to be. She felt too vulnerable, too exposed, and at the same time, unable to run away. "He was awful swee' like."
"Yes, John is very sweet. It makes up for the rest of us," Mary agreed politely. "You're going to stay here with Spencer until you're feeling better." It wasn't a question.
"Hopefully a bit longer," Spencer said, stroking Abby's hand. "I was thinking about the lower flats, maybe? She lived above her shop, so it's all gone, Mummy."
"I think that's appropriate considering we've relocated and I no longer need the space for a studio," Mary agreed with a thoughtful hum. Her legs were only going to keep getting worse, and even if she still lived in the city, keeping the studio was not optional. "I'll see to it that my belongings are removed before she's well enough to be out of bed."
"No, I didn' know you was," Abby started but Mary silenced her with a look.
"Nonsense, dear. After all, you're homeless now. Might as well live downstairs," Mary said.
"Thank you, Mum," Spencer said with a truly grateful look on his face. "Brandon and I never use the lowest floor. A flat still smells a bit like lavender.. and pot."
"Well, she did have an injured hip, darling," Mary said with a fond look on her face at the memory of Mrs. H. She pushed herself to her feet. "I'm going to go make sure they're not killing each other. I've never seen Ford act so parental, it's frightening. Pleasure meeting you."
Abby still looked a little scared. "Nice meetin' you, too."
"I'll be out in a moment, Mum," Spencer said, watching her go. He turned back to cup Abby's cheek with a smile, stroking her cheek bone. "See, she's a good person," he said. "She just needed to know you were important to me. Family is all that matters to Mum."
"She's terrifyin'," Abby murmured, but she leaned into his touch. Her eyes were dull from pain and pills, but she tried to smile. "I s'pose it can't 'urt, though. The McCanady's ain't looking out for me none."
"They won't be looking for you anymore either. Mum will see to it. She's scary alright, but she has enough love for our whole family, to keep it together even when we were on different sides," Spencer said. "I know you're exhausted, but I just wanted her to see you. To see you here, with me."
"Why? Why's it so importan'?" Abby asked, relaxing with a tired sigh. "You've go' the other'un."
"Truth? I may not get to keep him," Spencer said, stroking her leg through the blanket. "Truth? I'm greedy."
"Greedy," Abby said happily, lips tilting up in a weak, genuine smile. "I think I can learn to like greedy."
Spencer leaned down to kiss her softly. "I'll check in again later," he whispered, turning the light off.
"Sherlock, what if it were Spencer?" John asked quietly from the back seat, his arm around Mary. She'd fallen asleep against his shoulder and unknowingly snuggled into him. They'd still never talked, never come around to being as good of friends as they used to be, and he'd honestly meant to so that things at the cottage were less tense, but still. It felt good to have her there. "We'd be just as concerned."
"John, in case you've lost what little deductive skills you gained in our time together, it does concern Spencer just the same," Sherlock said, turning the car off. He looked at his twin in the passenger seat. "Reckless children."
"Reckless indeed," the twin rumble of Ford's voice agreed. His hand was on Freya's shoulder, leaned forward to comfort her. "He should've been in rehab. Although, as we all know, these little problems have a way of cropping up even after treatment."
Freya yanked opened the car, pulling him out with her. "He was no better than either of us, and I pushed too hard," she sniffed. "Should've let him fall on his face when he was a bit younger, make a few more mistakes."
"This is not your fault, chicken," Ford said, halting her with a firm grip. "He's a grown man. He made his choices, and he'll deal with them."
"Are we there?" Mary asked, looking confused when it was John's face she was staring up into. He nodded, lips pressed in a grim line.
"Help her out, John," Sherlock said, getting out to follow Freya and his brother.
Freya was tugging her lover with frenetic energy. Fuck everything, she wanted her baby. The door had been left unlocked, and she hurried up the stairs.
"In here, Mum," Bran's voice called from the kitchen. Pasta and sauce smells wafted in the air. "Making you dinner so you don't waste away."
"Oh sweetie," she said, melting. It did smell delicious. Garlicky and savory. "Come, come here," she demanded, thin arms outstretched. Ford hovered in the shadows, watching his son step forward and lift the little woman off her feet.
"Ah. See you brought that along with you," Brandon hummed in her ear. Mary and John were coming up the stairs. "Father."
"Son," Ford said with a nod.
"Mum!" Finch came from the sitting room, down the stairs to let her mother lean on her, too. "Spencer said you were coming."
Freya was busy kissing and hugging over her son, petting his hair and chastising him for being rude to his father - as usual.
"Mum?" Spencer said, rubbing his eye as he came into the kitchen from his bedroom. He'd accidentally fallen asleep.
"Coming upstairs, love," Freya said, sniffling and cupping Brandon's face.
Spencer caught Brandon's eye and flushed bright red.
Sherlock, John, and Mary had made it upstairs by the time Spencer made it to the den. He went over to take his mother by the arm. "Jesus H Christ, Mum, did you bring everyone?" he asked.
"I'm only here to see to your burn victim. Perhaps show me to her?" John said firmly, peeling his son's hand away from Mary's arm. He raised the kit in his other hand. "I've got salve and saline, and I used to be a doctor."
Spencer nodded. "I know, Dad. I did everything you taught me," he said, gesturing for John to follow him back to the bedroom. "She didn't want the hospital," he said. "I think the people after her might've followed her there and finished the job."
Abby lay where Spencer had left her. He leaned down, stroking her hair softly.
"Abs," he whispered. "Abby, love, wake up a bit. I've got you a doctor."
She rolled over with a groan. "You never le' me sleep long."
"Sorry, blame me," John said, sitting down gingerly next to her, beginning a cursory examination. He tilted her face towards him, surveying the damage. "Don't worry, I'm a doctor. At least that's what I tell the ladies." He winked at her, and she wheezed a laugh.
"Dad!" Spencer said, laughing. He rounded the bed to help Abby sit up. "Face burns weren't anything worse than first degree. It's her arm that's the worst." He swallowed nervously.
"I'm getting there. Fire damage is severe, Spencer, I have to know what I'm working on," John scolded. He made an approving noise of Spencer's dressing, delicately undoing the bandages on Abby's arms. "Oh dear. You were very, very lucky, miss."
Spencer let out a shaky sigh of relief. "Is she going to be okay?" he said, stroking Abby's hair again. He knew she was in pain. "Dad?"
"Of course she will. It's going to hurt like the dickens for a while, but you'll be fine," John said, his doctor smile in place. He began to treat her. Rather than let Spencer see her in pain, Abby looked up at him with wide eyes.
"Weren't you meant to be somewhere?" she asked with a pointed glance at the door.
Spencer looked between her and the door. "Yeah," he said, hopping up to dance uncertainly on his feet. "Dad'll take care of you. He's the best, really he is. Even if he claims to be retired." He threw a blinding smile at Abby and hurried back to the noise.
"Mmm, God!" Freya said, making a noise closer to something one would hear in the bedroom than the kitchen. She had a spoon in her hand. "Sinfully good."
"Mum, stop showin' off for him," Brandon muttered, his arm around Finch. Everyone was crowded in the living room with pasta and drinks. Mary reached out to her son from her position on the floor.
"Baby creature," Mary said.
"Mummy," Spencer said, crumpling down to nudge against her like a kitten. "You look tired," he whispered softly in her ear.
"Hmm, I'm not tired," Mary lied, squeezing him. "Too much rest. That cottage is dull."
"You could always move out," Ford suggested with a mean glint in his eye.
Freya reached out to smack his arm. "B'have," she said around a mouthful of food. "Sherlock's always blowin' something up."
"Am not!" Sherlock countered. "It was only the once."
"Twice," Freya replied.
"And he hasn't even found all the cherubs," Mary said thoughtfully, cuddling Spencer. She petted his hair, like she'd done when he was a child. "Someone must look after him, clearly John is getting to old to do so."
"If you move out-" Ford wheedled, eyebrows waggling.
"You could still move in," Mary sniffed.
Sherlock looked up from his pasta. "You could still move in," he said, voice a bit softer than usual.
Spencer snorted. "You'd kill him," he whispered in his mother's ear.
"I know that, you know that," Mary whispered back with a giggle.
"As entertaining as this chatting is, perhaps we should consider why we're all here before we start to remember why we all left," Ford purred, leaning back in his chair to watch his son cuddle Mary's daughter. "And what we're going to do about it."
"It's none of your god damn business. I don't even know why you're here," Brandon told him.
Freya reached out to pat Brandon's knee. "Because he's your father, for all your fussing," she said, sitting her plate on the coffee table. "Sweetheart, this is serious news." Her eyes immediately started to shine.
"Mum, don't start. There's nothin' to be done about it," Brandon murmured into Finch's hair.
"But there is something that can be done about your rampant alcoholism," Ford said. Brandon seethed.
"I never asked you. And I'm not-" Brandon stopped when Finch reached out to grip his knee.
"Stop," she whispered.
Spencer stiffened in his mother's embraced, almost moving to intercept her. Jealousy roiled through his veins.
"Baby, we've been over this," Freya said. "We're enrolling you in a program, along side your treatment with the hospital. Therapy visits, mandatory."
"You need help, Brandon. Even if you don't see it," John agreed from the hall before turning into the kitchen to wash up. Brandon's lips pressed together tightly, and his cheeks heated. Embarrassed at everyone ganging up like this, embarrassed to admit he had a problem.
"Yeah. So you say," Bran whispered.
"So I say," Sherlock countered. "I'm not your father, your mother or even your Mare-mare, but we share the same genetics and the same affinity for addiction. My drug of choice was always less socially acceptable than yours, thus the temptation was easier to ignore, but there are times when I was alone- " He couldn't look his brother in the eye. "When the addiction made me think the drug made me better. Made the world easier to handle, makes your mind slow down and it all stops."
"I'm not you. And I'm not him," Brandon replied smartly with a nod at Ford. "This was an accident, this wasn't-"
"Shut up and for fuck's sake listen to your elders for once in your spoiled, pampered life," Ford snapped coldly. "You've managed to get yourself into a fix, you're unable to handle it on your own and thus reached out to your mother, and here we are at your summons-"
"I didn't summon you!" Brandon hissed.
"Well, you have me. You have Sherlock and your mother and the harpy and John. You have all our attention, now shut up and listen because clearly you aren't well enough to make your own choices," Ford said sternly.
Spencer shifted back against his mother, leaning back into the crook of her neck.
"Brandon, this is your life," Freya said softly. "As a family, we want to help you. And whether you want it or not, whether you sit in therapy or refuse to take your medications - you're going. I've found a AIDS specialist in London, and several places that have AA meetings, as well as a private addiction therapist."
"Busy were we?" Spencer huffed.
"So were you," Mary said with a pointed look down the hall. "Actually, my son, if you would kindly help me to my feet, I should like a chat with you in private."
"Yes, Mummy," Spencer said, nudging a shoulder beneath her arm to help her to her feet. He'd wanted to talk to her as well, but he felt pointed out. He had wanted to clean himself up better, put on a suit instead of a blazer and jeans. To look the part of the adult he wanted them to see.
"I guess you'll be wanting to see her," Spencer asked as they moved into the kitchen.
"Ah, at the moment I'm more interested in you," Mary murmured, halting him with a hand on his shirt. A meaner echo of the movement Abby was so fond of doing, even if his mother was unaware. "What are you doing with the both of them?"
Spencer's face went up in flames. His ears burned.
"Failing apparently," he whispered.
"Are you being safe?" Mary asked, holding onto him, leaning back on the counter.
"Define safe," Spencer said. "Yes, I'm using condoms, no blood. Bran and I had sex once, mother. Just once. There's been very little of anything since. Abby and I have always used protection. I used gloves when I was treating her burns. I'm trying very hard for consent, Mother, but Brandon is not that easy. And Abby?" He looked down. "She's not- she's- she's just my girlfriend, alright?"
Mary's eyebrows raised. "I'm more concerned about what is happening with you and Brandon than you and the creature in the bedroom. And you will not use that sarcastic tone with me for being concerned about you! You've taken several people telling you to gain confidence and turned into a person who collars other people. Don't think that Angelina didn't call me after you picked up your most recent purchase." Mary's eyes softened. "I'm concerned. I don't want you to lose who you are." She didn't want him to turn out like Jimmy, either.
"This is who I am, Mum," Spencer said defensively. "I'm not forcing it on him. It was an offer. An offer made no matter what the results of his tests. Bloody hell, he's probably going to throw it back in my face, but he won't have me if I'm kind to him. Only if I'm firm." He ran a hand over his face. "Doesn't matter anyway. It's bad for him, isn't it? Not healthy. Mental."
"I cannot say one way or the other. I'm not a bloody therapist," Mary sighed, closing her eyes, tipping her head back. "You'll know when to end it? If he can't and you're hurting him?"
"He's always hurting," Spencer said. "But if it comes to it, I'll end it to keep him safe. I do love him, Mum. I thought you were alright with me and him."
"I was. I mean, I am," Mary said, opening her eyes again to look at him. "But you're acting in such a way I've become concerned. For both of you. I don't even know how Violet managed two boys. You're so much trouble."
"Three," Spencer corrected.
"Please, Mycroft was practically a woman," Mary said with a disdainful look in her eyes and a wave of her hand. She tapped his hand. "I've got my eye on you, young one."
"Yes, Mother," Spencer said, deferring to her. "I want the McCannady's off Abby. I'm asking, a favor. Please."
"I shall have to talk to a few people, but I don't think that should be a problem," Mary answered smoothly. "I've been meaning to have them taken care of for your kidnapping. The other adults relieved me of my duties for a small while, I only just retrieved my property."
"I hope Father was punished soundly," Spencer said giving her a lupine grin.
"He wasn't involved. The others, however, have their comeuppance waiting for them," Mary replied with a tight grin of her own. She held out her hand. "Come along. Back to the others or introduce me to the bane of your sister's existence. Either one, but I'm sick of standing here."
"Yes, Mummy," Spencer said, leading her back to his room. "I want you to meet her. As my girlfriend this time, Mum. Please."
He was smiling, hoping she was feeling better after John had looked after her.
"Abby?" he said, opening the door. She lifted her head, barely, at the sound of her name.
"'M'wake," she mumbled. John had given her pain medicine, but it was doing nothing to dull the ache of her wounds.
Spencer came in, pulling over a chair for his mother and then perched on the bed. "Did Dad take care of you?" he asked, touching her gently. "Any new care I need to worry about?"
"No," Abby said, nervously realizing the queen-like woman that she'd met before was back in the room with her. "Nothing to fret over. I'm alrigh'."
"You've been in a fire, you're hardly alright," Mary said, folding her hands in her lap.
"Mum's right," Spencer said, grabbing another pillow to help Abby sit up. He held one of her hands. "Ah, Dad got you hooked up. Fluids. Luckily my room is right next to the lav." He laughed nervously.
"Your Dad seems nice," Abby said softly, unsure of how to be. She felt too vulnerable, too exposed, and at the same time, unable to run away. "He was awful swee' like."
"Yes, John is very sweet. It makes up for the rest of us," Mary agreed politely. "You're going to stay here with Spencer until you're feeling better." It wasn't a question.
"Hopefully a bit longer," Spencer said, stroking Abby's hand. "I was thinking about the lower flats, maybe? She lived above her shop, so it's all gone, Mummy."
"I think that's appropriate considering we've relocated and I no longer need the space for a studio," Mary agreed with a thoughtful hum. Her legs were only going to keep getting worse, and even if she still lived in the city, keeping the studio was not optional. "I'll see to it that my belongings are removed before she's well enough to be out of bed."
"No, I didn' know you was," Abby started but Mary silenced her with a look.
"Nonsense, dear. After all, you're homeless now. Might as well live downstairs," Mary said.
"Thank you, Mum," Spencer said with a truly grateful look on his face. "Brandon and I never use the lowest floor. A flat still smells a bit like lavender.. and pot."
"Well, she did have an injured hip, darling," Mary said with a fond look on her face at the memory of Mrs. H. She pushed herself to her feet. "I'm going to go make sure they're not killing each other. I've never seen Ford act so parental, it's frightening. Pleasure meeting you."
Abby still looked a little scared. "Nice meetin' you, too."
"I'll be out in a moment, Mum," Spencer said, watching her go. He turned back to cup Abby's cheek with a smile, stroking her cheek bone. "See, she's a good person," he said. "She just needed to know you were important to me. Family is all that matters to Mum."
"She's terrifyin'," Abby murmured, but she leaned into his touch. Her eyes were dull from pain and pills, but she tried to smile. "I s'pose it can't 'urt, though. The McCanady's ain't looking out for me none."
"They won't be looking for you anymore either. Mum will see to it. She's scary alright, but she has enough love for our whole family, to keep it together even when we were on different sides," Spencer said. "I know you're exhausted, but I just wanted her to see you. To see you here, with me."
"Why? Why's it so importan'?" Abby asked, relaxing with a tired sigh. "You've go' the other'un."
"Truth? I may not get to keep him," Spencer said, stroking her leg through the blanket. "Truth? I'm greedy."
"Greedy," Abby said happily, lips tilting up in a weak, genuine smile. "I think I can learn to like greedy."
Spencer leaned down to kiss her softly. "I'll check in again later," he whispered, turning the light off.
***
The parents stuck around, the mood lightening again. Freya went off to speak with Brandon in private as well, looking stern and fond and trying very hard not to cry. Eventually though, the parents left. No one had kidnapped Brandon, as Spencer feared, or barred him from continuing what they had.
He went out of the kitchen to gather up some more of the dishes.
"I'll get it. I made the mess, I'll clean it up," Brandon said quietly, bringing more glasses in from the living room.
"I can help carry them," Spencer said, going to pick up several more plates. He set them on the counter top. "How are you?" he asked, never able to get a good read on Brandon's emotions.
Brandon filled the sink with soapy warm water, scrubbing at a dirty plate. He grimaced, a furrow forming between his white brows. "Alright, I guess. Mum cried a little. Your mum seemed disappointed. I hate my father and wish they'd left all of them somewhere else. Probably buried balls-deep in one another."
"Mum's disappointed in me," Spencer said, crossing his arms to lean on the table. "You a bit, but probably more me. You know our mums run off at least once a year with each other."
"Probably more," Brandon agreed with a grin. "Always sort of wished your mum had been mine, too. But that's in a universe where my mum has a cock and they've castrated my sperm donor so, not much use in wishing that."
"Your mum just picked someone pretty enough to match my mum's genetics," Spencer said, raising his chin. "My mum thinks of you as one of her's, Bran. Even if she didn't have you herself."
"Well, that's somethin'. Better than the sorry excuse for a father figure I've got," Brandon replied, rinsing off a pan. He picked up a knife by the wrong end, not thinking, and gave himself a tiny cut. "Oh, blast-"
His eyes riveted to the spot where blood welled up.
Spencer reached for a tea towel, grasping Brandon by the wrist and covering his hand to put pressure on the wound. "Don't," he said sharply.
Brandon shuddered, trying to pull his hand back, snapping himself out of his trance. "I can take care of it. You shouldn't-"
"Brandon," Spencer said. "Don't. I can treat a cut. It's not going to jump through the air and infect me."
"It doesn't matter. We should still be careful," Brandon breathed, his already pale features looking almost dead in the harsh kitchen light. He swallowed hard. "It's alright. I've got it."
Spencer reached up to grasp the nape of Brandon's neck, pulling him down for a hard kiss. Brandon groaned against Spencer's plush lips.
"Spence."
"Transmission between careful monogamous partners is less than one percent per year," Spencer whispered harshly. "80 percent of couples where one partner is infected remain uninfected with prophylactic use. Do not do this to yourself. I can put on a bloody plaster."
"I'm not doing it for myself, I'm doing it for you," Brandon argued, leaning their heads together. "You're more important." You're the one who's going to live.
"More important to who?" Spencer barked out a disgusted laugh, turning his head and going for the box of plasters from the cabinet.
"To Mary. To Sherlock. To Finch, for fuck's sake, and that girl you've got imprisoned in the bedroom. You matter, you selfish brat," Brandon ground out, glaring at Spencer.
"To Finch?" Spencer said, jerking back. "To Mum? Mum was ready to castrate me for hurting you. Said I was to break it off if I was hurting you. She'd slit my throat. Dad looked at me like I was abusing the both of you. And Finch, cuddling up to your side. Her commanding you, right in front of me." Spencer's eyes blazed.
"She wasn't commanding anything, you idiot, that's how you be a good friend," Brandon countered, nostrils flaring out. "What is your fascination with me being friends with your sister?"
Spencer's hands curled into fists, and he clenched his jaw. He squeezed his hands open and closed several times, breathing so his next words were carefully picked. "She could take you," he said, not looking at his cousin. "She could take you, and make you better than I ever could - without even being your master. Mum thinks I'm going to hurt you. Everyone thinks I am. Finch wouldn't hurt you."
"Yeah, well, I'm not with Finch right now, am I?" Brandon returned, wrapping the plaster around his oozing finger, swiping the counter with soap and water just to be extra sure. "And she wouldn't take me. She's never going to take me."
"I hate her for it," Spencer let slip before he covered his mouth.
"Spencer!"
"You're in love with her!" Spencer said. "You're in love with her, and if you- if you weren't-" Angry tears tried to well up. "Blood. Blood is always getting in our way."
"I'm not in love with Finch, Spencer," Brandon said quietly, looking down at his hand. Blood certainly was always going to get in their way. "I'm not. It's not possible. I'm gay."
"There are always exceptions," Spencer said. "Work arounds. You can't help who you fall in love with. I don't blame you. Finch is beautiful, kind. Talented. You two were always closer. Closer in age, stayed with Mum more." He stepped closer to Brandon, hooking a finger into Brandon's belt loop. "You're always touching. Always."
"We're always touching," Brandon breathed, shaking his head. He wouldn't meet Spencer's eyes. "Her and I, we're like siblings. We're just friends. She's just around."
"Finch and I are like siblings," Spencer said. "You two have chemistry that makes me feel threatened. Jealous. Do you understand that?" He tipped Brandon's chin up with his knuckle. "I want to own you," he breathed.
"Don't you? You follow me to work, you punish me, you insist on trying to keep me sober. Don't you already?" Bran asked flippantly, eyebrows raised.
Spencer scrapped his nails over Brandon's short shaved sides and delved into his longer hair. He stood on tiptoe to kiss him again, softer this time. He flicked his tongue across Brandon's bottom lip. A thought burst - remembering the taste of Brandon's blood as they kissed.
"Spencer," Bran whispered his name, his un-bandaged hand cupping Spencer's thin hip, tugging him closer. "Why?"
"I'm greedy," Spencer said, kissing him again. "But I can't have you without consent. I won't be offended if you return the collar though." He stroked Bran's neck.
"You are greedy. A greedy, spoiled brat," Brandon agreed, headbutting him, thumb stroking over Spencer's side. Spencer shivered, reaching up to thread his hands through Brandon's hair again, petting him.
He reached up to stroke through the blond locks, down Brandon's shoulders and back as they nuzzled their noses, breathing in each other's breath. Spencer flicked out his tongue to lick Brandon's lip teasingly. Brandon leaned back on the counter, pulling Spencer with him so they were flush together, Brandon supporting Spencer's weight in his arms. He pushed their mouths together, and closed his eyes against the tears welling up there.
Spencer's tongue licked its way into Brandon's mouth, tangling softly, wetly there. He rocked his hips suggestively, letting Brandon support him. He mentally cursed his height as they kissed, their mouths parting and panting, breath growing heavier in the kitchen.
"Bran," he panted, sealing their mouths back together with a deep moan.
"I can't, Spence. It's- this isn't good. Not, um, not good. You should go see to Abby," Brandon whined, pulling back. He shook his head. "I'm not ready."
Spencer dropped off his toes, stepping back. "Okay," he panted. "Okay." It hurt. "A hug for goodnight?"
"Yeah," Brandon said, and he engulfed Spencer with his arms, feeling sort of dirty inside. He kissed the side of the kid's head. "Goodnight, Spencer."
Spencer breathed in Brandon's scent greedily, and kissed the side of his neck before they let go. He didn't go straight to Abby. It felt wrong. Brandon riled him up and made him feel things - Insane, possessive, deep emotions. Dark places within himself that he was scared to show anyone.
He ran the water as he cried over the sink. It was warm as he finally rinsed his face. Maybe it was better if he cut things off now. He opened the door from the lav, looking at the soft girl in his bed. He couldn't imagine laying a whip or crop to her skin. He checked her saline and IV, then shucked his clothes and put on a tee shirt. He would've preferred just sleeping in his pants, but injured guests and all - he crawled into bed beside her. She was fairly sound asleep, having been poked and prodded and drugged all afternoon, but her fist found it's way to his shirt, clutching at it like a baby with a blanket, head snuggling in to rest on his shoulder.
"I might love you, too," Spencer whispered to his little limpet. "What the hell am I doing?"
"I'll get it. I made the mess, I'll clean it up," Brandon said quietly, bringing more glasses in from the living room.
"I can help carry them," Spencer said, going to pick up several more plates. He set them on the counter top. "How are you?" he asked, never able to get a good read on Brandon's emotions.
Brandon filled the sink with soapy warm water, scrubbing at a dirty plate. He grimaced, a furrow forming between his white brows. "Alright, I guess. Mum cried a little. Your mum seemed disappointed. I hate my father and wish they'd left all of them somewhere else. Probably buried balls-deep in one another."
"Mum's disappointed in me," Spencer said, crossing his arms to lean on the table. "You a bit, but probably more me. You know our mums run off at least once a year with each other."
"Probably more," Brandon agreed with a grin. "Always sort of wished your mum had been mine, too. But that's in a universe where my mum has a cock and they've castrated my sperm donor so, not much use in wishing that."
"Your mum just picked someone pretty enough to match my mum's genetics," Spencer said, raising his chin. "My mum thinks of you as one of her's, Bran. Even if she didn't have you herself."
"Well, that's somethin'. Better than the sorry excuse for a father figure I've got," Brandon replied, rinsing off a pan. He picked up a knife by the wrong end, not thinking, and gave himself a tiny cut. "Oh, blast-"
His eyes riveted to the spot where blood welled up.
Spencer reached for a tea towel, grasping Brandon by the wrist and covering his hand to put pressure on the wound. "Don't," he said sharply.
Brandon shuddered, trying to pull his hand back, snapping himself out of his trance. "I can take care of it. You shouldn't-"
"Brandon," Spencer said. "Don't. I can treat a cut. It's not going to jump through the air and infect me."
"It doesn't matter. We should still be careful," Brandon breathed, his already pale features looking almost dead in the harsh kitchen light. He swallowed hard. "It's alright. I've got it."
Spencer reached up to grasp the nape of Brandon's neck, pulling him down for a hard kiss. Brandon groaned against Spencer's plush lips.
"Spence."
"Transmission between careful monogamous partners is less than one percent per year," Spencer whispered harshly. "80 percent of couples where one partner is infected remain uninfected with prophylactic use. Do not do this to yourself. I can put on a bloody plaster."
"I'm not doing it for myself, I'm doing it for you," Brandon argued, leaning their heads together. "You're more important." You're the one who's going to live.
"More important to who?" Spencer barked out a disgusted laugh, turning his head and going for the box of plasters from the cabinet.
"To Mary. To Sherlock. To Finch, for fuck's sake, and that girl you've got imprisoned in the bedroom. You matter, you selfish brat," Brandon ground out, glaring at Spencer.
"To Finch?" Spencer said, jerking back. "To Mum? Mum was ready to castrate me for hurting you. Said I was to break it off if I was hurting you. She'd slit my throat. Dad looked at me like I was abusing the both of you. And Finch, cuddling up to your side. Her commanding you, right in front of me." Spencer's eyes blazed.
"She wasn't commanding anything, you idiot, that's how you be a good friend," Brandon countered, nostrils flaring out. "What is your fascination with me being friends with your sister?"
Spencer's hands curled into fists, and he clenched his jaw. He squeezed his hands open and closed several times, breathing so his next words were carefully picked. "She could take you," he said, not looking at his cousin. "She could take you, and make you better than I ever could - without even being your master. Mum thinks I'm going to hurt you. Everyone thinks I am. Finch wouldn't hurt you."
"Yeah, well, I'm not with Finch right now, am I?" Brandon returned, wrapping the plaster around his oozing finger, swiping the counter with soap and water just to be extra sure. "And she wouldn't take me. She's never going to take me."
"I hate her for it," Spencer let slip before he covered his mouth.
"Spencer!"
"You're in love with her!" Spencer said. "You're in love with her, and if you- if you weren't-" Angry tears tried to well up. "Blood. Blood is always getting in our way."
"I'm not in love with Finch, Spencer," Brandon said quietly, looking down at his hand. Blood certainly was always going to get in their way. "I'm not. It's not possible. I'm gay."
"There are always exceptions," Spencer said. "Work arounds. You can't help who you fall in love with. I don't blame you. Finch is beautiful, kind. Talented. You two were always closer. Closer in age, stayed with Mum more." He stepped closer to Brandon, hooking a finger into Brandon's belt loop. "You're always touching. Always."
"We're always touching," Brandon breathed, shaking his head. He wouldn't meet Spencer's eyes. "Her and I, we're like siblings. We're just friends. She's just around."
"Finch and I are like siblings," Spencer said. "You two have chemistry that makes me feel threatened. Jealous. Do you understand that?" He tipped Brandon's chin up with his knuckle. "I want to own you," he breathed.
"Don't you? You follow me to work, you punish me, you insist on trying to keep me sober. Don't you already?" Bran asked flippantly, eyebrows raised.
Spencer scrapped his nails over Brandon's short shaved sides and delved into his longer hair. He stood on tiptoe to kiss him again, softer this time. He flicked his tongue across Brandon's bottom lip. A thought burst - remembering the taste of Brandon's blood as they kissed.
"Spencer," Bran whispered his name, his un-bandaged hand cupping Spencer's thin hip, tugging him closer. "Why?"
"I'm greedy," Spencer said, kissing him again. "But I can't have you without consent. I won't be offended if you return the collar though." He stroked Bran's neck.
"You are greedy. A greedy, spoiled brat," Brandon agreed, headbutting him, thumb stroking over Spencer's side. Spencer shivered, reaching up to thread his hands through Brandon's hair again, petting him.
He reached up to stroke through the blond locks, down Brandon's shoulders and back as they nuzzled their noses, breathing in each other's breath. Spencer flicked out his tongue to lick Brandon's lip teasingly. Brandon leaned back on the counter, pulling Spencer with him so they were flush together, Brandon supporting Spencer's weight in his arms. He pushed their mouths together, and closed his eyes against the tears welling up there.
Spencer's tongue licked its way into Brandon's mouth, tangling softly, wetly there. He rocked his hips suggestively, letting Brandon support him. He mentally cursed his height as they kissed, their mouths parting and panting, breath growing heavier in the kitchen.
"Bran," he panted, sealing their mouths back together with a deep moan.
"I can't, Spence. It's- this isn't good. Not, um, not good. You should go see to Abby," Brandon whined, pulling back. He shook his head. "I'm not ready."
Spencer dropped off his toes, stepping back. "Okay," he panted. "Okay." It hurt. "A hug for goodnight?"
"Yeah," Brandon said, and he engulfed Spencer with his arms, feeling sort of dirty inside. He kissed the side of the kid's head. "Goodnight, Spencer."
Spencer breathed in Brandon's scent greedily, and kissed the side of his neck before they let go. He didn't go straight to Abby. It felt wrong. Brandon riled him up and made him feel things - Insane, possessive, deep emotions. Dark places within himself that he was scared to show anyone.
He ran the water as he cried over the sink. It was warm as he finally rinsed his face. Maybe it was better if he cut things off now. He opened the door from the lav, looking at the soft girl in his bed. He couldn't imagine laying a whip or crop to her skin. He checked her saline and IV, then shucked his clothes and put on a tee shirt. He would've preferred just sleeping in his pants, but injured guests and all - he crawled into bed beside her. She was fairly sound asleep, having been poked and prodded and drugged all afternoon, but her fist found it's way to his shirt, clutching at it like a baby with a blanket, head snuggling in to rest on his shoulder.
"I might love you, too," Spencer whispered to his little limpet. "What the hell am I doing?"
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