White on white. Brian's hand stilled on the button of his shirt, a strike of panic sliding down his throat, expanding inside his chest. Justin was lying on his back in bed, eyes closed, hands folded, perfectly still, his pale hair and face almost fading into the pillowcase. Brian barely saw him, the vision merging with memory, five years old but still perfectly clear: Justin in the hospital bed, blood drained from his face, Justin on the edge of death, machines signifying his continuing existence.
A moment of panic and then breath broke free from Brian's chest. "Justin!" he shouted, lurching forward. Justin's eyes flew open, bright blue, and his face twisted in surprise. "Justin." The second utterance of the name was softer, the edge of panic gone as Justin pushed himself up onto an elbow.
"Brian, are you okay?"
Okay. Justin was fine. Brian shifted into defense mode. Explain. Cover up your moment of weakness. "You were looking a little too comfortable," Brian said, though the words lacked their usual veneer of carelessness. "Just keeping you on your toes."
Justin's frown indicated that he didn't believe a word, and he continued to peer at his lover as Brian forced his fingers to continue their work, automatically pushing buttons through holes, pulling at clothing, shrugging his shirt off of his shoulders. "Brian…"
"Aren't you going to ask me how my day was honey?" Brian asked, forestalling questions. He took on a sugary sweet tone as he dropped his shirt on the floor (it was an old shirt anyway, and desperate times called for desperate measures) to flop onto the bed, stomach down.
"How was your day?" Justin asked warily, momentarily sidetracked but unassuaged.
"Boring. Which was why I was hoping you would help me keep on my toes," Brian murmured, propping his chin against the bed, gazing up at Justin with innocently seductive eyes. Toes creeping across the bed.
"Do I get to use handcuffs?" Justin inquired.
"If necessary."
Justin swooped in for a kiss, smile wide across his face, no longer white, eyes blazing with color, color, and lips warm. Disaster averted.
Hours later Brian was again on his stomach, eyes closed, trying to go to sleep. Justin had other plans. A tongue flickered behind an ear. Teeth, scraping over cartilage and collar bones. Happy to explore forever the tiny inexplicable loveliness of his partner's body, Justin let conversation cease, asked for nothing in return as he tickled and soothed and lulled and nibbled. For a while. "Why'd you freak out when you came home?" he asked, dripping the question into Brian's left ear. His tongue swept along the outer ring, teeth closing over Brian's lobe.
"Go away."
"You don't really mean that."
"No."
Justin slithered downward, kneaded fingers and tongue into the small of Brian's back, proved that Brian didn't want him to go away. Moved back up.
"You looked like you saw a ghost," Justin murmured.
Brian twisted a hand up, awkwardly swatting Justin and his questions away. Justin straddled Brian's hips, preventing escape, and leaned down, his chest brushing Brian's back muscles as his cheek slid over Brian's hair. "C'mon, it can't be that bad. Just tell me. Or I'm gonna bug you all night. And all day tomorrow. And maybe the day after that. There is no escape."
"Why did I let him move in again?" Brian asked the pillow in a quiet, annoyed hiss.
"'Let'?" Justin repeated. "Try 'begged.'" Brian's head shot up half a centimeter at the intimation that he might have begged for anything, ever. Justin laughed and amended, "Okay, asked." Brian's head dropped back down and Justin's fingers slid over his neck, kneading, drawing out sighs. "Well… what's going on?"
"Leave it."
"No."
"Justin." Brian pushed upward, trying to brace his hands on the bed for leverage, but Justin captured his arms, sitting more firmly on Brian's lower back. Persistence was Justin's greatest asset in this relationship, second to nothing, not even his perfect bubble butt. Once Brian would have exploded if Justin tried something like this, overpowered him physically, emotionally, barked harsh words until the loft door slid shut with Justin on the outside. Now, he put up a token struggle; persistence had paid off.
"Tell me, and you can get up. Though if you do tell, I promise you won't want to get up. Let me rephrase: you won't want to get off the bed. Up, sure."
Brian bit the pillow and then muttered, "Youlookedlikeinthehospital."
"What? You have to speak up honey." The sweetly sarcastic words like salt in the wound.
The pillow was abruptly spit out and Brian turned his head to the side, enunciating very clearly. "You. Looked. Like. When. You. Were. In. The. Hospital. Okay? Now get the fuck off me." Brian pushed up and over, rolling Justin off of him and bouncing up off the bed in one smooth motion. Surprised more by the words than Brian's escape, Justin sat where he was deposited and stared after his lover's departing back. In the hospital? But—
"But you never saw me in the hospital," Justin protested, following Brian into the kitchen. The older man had opened the fridge and was staring sullenly at the contents. Reaching for a beer, Brian glanced over his shoulder at Justin, who got it, suddenly. "You did! You came and saw me."
"I may have stopped by once or twice," Brian admitted, the smooth motion of the bottle opener almost perfect, casual like his voice, his face, begging Justin to let it go.
"No, no, it had to have been more than that," Justin mused out loud. Brian shot him a disgusted look. "That was six years ago. No way you would have reacted like that today unless the image was firmly implanted in your head. Which means you came more than once or twice. You must have come… a lot."
"Don't flatter yourself." Brian moved out of the kitchen and Justin followed, stalking his prey slowly but relentlessly.
"When did you come? At night? It must have been at night, when I was asleep, everyone was gone." Brian didn't say anything as Justin told himself the story. Lights reflected against the open window, providing momentary distraction for one of them. "Why didn't you tell me? I mean, why didn't you come when I was awake first of all — but if you really couldn't bring yourself to it, why didn't you at least tell me you had visited?"
That was a question, but Brian was under no obligation to answer and he didn't plan to. A long swallow of beer, back to the window.
Justin padded toward him, stopped, went around the couch. Memories rose and swirled and settled, reforming themselves around the new information. Looking up every time the door opened, hope lost again and again but never disappearing. Questioning everyone who came near: where's Brian? how is he? is he coming? was he really there? did he come to Prom? did he save my life? when can I go see him? And all the twitches away, the shame or regret or anger on all those loving faces as their eyes dropped to the floor, because he wasn't coming and he seemed to be okay, ie tricking like mad, and yeah, he had gone to the Prom, but no, he hadn't really asked about Justin recently, but it probably just slipped his mind and Deb kept him updated whether he asked or not, so it wasn't like he didn't know, and he was really proud, he was, really proud that Justin was doing so well, and he'd been at the trial, he was definitely involved in the case, ie he cares a little bit, he has to.
All that time, Brian had been visiting. Just when no one, even Justin, could see him. It changed things. Justin wasn't sure what it changed, but it changed something. Had to.
Justin sat down on the couch, on top of Gus's transformer. Brian's son had spent the afternoon in the loft when Brian got tied up at work. Justin had been more than happy to watch him, though Gus tired him out, which was why he was sleeping when Brian finally came home, on his back which he never did. Maybe it was fate. Now he knew. Justin fished the toy out and set it on the coffee table. Brian turned his head at the slight clink.
"Sorry about this afternoon," he said, happy for a change of subject. Not that simple. Gus came to visit Justin in the hospital, with his mommies. Justin remembered that Gus had been learning how to walk, he had gripped Justin's fingers and taken shaky steps across the hospital floor in little purple booties. Then Justin's hand cramped, and Gus almost fell. Justin had apologized for an hour to Lindsay and Melanie, but all he could think was how mad Brian would be if anything happened to his son.
"No problem. But I promised Gus we would take him out this weekend in compensation."
"Check." Brian didn't argue, a testament to how freaked he was about his slip, and also how much he truly regretted missing the afternoon with his son. Now that Gus was able to talk (and never stopped) and actually make sense and have real thoughts, Brian was discovering how fun it could be to hang out with him. Not that he hadn't loved Baby Gus, but Brian liked his companions to be potty trained and able to banter.
"Brian, we can't just ignore this," Justin said, leaning back against the arm of the couch to watch his partner. Brian took another swig of beer.
"It's been six years."
"I know." The tone of Justin's voice drew a look, eyes caught and held. "I remember. A lot of things — I remember wanting to see you more than anything in the world. I remember pushing myself way too fast just so I could get out and see you. I remember everyone covering for you, and being so confused, and scared, about stupid things, like if my hair would cover the scar so you wouldn't notice it, and how I was going to give you a good enough hand job to convinced you to take me back when my hand was cramping every ten minutes." Justin shook his head, a slight smile creeping over his face at his own foolishness. He felt like that was more than six years ago, like he'd lived a lifetime between then and now. Brian was difficult to live with, he was aging Justin prematurely. But that would make them closer to the same age, he thought with a tiny smirk, so Justin didn't mind too much.
Brian was watching him intently now, no need to demand attention. Justin looked up and met his eyes, the smile fading. "And all that time, you were there. Sort of. Why didn't you come see me? Even if you didn't want everyone to know, didn't want all the bullshit — why not me?"
No reply. Justin felt like he was having a conversation with himself, except that Brian was so vividly there, his eyes carving out his presence, speaking. Saying what? Justin had gotten so good at reading Brian's expressions, listening to his face instead of his words. This had thrown him for a loop. The Brian he knew now wasn't the Brian he knew then — he couldn't read one for answers to the other.
The memories of the hospital were overwhelming, but they were linked with other memories, of being released, of finding Brian, the trigger, the parking garage, their bed. "You were scared," Justin said suddenly. "Not of what everyone else would think — though you probably didn't want them all to know that you were as affected as you were — but you'd put yourself out there at my Prom, you weren't hiding us, really. You were scared of me. You thought I'd blame you."
There was still no reply, no affirming noise, but Justin knew he was right. Brian walked toward the couch, put the beer down next to the transformer, and sat. They didn't touch, at first.
"Well you were wrong, obviously."
"Your crossing Pittsburgh to stalk me, once again, did sort of squash that theory," Brian agreed amiably. Justin reached out, his fingers landing on the back of Brian's neck. Brian's hand found Justin's thigh.
"I was scared too," Justin said softly. Brian's hand tightened.
"What do you want me to say Justin? Sorry? Sorry's—"
"Bullshit," Justin finished for him. "You're so predictable Brian."
"Why mess with perfection?"
"But you're not perfect." Justin leaned his chin on Brian's shoulder, shifting his body weight. He thought maybe he should be happy about this, happy that even back then, Brian had cared. But he'd already known that Brian had cared, he just thought it had manifested itself in a different way, ie not at all. Maybe Brian was right, it didn't mean anything. Justin didn't feel happy, but he wasn't indifferent either. If anything, he was sad, a drawing down of self.
"What?" Brian asked after a minute in that position, leaning in silence.
"When I was in the hospital, I used to think about positions being reversed, and how if it was you, if you were ever hurt, or sick, I'd be there. I wouldn't leave you waiting, or worrying. I would be there every second. I swore that to myself, that I'd never put someone I loved — never put you — in that position." Brian had returned to silent mode. That was acceptable, expected. Justin sat up, his hand slipping down Brian's arm, needing some separation in order to articulate himself. "But then you were sick, and you didn't tell me. You were alone. You made me break that promise. When I was hurt, helpless… I wanted you. I needed you. And you didn't want me. You didn't…"
"Fuck Justin!" Brian's whole body had stiffened as Justin spoke, and the words burst from him in a sudden growl. Justin flinched backwards and Brian was off the couch, more distance. Less articulation. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Justin really wished their couch had throw pillows, so he could hold one now against the empty concave of his chest. His turn for silence, Brian's reaction only sinking him deeper, predictable again. He shouldn't have said anything, he knew Brian would react like this. But he hadn't said anything for years. They talked around everything now, talked in circles and metaphors and jokes. Which was okay. Brian was the way he was, and Justin loved him like that. But.
"Justin."
"Yes?"
Brian's voice was low, edged with ice. "Don't fucking try to manipulate me. You know what was going on then. You know who the fuck I am." Justin almost wanted to laugh, because if one took Brian's words head on, they didn't make any sense. But they made sense to him. Brian didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to have to say out loud that he had needed Justin, that he had wanted him, that he was just scared. He had never said it, because Justin had always said it for him. And Brian wanted Justin to say it for him again, so he wouldn't have to. But Justin wasn't really in the mood. Brian was allowed to feel whatever he wanted — Brian was allowed to freak out when Justin took a nap the wrong way — but Justin had to understand both sides of every issue. He just didn't feel like being understanding right now.
"Do I?" Justin asked, not really meaning it, but needing something to throw back. "I mean, what if something happens? What if one of us is in the hospital again? Is it going to be different next time? The next time you're scared that I'm going to leave you, or blame you, or whatever, are you going to handle it like an adult and talk to me, or are you going to cut me off again?" Secret fears, until now. He had dismissed them so many times, waking up in the dark of night to the steady sound of Brian's lungs doing their work. Brian had changed. Justin had shown Brian how foundless those fears were, and it was better now, it would be better next time, if there was a next time, and there might not be, maybe they had faced their share of bad times. Dismissed the fears, but they came creeping back, always.
"Who has done the leaving in this relationship Sunshine?" Brian asked with a sneer, the nickname twisted between them, misshapen.
"Fuck you. That was like five years ago. And yo—"
"What about your little trip to Hollywood?"
"Temporary Brian. And you were with me every step of the way. I wasn't leaving you, I was working on finding myself. And I came back! And this is so not the point anyway."
"What is the point? Poor ittle Justin is scared because he thinks he's going to be bashed in the head again and his partner of six years won't send a card?"
Interesting that Brian defined their partnership as starting six years before, instead of three or four as most people did. Justin refused to let himself get distracted by details. Brian didn't deny their relationship anymore; that was not the point. "Fuck you!" Justin was off the couch now too, unable to sit still with the pressure of the words thrown between them. "The point is, if we can't be there for each other at the lowest points, the darkest moments, why are we even together?"
The words hung there, regretted on all sides. Brian swung a loose fist at the air, a rare graceless movement, and turned away. "Fuck if I know," he said, and Justin ran.