Holes in the Firmament

Part XIII

Egon Spengler

"Next Thursday we'll get further into the mathematics behind Avagadro's Theory, so be sure to have completed the readings. Also, I've been asked by the department secretary to remind all of you that study proposals are due no later than the 15th. Yes Mr. Matthews, that does include you."

The last was directed towards a grinning senior in the middle section who had made the upper half of it his realm. Egon's gaze skated over the rest of the departing students, already pairing or grouping as their natures demanded for the usual after-class discussion at one of the local pubs. Some few wandered off singly, and he noted that the two older women in the class were meeting with a security escort before they left the building for the parking lot. Crime was not high on the Columbia campus, but he was always glad to see his students taking precautions.

The lecture hall emptied out quickly, allowing Egon to turn his attention to a pair of waiting juniors wanting clarification on one of the discussion topics they'd covered. Seeing that even his simplified explanation was causing their eyes to glaze, he suggested they arrange to see him during office hours on Monday, certain that from the looks on their faces he'd be more likely signing a 'pass/fail' for them.

The last of his students seen on their way, Egon turned his attention to collecting his lecture notes and illustrations, determined to ignore the elegant creature sitting in the center of the hall.

Exactly where he'd sat almost twenty years before.

Spengler had entered the hall at the front, where the door let in from the back hallways of the building; an area used by teachers, grad students and maintenance personnel. He was running a few minutes late himself, delayed by one of the other professors with a highly adequate opinion of himself and his views on Hawkins' latest work, as well as an overwhelming need to share them. Striding into the room with less than three minutes to spare he hadn't noticed the abnormal quietness of the class, punctuated by a few whispers and giggles, until he looked up to begin his lecture. For just a moment he'd frozen in surprise, mouth slightly open and glasses sliding down his nose, swept up in a moment of déjà vu.

He had been sitting to one side of the room at a metal desk the science TA's had long ago decided was a relic from Atlantis. Periodically they would ask the archeology TA's to stop by and carbon date it, and occasionally one of them would have enough of a sense of humor to take them up on it; one had even asked if he could borrow it to use as part of his thesis. But today Egon Spengler, TA and physics prodigy, was quietly grading last weeks homework and diligently recording the scores while then-Professor Yeager finished the day's lecture.

The silence was suddenly broken by the echoing rustle of almost 50 students gathering backpacks and belongings, soft conversation and the occasional laugh. Most of the laughs were excited giggles, a man's deeper tones underscoring them. The cluster of women were gathered tightly around a flash of blue and white, the colors of the Columbia Lions, and today those colors were boasted by the team's quarterback Peter Venkman.

Gripping both his courage and his lecture notes in both hands, Egon reminded himself that as the teaching assistant it was his duty to ensure that the class understood the material the best they could. Quietly he waited at the edge of the group, the young women slowly dispersing to other classes, other friends, until only three were left with Venkman.

Egon cleared his throat. "Mr. Venkman?"

Amazingly green eyes flew up to meet his own. "That would be me. Can I help you, Mr. Speckler?"

Egon felt his face go its impassive best. "I doubt it, Mr. Venkman, but as you missed class last Friday I thought you'd like a copy of the lecture notes," he said, keeping his voice dry and level with an effort. He found Venkman, quite bluntly, incredibly attractive and only part of it was the lean and athletic body; despite his performances for his adoring fans, Egon was well aware of the quality of the man's mind, his work and grades were consistently among the highest in his class, something Egon found equally attractive.

"Actually, Spongler, Kelly here takes excellent notes. In fact, we have a in-depth study session scheduled for right after the pep rally tonight." Venkman slid his arm around a curvaceous blonde and pulled her tightly against him, the leer on his face letting everybody know exactly what he intended to be studying. "Tell you what, Spackler, why don't you grab your girlfriend and we'll make it a double session. Oh wait!" Venkman slapped his forehead with his other hand. "How could I forget, that's not your—thing—is it?" Venkman's ever-present grin twisted into a disdainful sneer.

Egon gritted his teeth and clung to his temper as tightly as he twisted the papers he still held. He never had found out why Venkman was in the back halls of the physics labs, or what cruel fate would cause him to walk by just as Egon was snatching a kiss with his current lover, something he'd been paying for among the student body ever since.

Somehow he fought his anger to a standstill, keeping his eyes locked with Venkman's. An early arrival for the next class flung open the door. Sunlight poured across them, sparking off the football jersey and catching in Venkman's eyes, eyes that held amusement and contempt, and underneath it all something that made Egon blink and step back, returning to his desk in the corner to prepare for the next class.

 Something that he later realized was nothing less than soul-killing pain.

Egon blinked, the moment shattered and the memory tucked neatly back where it had been lying dormant for years. With the assurance and confidence he'd fought to gain over the years Egon studied the man Peter was now, trying to find some way to reconcile the many different images of him that Egon had.

Peter Venkman was sitting just where Egon's eyes would naturally fall whenever he turned to face the class. Elegant in charcoal gray that wrapped him in shadows, he lounged in the hard wooden seat like it was the most comfortable place in the world, legs stretched out and crossed neatly at his ankles, his fingers laced across his chest and elbows occupying the armrests on either side. The dim lighting reflected off gleaming brown hair and pale skin, shone in iridescent emerald eyes. From across the room Spengler could feel the contained laughter in the man at Egon's reaction.

While Egon watched, an attractive young redhead leaned forward and whispered something in his ear, one long auburn curl falling forward across Venkman's shoulder. The psychologist turned his head slightly and whispered back, lips almost buried in the mass of curls, looking for all the world like he was nuzzling at her ear rather than speaking. The young woman sat back, whatever Venkman had said making her both blush red as her hair and putting a contentedly feline smile on her face that matched Venkman's own.

Possessive fury lashed through Egon; he forced himself to focus on his notes, breathing deeply while he composed himself. The man is proposing an affair, he reminded himself, not a long-term commitment, let alone happily ever after. Get a grip Spengler. Finally he was able to unclench his jaw and clear his throat to pull the class's attention back to himself. 

The lecture was one he'd given so often he could do it in his sleep; fortunate, since that was what the entire two hour period felt like later, that he'd been moving on automatic, sleep-walking his way through it. Occasionally he would glance around the room, his eyes falling momentarily on Venkman, still as a statue and from all appearances as intent on the lecture as any of his students, although the light in his eyes and the occasional twitch of his lips said otherwise. An expression mirrored more vividly by the impish Ms. Pierce whose expression of feline smugness reappeared each time she glanced between Venkman and her instructor, something she spent more time doing than taking notes.

Eventually, an eternity later it had seemed, class ended and the hall emptied of all except the two of them. Still determined, Egon continued on with collecting his notes and erasing the board behind him. Then movement caught his eye and he couldn't help but stop and watch his silent audience of one move down the aisle towards him.

Briefly, Egon wondered who was coming towards him; Venkman or Shandor, or some hag-ridden mixture of the two. Was it Peter's idea to flirt with him now, or Shandor's influence? Or had Peter's original personality completely dissolved under the dead man's? Possession had only been an abstract to he and Raymond for so long, was it possible that was what was happening now?

"Don't let science overrule common sense," Winston's words from yesterday came back to him, but it was difficult to set aside his memory of the meter's strident wail, the possibilities it had unleashed. He was a scientist, and objective measurements were data offered on the alter of knowledge.

Egon turned his attention back to his surprise observer. Venkman moved like a cat, soft-footed and alert, green eyes focused on Spengler and at the same time everything around him; athletic grace was something Peter hadn't lost since he'd left football. The gray silk of his suit added to the illusion, rippling with each step like plush fur over muscle. Egon's fingers twitched with the need to stroke it, discover whether the material was as soft as his imagination suggested and would it be as soft as the pale skin at the base of his throat looked. Peter stopped at the table in front of the class and tilted his head consideringly.

Egon tore his eyes away from the patiently waiting man and turned back to erasing the last of his equations from the board, feeling very like a field mouse under the gaze of a hungry cat. Really, Spengler, he fumed, if you must be a mouse, at least be a mouse that roars.

"Did you enjoy the lecture?" he asked finally, keeping on with steady strokes of felt on slate.

"Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating," Peter's soft tenor drawled behind him, and Egon felt the small hairs at the back of his neck rise up. "Although I'm still not sure of the relationship between gophers and physics; Marissa offered to let me borrow her notes and throw in a little extra tutoring if I needed it to catch up."

Stroke up, stroke down. "Mole," Egon corrected absently. He began erasing the formula for determining the relationship between Avogadro's number and mass, while contemplating the best method to expose Ms. Pierce's hair color as unnatural.

"And what was your answer?" he asked instead.

"That actually I was just here to seduce her professor."

Egon's head snapped around. "What? You—" He froze, words and board forgotten in the heat of his blush.

Venkman had perched on the edge of the table and was frowning at his highly polished shoe while it swung gently, his hands folded demurely in his lap. Breathing deeply Egon finished erasing the last formulae from the board then replaced the eraser and moved to collect the last of his notes. The piles of paper scattered across the tabletop in apparent random order were variously scooped, grabbed, shuffled and filed in short order while Peter sat quietly, watching Egon sort his notes with the same intense look he'd worn during the lecture. Egon started to close his briefcase and realized he was missing his class roster.

A quick glance around the table revealed the missing list, sitting as docile on the table as Peter was. Egon reached to snag the stray paper, his fingers freezing with the edge in his grasp when Peter's hand flattened it, pinning it firmly in place. Egon looked up into green eyes inches from his own, soft musk and peppermint wrapping around him.

Egon's mouth went dry and he swallowed, watching Peter watch the movement of tongue and jaw, heat rushing with a tingle down his spine and out to his fingers, feeling the space between them slowly close. "May I have my roster, Dr. Venkman?" his hoarse whisper coiled them together so tightly a careless breath and their lips would touch.

"Blue."

Wha--? Egon blinked and his vision sharpened and expanded, returning him to the present. His head moved back a fraction and the anticipation eased to a dull ache. "What?"

"Royal blue." Peter slid to his feet from the table's edge and Egon straightened with him, paper forgotten. "I want to see you nude, wrapped in royal blue silk and lying on my bed." Peter shuddered, his eyes closed tightly. He blew out a gust of warm air and opened them again, the laughter in them matching the half-smile on his face. "What you do to me," Peter shook his head. "Your roster, Dr. Spengler," he picked up the paper and held it out to Egon.

"Thank you," Egon said gravely, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. He slid the sheet neatly into place and closed the briefcase. "Not black?" he asked, locking the clasps and resetting the combination.

"What?"

The answer sounded as distracted as Egon felt, and he allowed himself an internal pat of congratulations. "Usually I'm wanted against black silk," he said, keeping his tone amused and slanting a quick, sideways glance to check Peter's reaction.

It came with warm air and the touch of faintly roughened fingertips gliding lightly down the length of his neck. "No, not black. Never black. It's too sharp, too harsh; it would turn you into alabaster and I prefer something," one hand threaded into Egon's hair and turned his head with the gentle pull, "much warmer."

Soft, so soft and cool, the lips against his own in a touch as chaste as a nun's blessing. Later Egon would remember cool hands on either side of his face and the brush of silk against his skin, but in that moment his world was narrowed to the feel of Peter's lips laid so softly against his own. Something between a growl and a moan rumbled in Egon's throat and he gave into the need to pull Peter tight against him; the silk was as warm and soft under his hands as it had looked. Hunger woke and Egon tilted his head, nuzzling at Peter's mouth with his own until Peter opened to him and he fed greedily, heat and sweetness pulling him down and demanding Egon taste every inch.

They pulled back from each other finally, reluctantly, both men panting slightly. There was a dazed look in Peter's eyes, his thin lips parted and slightly swollen. "Well," Peter started to speak but paused to clear his throat. "That was…hmm." He ran his hands through Egon's hair and patted his curl back into place before taking stepping back out of Egon's reach. Suddenly Peter grinned. "I've had my goodnight kiss, but I'll still offer you a ride home."

Egon snorted, ignoring the twinge in his now-empty arms. "Incorrigible," he answered. "My car is actually parked in the staff lot; I usually drive if I have a night class, just in case." Reaching behind himself Egon grabbed his briefcase, and had the sudden thought that 'incorrigible' would be a word he used quite a bit around the psychologist. He licked his lips, the faintest taste of Peter's mouth still clinging to them. "After you, Dr. Venkman," he motioned towards the door with his free hand.

They made the short walk to the rear parking lot in silence but with frequent glances between them. At the back door to the building, Peter held it open and bowed Egon through with a flourish before closing it behind him. Egon waited while Peter checked the latch, making sure the door was tightly shut before joining the physicist at the curb. The pale orange light washed all color from Peter, shadows clinging tightly and turning him into something that walked in mist and legend, cloaking in fancy. Egon shuddered, pushing at the image and wanting only to pull Peter against himself again to banish the thought of the ethereal with the feel of the very solid body he'd briefly held.

Catching the sudden shiver that ran through his companion, Peter frowned and stepped closer, the change of expression breaking the spell darkness had cast on him. "All right, Egon?" he asked. "C'mon, it's too cold for you out here, even if we've finally caught a break in the weather," he added, waving one hand to indicate the temporary break in the cloud cover that had blanketed the city for the last two months.

Egon raised an eyebrow at the informal address but decided against making an issue of it; Peter Venkman moaning his name while pinned beneath him had been featured prominently in his dreams. Peter's use of it now would only enhance the reality of his fantasies. Of course, it also paved the way for him to use Peter's christian name aloud as well. "And what about yourself?" he asked dryly. "Dean Yeager also drove today, so your 'usual' spot is taken."

Peter laughed softly, but the humor either never reached his eyes or was hidden in the gleam lent by the light. "Ah, but Dr. Hollingsworth didn't." He waved at the covered parking to their right; Peter's car was, indeed, parked three spots down in the reserved spot. Peter reached out reached out and grasped Egon's elbow lightly. "C'mon, Egon, before I decide to take advantage of you in the bushes."

Egon took a deep breath of the night air, steadying himself against the shivers that ran through him at the contact. The dark was cold and crisp, with the taste of ozone and wet pavement and something else. He started to step off the curb and paused, a sickly-sweetish odor suddenly strong. His mind hunted for a name to match it.

"Egon?" Peter's hand tightened briefly and Egon glanced down in time to catch the sudden shift in Peter's expression from amused concern to something lazy and half-mocking. "Yeager." Peter's eyes flicked from Egon to the darkness of the walkway where the light never touched. His grip dropped from Egon's arm and he took a half step back, sliding both hands into his pockets.

Surprised, Egon turned as the Dean stepped out of the shadows, the collar of his heavy trench coat turned up against the chill, hands deep in his coat pockets. How--? "Venkman." The Dean's voice spilled across them like oil. "Dr. Spengler, I hope class went well?"

Egon nodded briefly in greeting. "Very well, thank you, Dean Yeager." Egon wrinkled his nose slightly when he realized the smell was coming from the Dean.

"Ah, yes, there was an accident in one of the storage closets," Yeager pulled out one hand and sniffed at it carefully, wrinkling his own nose at the smell.

"Nothing serious I trust?" Egon asked gravely. If students were rummaging in the supply closets, no telling what could go wrong.

"No. Maintenance seems to think there's a rat so they've set out a number of traps," Yeager gave Egon a thin, tight smile.

"Must be a big rat to get the ether open," Venkman drawled. "Good teeth, strong bones; a milk-drinker I'd guess, to make it through the metal can. Of course I'd think the ether would have knocked it silly once it got through." Peter took a restless step forward, the silk of his jacket brushing Egon's hand. His eyes flickered over Yeager from under his lashes. "On the other hand rats, especially big ones, are pretty tough."

The lamp threw its light over Egon's shoulder and cast the psychologist's profile into sharp relief, his brilliant eyes leached of color and near-black, his fair skin reflecting the light with an eerie glow. The tone was careless, heavy with knowledge, a dangerous edge to it that Egon could feel more than hear and a warning prickle ran down his spine.

But knowledge of what?

Yeager took a step forward into the light, the glow turning his tall figure into something pale and gaunt, emphasizing the hollows in his cheeks and under his narrowed eyes. Egon had a sudden flash from one of Ray's movies of two creatures locked in conflict; Good and Evil confronting each other over the fate of a soul suspended in eternity. He shook off the eerie fancy and watched the two. The Dean towered over Peter by several inches, but the coiled power and menace in the younger man was more than a match for Yeager.

"Actually, Venkman, it appears that the can was knocked to the floor when the rat fled, as its kind tends to do," Yeager sneered, his own eyes flicking over the psychologist. Suddenly the Dean sneer faded into smugness. "And speaking of running rats, or rather running backs, I hope you don't have too much invested in Columbia's comeback on the gridiron; Branscum has withdrawn from the University."

"Really?" Peter's eyebrows went up in surprise, but the mocking half-smile remained. "I wonder why, it can't be his grades with all of the…tutoring…he was getting."

Silence fell between the two and Egon hardly dared to blink in case he should miss something. Their eyes were locked and neither seemed to breathe but the stillness in the air held the calm before the storm, energy so compressed between the two Egon was vaguely surprised it didn't explode. And then it did. Peter suddenly laughed, a deep, genuinely delighted and triumphant laugh, and moved back against Egon, clearing Yeager's path. The Dean's glare turned into a last sneer, thrown over his shoulder and then he was gone, stepping off the curb towards his car.

"Ether," Egon mused aloud while he watched after the Dean's taillights, distracting himself from Peter's nearness, the spicy scent of him tickling Egon's nose and other, lower places. "I hope this doesn't mean one of the biology labs is missing an experiment again." And how is it Peter recognized the smell before I did?

Peter snorted. "If it is, ask Yeager for a forwarding address. It was probably a late night Yeager family reunion; you'd think he'd keep track of his own family."

"Peter!" Egon fought his laughter down, but it was a struggle.

Peter grinned up at him, and the smile slowly softened into something warmer. "Come on," he said softly, "let's get you home." Once again he took Egon's elbow and urged him the few feet across the lot to Egon's car.

Unlocking the door Egon quickly slid behind the wheel. Peter shut the door firmly and stepped back, hands in his pockets and looking through the window. Egon started the engine and powered the window down, motioning Peter closer. Obligingly the psychologist took a step forward and leaned down to meet Egon's eyes.

"Peter," Egon paused, unsure which of the dozens of questions floating through his mind he wanted to ask. Peter waited patiently; head slightly tilted and one eyebrow up in inquiry. Finally he picked the one that seemed the most harmless. "Why did Mr. Branscum withdraw from the University?"

Peter slowly smiled, a look of delighted mischief, as if he'd just pulled off the greatest practical joke of all time. "Egon," he countered solemnly, "why was Yeager in the biology department at this time of night?" Suddenly Peter straightened and gave him a nod. "Good night," he said softly then backed away before Egon could answer.

Egon watched the other turn and cross the lot, slide into his own car and tear out of the parking lot faster than was probably safe on the slick pavement. The physicist thought a moment before putting his own car into reverse and backing out.

We both know the answers to our questions, he realized, but somehow I don't think Peter's answers are the same as mine….