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(Eric had called it after the first time Brett had come to watch them all train.
“He’s definitely not straight,” Eric had said, leaning back against the big oak tree in Peregrine’s backyard and tipping his head back into the sun, eyes closed. He sprayed a stream of water from the bottle in his hand to his mouth, and Peregrine took a minute to roll her eyes at him.
Men. Ugh.
“I don’t know how I know,” Eric had said, probably in response to someone’s questioning him, and Peregrine thought for a moment.
"Nah, he’s right,” she had agreed. “He’s got the vibe.”
They’d left it there, then, since they had no way of confirming their suspicions without explicitly asking, and that had been that.
They had no way of knowing, at the time, just how right they were.)
- Peregrine
Peregrine is was the first of them to accidentally get confirmation of Brett being, well, not straight.
It isn’t intentional - it's late, and she had only wanted to get a drink of water, but she’d headed down to the kitchen in socks and PJs only to be stopped by the sound of her mom and Brett talking. She hadn’t known Brett was coming over - as far as she was aware, Kathy had been planning to meal prep for the upcoming week and then head to bed - but that is definitely his voice in the kitchen.
“-be kinda lonely ‘round these parts, y’know? The house gets so quiet now, what with Peregrine gone all the time into those woods and Jacob-” Kathy goes silent for a second, and Peregrine feels her heart stutter in her chest. She wants to run into the room and hug her mom, bury her head into Kathy’s chest, and sob for the umpteenth time about how quiet the house is now with Jacob gone and Kathy constantly taking double shifts. She wants to bury herself in Kathy’s arms and let her mom tell her she’s going to be alright.
She hasn’t talked to her mom, really talked to her, in what feels like forever. The two of them have been ships passing in the night ever since Jacob died, and Peregrine misses her.
She’s so busy in her own thoughts that she almost misses Brett’s response.
“-understand that, Kathy, I really do.” He certainly sounds lonely, and Peregrine can almost picture him, sitting there in her kitchen hunched over a mug of something. Probably tea - he doesn’t seem like much of a coffee person.
“Well, of course you do! It must get awful lonely out there, petering about in that room all alone all the time! How long can a person stay in a motel room all alone before they start going insane? I betcha must start crawling out of your skin during the quiet hours.”
Brett makes a hum of agreement, so low Peregrine has to strain to hear it. Kathy isn’t finished yet, though.
“And I can’t imagine it’s like that for you back in Connecticut, of course! Handsome man like you, I betcha got company all the time back home, right?”
Brett huffs out a short laugh. “No, uh, we’re-”
“We?” The plural seems to catch Kathy’s attention and her voice sharpens, inquisitive. “I didn’t know you were-”
“Married, yeah,” Brett says. There’s an obvious smile in his voice; he’s clearly missing whoever it is he’s married to. “They’re a teacher, back in New Haven. College Professor, actually.”
Peregrine takes note of the use of “they” with interest - whoever it is Brett is married to, they’re certainly not female . Otherwise, why would he bother? A small town like Whitetail, there’s no reason to not talk about his spouse if they’re female, but if they’re not female-
“A professor, huh?” Kathy’s voice is light, teasing, and Peregrine’s heart soars at the sound. Her mom hasn’t sounded like that since-
Well.
“Yeah,” Brett says, and his voice is clearly nervous when he says, “that’s him.”
There’s a sound like a phone sliding across a table, and Kathy’s delighted hum as she looks at what Peregrine presumes is a picture of Brett’s husband.
(Husband!)
“You’ve got yourself a looker, Brett!” Kathy says, delighted, and even though Peregrine knows her mom is relatively forward-thinking, it’s still a weight off Peregrine’s chest to hear.
It’s a relief for Brett, too, if his sigh means anything at all.
"Yeah," he says again with a breathy chuckle. "He's… definitely the better looking of the two of us, that's for sure."
"I'll say! Look at those muscles!" Kathy says, and okay, maybe her mom is a little too okay with this.
Kathy and Brett's voices continue, but Peregrine chooses to slip back up the stairs, water forgotten. This new information is way more important than hydration.
God, she can't wait to see Eric's face when she tells them.
- John Francis
Brett’s recording again.
He’s watching them, John Francis notes, and he’s got that recorder he likes to carry around in one hand, and the other -
Wait.
Is that a necklace Brett’s playing with?
John Francis prides himself on being a pretty observant person - it’s a habit, almost, comes with the territory. Part of looking the way he does in a town as small as Whitetail. But he’s certain he’s never noticed Brett wearing any jewelry - he just doesn’t seem the type, no matter what Eric may say. Brett spends his days trekking around and lugging recording equipment after Peregrine and co - he’s just as likely to get down and dirty as the rest of them, even though he isn’t actually training for the final. Even Lexy takes off all her jewelry before coming out here, too afraid of losing something important, so why-
John Francis stretches his arms up high up over his head, bending over slightly and using the opportunity such a pose affords him to try and get a look at the necklace around Brett’s neck. It’s pretty, certainly, a simple linked chain of gold and something heavy at the bottom. John Francis can’t quite make out the pendant, tucked under Brett’s shirt and forming a circular bulge between his collarbones.
Brett has definitely never worn this necklace into the woods before. So what’s so special about today?
Brett is still recording, speaking into his portable microphone like it’s going out of style while his other hand twists the chain around his fingers, twisting the chain back and forth around his pointer and middle finger, until - almost as if it’s the sun, peeking out from behind a cloud, the pendant slips from beneath Brett’s shirt to land above the crewneck of Brett’s sweater, and-
It’s a ring.
It’s not just any ring, either; it’s clearly a men’s wedding band, gold and silver catching the weak sunlight through the trees and sending a shower of sparkles onto the leaves beneath Brett’s feet.
Brett’s hand slips down the chain until he can hook one finger through the band, and John Francis can’t take the curiosity anymore.
“Hey, Brett,” John Francis says suddenly, almost before he can think about the words that are emerging from his mouth. “What’s that ring? ‘S it your dad’s?”
Brett had told them, once, briefly, about the accident that had killed his parents. He hadn’t said much - just that they had been driving, and he had been there. They’d known not to push after that.
Brett startles, whipping around to face John Francis, hands falling to his side. The recorder wire hits the ground between them, forgotten; Brett clicks off the device, looking down at the black buttons and fiddling with them as if to give himself a moment to regain composure. When he speaks, however, his voice is clear.
“No,” Brett tells him. “It’s mine.”
“Yours?” John Francis says, surprised. He didn’t think- “I didn’t know you were married.”
Brett shrugs, fingers still toying with the ring. He’s started tugging it up and down the chain, making a low shnng every time it moves, and John Francis can’t stop his eyes from following the movement back and forth.
“I don’t really publicise it,” Brett says slowly. “Not that I’m ashamed of it or anything, it’s just-”
“Personal,” John Francis says, nodding. “I get it.”
“Yes!” Brett says, looking relieved. “And it’s not like I can really wear a ring, anyways, not when it’s always getting caught on things, and I don’t love the sound it makes when it hits the equipment-” he gestures to the recording device, mics, and various stands he’s scattered about them- “so.”
John Francis nods, considering. It makes sense to him, sure, in the strange way that Brett doesn’t normally make sense to him but also kind of does.
“So,” he repeats, scrambling desperately for something to say to Brett, to keep the conversation going. “Uh… why are you wearing it now?”
“Oh!” Brett says, then smiles. It’s a secret, small thing, meant just for him and… whoever it is Brett is married to, John Francis supposes. It looks like warmth, like coming home after a long day at work to a warm meal and a lit fireplace.
It looks like love.
“It’s my anniversary,” Brett says, and turns to go. “I’m going to go talk to Lexy. Thanks for everything, John Francis.”
“Uh… No problem,” John Francis says to Brett’s retreating back. He feels like he’s been given a glimpse of a Brett he’s not sure he’d known existed before this conversation. He watches Brett go, one elbow held out awkwardly like his hand is still entangled in his necklace, and it feels like the world begins anew. This small glimpse John Francis has been given fills the world with love for a moment, and here - in this patch of forest, dappled with pale sunlight - that’s enough.
- Eric
“Is that Brett?”
Woodsley’s voice snaps Eric out of his thoughts and he looks up, nearly dropping his phone into his coffee cup. They’d come after a long hike, just the two of them and the way the sunlight shone through the trees of the forest and lit up Woodsley’s hair, chasing each other up the trail as they climbed-
Eric cleared his throat.
“Sorry, what?”
Woodsley’s eyes are somewhere behind Eric, focused on something over his left shoulder.
“It is Brett!” Woodsley says in an undertone, leaning forward to get a look. He’s so close to Eric that Eric can smell his cologne. "Geez, wonder what he's doing here?"
"Eating, probably?" Eric teases, picking up one of the fries from the plate between the two of them to jab it at Woodsley's face. "That does tend to be what people do in places like this, right?"
Woodsley looks around the diner they're sitting in for a moment as if he's actually considering the question before he shakes it off.
"Oh come on," Woodsley starts. "You know what I mean! He's all, you know, adulty! Shouldn't he be, I don't know, doing adult stuff?"
"Like what, eating dinner?"
The look Woodsley sends him could cut glass. Eric sighs, relenting.
"I dunno, I really think he's probably just grabbing dinner, Woods. I mean, I'd want to get out more if all I was going home to was an empty hotel room, wouldn't you?"
Woodsley falls quiet, suddenly serious. Eric has a feeling he knows what Woodsley is thinking about - the O'Connors' house is certainly never quiet, all the brothers constantly on top of one another while Irene and Declan yell over the noise. Woodsley's home is spilling over with noises of love, family, and home, and trying to imagine his life without them must be-
"Awful. That sounds…"
"Yeah," Eric agrees distantly, opting not to remind Woodsley about the nights he spends at home alone while his dad is away at games or practice. "It sure does."
They sit in silence for a moment and watch as Brett packs up his computer, clearly readying himself to leave. He goes to the counter to pay his bill, completely missing Eric and Woodsley as he passes, then heads out the door.
Woodsley sits for another moment, then clears his throat.
"D'ya think we should have invited him to sit with us?"
Eric looks at Woodsley for a moment, then twists around to look back at the door.
"No," he says finally. "I don't think… hang on a second."
"What is it?" Woodsley asks, focus fully on Eric now. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nah," Eric mumbles, distracted. "I just… I think he left his phone? I'll be right back."
He ignores Woodsley's sputtering behind him as he slides out from their booth and walks over to the one Brett has just vacated. The black iPhone is slim, model just recently out of date, and it looks exactly like the one Brett uses.
Eric taps the home button anyways. Just to make sure.
Brett's lock screen is a picture of him and another man, dressed in suits and facing each other. The other man is taller than Brett and built like he did at least one stint in the military; big arms, firm chest and stomach beneath his tuxedo coat, hair cropped short. They're both wearing black jackets and white shirts, but Brett's tie is green and the other's blue.
He's looking at Brett like Brett hung the moon.
Eric's breath catches in his throat. Sure, Peregrine had mentioned the husband conversation briefly, but he hadn't realized-
Eric hadn't realized until just now how much it meant to him to see this. Brett and his husband, on what was probably the happiest day of their lives, loving one another openly. Visibly.
It almost makes him want to cry.
"-ric? Buddy? You okay?"
Eric jumps, guilty.
"Brett!" He stammers. "I'm, I'm really sorry, I just noticed you were here and then I noticed you were leaving, and then you were gone, but your phone was still here, and I was gonna bring it back to you, I swear-"
"Whoa, Eric, slow down," Brett says calmly. "It's okay."
"I'm just…" Eric starts, then quiets.
He should apologize. He doesn't want to. He wants to ask. He shouldn't.
"What's his name?" He blurts out suddenly, then slaps a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, you don't have to tell me, I just-"
"It's okay, Eric," Brett says. His voice softens. "... His name is Jason. Jason Beck-Ryback. He's a law professor at Yale."
Eric looks at Brett, and for a moment it's like a whole different person is standing in front of him. The Brett Eric knows is closed off, careful not to reveal too much of his own life while he pries out the gory details of theirs. This Brett is… softer. More open.
In love.
"Will you tell me about him?? Some other time??"
Brett opens his mouth as if to say something, then pauses, closes it, and then opens it again
"I'd be happy to," he says finally. "Come over sometime. I'll make coffee."
Eric nods, then stands there dumbstruck as Brett shoves his phone into one of the many pockets of his bag and walks back out of the diner.
He watches Brett leave, and something that feels like hope blooms in his chest
- Woodsley
Of all the places Woodsley had expected himself to be at 7:30 pm on a random Wednesday night, Brett Ryback’s doorstep didn’t even begin to make the list.
To be fair, he hadn’t exactly planned to come here. He’d originally just planned to take a walk, maybe even go see Eric, just trying to process all of the craziness that had occurred in the past few weeks. First the Final being canceled, then the lawsuit, the turkey drop, the bear, the gift-
The gift.
Eric.
At the end of the day, that’s why he was there, wasn’t it? Not because of the Final, not because of the craziness of New Years’, but because Shane “Woodsley” O’Connor had a crush on Eric Miller, and no freaking clue what to do with that.
He hadn’t started out with the intention of ending up at Brett’s front door. It had just… happened. But after Eric’s revelation at the diner - after finding out that Brett has a husband, that he’s happily married -
Woodsley had never met a married gay person before. He knew it was possible, of course, but it’s different when it’s right there in front of him.
“Woodsley?” The voice snaps Woodsley out of his thoughts and Woodsley starts, spinning to face the concerned expression of the man in question. He was holding a bunch of shopping bags in one hand and his keys in the other.
He’d never been home in the first place. Wasn’t that ironic?
“Brett!” Woodsley squeaks, then winces at the sound of his own voice. “Uh. Hi?”
Brett eyes him, eyes alight with amusement.
“Hi, Woodsley. Didn’t expect to find you here… Are you-?”
“Can I come in?” Woodsley blurts, then blushes lobster-red. “Uh. I mean. I know you’re probably busy-”
“You like soup?” Brett asks suddenly, interrupting Woodsley, and Woodsley breathes a sigh of relief as Brett steps around Woodsley to get to the door.
“What? I mean. Uh, yeah, I like soup-”
“Great!” Brett steps into his apartment and tosses his jacket onto the couch. Woodsley hesitates a moment before following, taking off his coat slowly and hanging it over his arm, hugging it to his body like a security blanket.
“I made soup before I left this morning, it should be just about ready. You’re welcome to some - you look like you need it.”
The soup is good, filled with flavorful pieces of chicken and veggies, and Woodsley hums appreciatively. They slurp in silence for a moment, seated at the tiny motel table awkwardly while Woodsley looks anywhere but at Brett. The silence slowly becomes too much for him, however, and somehow between one spoonful and the next he’s asking,
“HowdidyouknowyoulikedJason?”
“What?”
Brett looks taken aback, like he’d expected pretty much any other question to fall from Woodsley’s lips, which Woodsley supposes is pretty fair. He backpedals, trying to force his brain to cooperate.
“I. Uh, I mean, well, uh-”
“We met at a park,” Brett says suddenly. He smiles, eyes far away, lost in the memory of times past. “He’d just moved into town, and he was… wandering, kind of? He looked really lost, so I walked over and offered to help out.”
Brett pauses, considering his next words, and Woodsley watches him consideringly. He gets the feeling there’s more to this story than Brett is telling him, but he also knows he’s not getting anything that Brett doesn’t want to tell him.
“I didn’t really think he’d take me up on it,” Brett continues, “but he agreed to let me show him around, so I… took him to get groceries and followed him home until he took pity on me and agreed to take me on a date.”
He laughs, still caught up in memory, then sobers quickly.
“I… he fascinated me,” Brett says softly. “I wanted to know everything about him, I wanted to know all his secrets and stupid co-worker drama and all the stories about the idiots who show up in his midday lectures. I wanted - I still want, actually, to live in his universe and pretend for a moment that I am worthy of even standing next to-”
He cuts himself off abruptly, coughing awkwardly and scratching at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he chuckles, “once an English major always an English major, I guess.”
Woodsley stares at him and thinks of Boy’s Scout badges, of blond hair and blue eyes and legs that seem to stretch on for miles, and he thinks he understands how Brett feels about his husband. It’s about wanting the little things, the laughing over purple pocket knives and the oil streaked over Eric’s face after shop class, just as much as it is big things like defeating bears with fire extinguishers. It’s about looking at someone and thinking you could spend your life watching them smile and it still wouldn’t be enough.
He looks at Brett and thinks of Eric, and for the first time Woodsley thinks he actually understands love.
- Lexy
“What’s he doing?”
Lexy follows Donald’s gaze, looking over to where Brett is standing with his hand in the air, phone outstretched as if trying to will a signal into existence. They’ve been hiking for over six hours now, and it’s starting to get dark; everyone is cold and shivering, and Donald hasn’t stopped grumbling about the loss of his snowmobile yet, but they’ve forged on, deeper and deeper into the woods.
“Is he expecting to get a signal up here?” Donald continues, incredulous. Lexy almost rolls her eyes, but holds herself back; Donald may not be her father, but Lexy was raised properly, and Donald is still an adult. A voice that sounds all too similar to her father’s rings in her ears - Adults deserve respect, Lexy, no matter the circumstance .
“-does know we’ve been walking for hours, right? Is he crazy?”
This time, Lexy can barely suppress the eye roll. She looks around to the rest of the party of hikers, but no one else seems to be paying any head - not to her, not to Donald, and not even to Brett.
“I dunno, Mr. Van Calcar,” Lexy says, effectively cutting off Donald’s tirade. “I’m going to make sure he’s okay, alright? Would you mind helping John Francis help prep to set up camp?”
Donald murmurs some kind of disgruntled assent, which is good enough for Lexy. She moves quietly towards Brett, trying not to call too much attention to herself and thanking her lucky stars once again that she’d even started training with Peregrine in the first place. She’d have never been able to move like this before all that training, that was damn certain.
Brett is still standing right where she’d seen him, but his arm is no longer raised like Rafiki showing Simba off to all the other animals. Instead, he’s pressing it to his ear like it’s a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.
“Pick up,” he mutters at the phone, and Lexy smiles a bit at the sound. “Pick up, pick up, pick up…”
Lexy’s about to say something, about to reach out and touch Brett, maybe ask how the hell he’s got enough service to make a phone call in the middle of the forest, when Brett’s shoulders drop and he sighs in defeat.
“ Fuck, ” he says quietly, and Lexy can hear the distant sound of the answering machine lady speaking through Brett’s phone. She reaches forward again, only to pause, midair, as Brett begins to speak.
“Heyyy, babe… It’s, uh, somewhere around 5 pm on the 14th, which. Means. Uh, I’m a terrible husband?”
He pauses for a moment, then sighs and carries on.
“It’s been a day , Jason, you cannot even begin to imagine. The kids are out, lost in the snow, and I’ve been pulled into this hiking expedition that you are definitely going to laugh at me when I finally get to tell you about it? And I finally have like a singular bar of service, somehow, which. Is how you’re getting this call, actually-”
He pauses again, as if he’s unsure of what he wants to say next.
“I. I miss you,” he says finally. “I wish you were here. I know you’re busy, and the semester’s just hitting the midpoint so it’s not like you could leave, but I’m just. Missing you a little extra today.”
He sniffs, almost as if he’s trying to keep himself from crying, and Lexy recoils. Adults? Crying? She is not equipped for this situation. This is not her area of expertise.
Brett sighs, then finishes the call.
“Happy birthday, Jason,” he says softly into the receiver. “Happy Valentine’s. I’ll see you soon.”
Lexy backs away slowly, quietly, so that Brett doesn’t notice her. Donald can bother her all he wants; she’s not interrupting this particular moment for the world.
+1. Beck
Brett Ryback is not a clumsy person.
He’s not! He’s really not! He’d done ballet as a kid, and years of lifting heavy objects have given him more muscle than anyone would have expected a skinny theater nerd from nowheresville to have. He may not be the strongest person, but he can hold his own.
Point is, Brett is not a clumsy person.
That being said? If someone were to call him clumsy right now, he wouldn’t have much of a leg to stand on in terms of fighting them for the term.
Doesn’t have any legs to stand on right now, actually, Brett thinks grimly, staring down the white hospital sheets at the bright purple cast on his left leg. He’d let the kids pick the color, and Eric’s vehement lobbying for purple over Peregrine’s red had won out 3-2.
Brett sighs and shifts, trying to get comfortable despite the pain in his leg. Who would have thought a little puddle of water could have been so dangerous? He’s survived car crashes and tracking the kids down during the Final, only to be felled by less than a cup of water spilled over his kitchen floor.
The hospital room is quiet now that the kids were in school and Irene had left to grab him some groceries. He’ll be allowed to leave soon enough, to go back to his silent house and sit on his couch while Irene and Kathy come to fuss over him for an hour before feeding him and leaving, but the thought of leaving this room for another quiet space doesn’t provide him with any relief.
God, he misses Jason.
Had anyone even called Jason? Had anyone known to call him? It wasn’t like Professor Beck could leave Yale on such short notice, so he isn’t sure what good calling him would have even done, but Brett’s own cell phone had broken in the fall and he has no way of letting his husband know he’d been hurt.
A sudden commotion snaps Brett out of his thoughts as yelling echoes through the halls. It sounds like… Peregrine? She sounds excited - too excited for the ICU on a random Thursday when she definitely is supposed to be in school.
“ -so excited to see you, ohmigod, he-”
“-can’t believe you drove all this way-
“-shattered his fibia, I think, the-”
They’re all here, then; Brett could hear Lexy and Woodsley and Eric now, which meant that the whole gang was blowing off school. Should he yell at them? He’s pretty sure they’re all meant to be in-
A shadow fills the doorway of his room and every thought in Brett’s head is instantly gone.
“... Jason?”
This has got to be a hallucination. Brett has got to be hallucinating, because his husband is standing there, with all his stupid muscles and blond hair and the little crinkle between his eyes that Brett just loves to kiss. Jason is here, here, in Whitetail , hours away from New Haven-
And Brett’s kids are with him.
“I came as soon as I heard,” Jason Beck-Ryback says. “Your kids called me, Bre’. I didn’t know we’ve adopted five teenagers.”
“Oh, like you and your students are any better?” Beck retorts, hoarse, and looks between the six of them. “Thanks, guys. I-”
Brett can’t quite keep the tears from spilling from his eyes. Suddenly, Jason is next to him, stroking his hair, and the kids are clustering around him, all talking over one another to tell him about how cool his husband is, how they’d picked him up from the airport so that he could be here as soon as possible, and Brett Ryback closes his eyes and lets the sounds of his family wash over him.
It feels like home.