If anyone's waiting for Missing Moments to resume … I'll start season 3 tonight! =D

To this story … I have no idea what this is. I wasn't going to post it because I'm not sure about it but I liked Debbie's input so I thought 'what the hell'. Erm, yeah … I don't think it's a one shot but I haven't decided yet … Anyway, hope you enjoy!

D/C: It's not mine … obviously! Otherwise I wouldn't be sat in my room at uni writing fan fiction … please don't sue! I have £7 left in my bank, so it's really not worth it! =D


Michael slid open the blue door to the loft and saw his best friend sat at his desk chair, the phone pressed to his ear. He was twirling back and forth a bit but he looked up when Michael stepped in.

"Look, Mikey's here, I gotta go," he said to the phone.

"Okay, well … I love you," came the voice from the other end.

"Me too. Now, get some sleep."

"Night."

"Night."

He put the phone down and gave Michael a watery smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just thought you might fancy a night out."

"Well … I don't," Brian said. "I've got a load of work to do," he picked up some papers as proof, "and it really needs to be done by tomorrow."

"Oh come on, you've been working every night since Justin left."

There was a long pause before, "It's coming up to the Christmas campaigns, there's a lot of work to do at Kinetic."

"Mmm, okay," Michael nodded, clearly not believing his friend. The truth was, he was worried about Brian. It seemed the man who had everything had become the man with nothing in just a few terrible weeks. Okay, so he had enough money to buy a mansion in the country on impulse and he could easily afford a private plane if he wanted one; the thing was, he was lonely and heartbroken … anyone who knew him could see it.

Brian had already made plans to visit Justin, he was going the weekend after next and he'd already sorted out paying for flights for Justin to come back to Pittsburgh for Christmas in six weeks time. But in the dark corner of Brian's mind, his brain had already started planning what he thought was best for Justin. Michael had dragged him to Woody's and they'd listened to some self-loving divas murder the classics on the karaoke machine for an hour or two. Michael had tried to get Brian to go on to Babylon but the younger man had refused and had ended up leaving early causing Michael to become even more concerned.

ooooo

Brian was watching a James Dean movie when the phone rang. He knew straight away it would be Justin, it was exactly the right time. He leant over to the table, pulled the receiver off the stand and slapped it to his ear.

"Hello."

"Hey, it's me."

"Justin."

"Yeah, you'll never guess where I am right now."

"Oh?" Brian asked, lounging back onto the sofa with his glass of Jim Beam and taking a long sip.

"In a limousine on the way back from the empire state building."

"Wow, you really are living the highlife."

"I know. I still can't believe this is actually happening. It's amazing."

Brian felt a twinge of pain pluck his heartstrings. Although he was happy and relieved that Justin was doing okay, he kind of wished the blonde twink was a bit miserable like he was.

"So," he said after a moments pause, "how did you swing that? Fuck another movie star?"

He heard Justin chuckle a little. "No. This guy who owns a gallery took a few potential artists for an evening out."

"Sounds nice."

"It's amazing!" Justin enthused, "I love it out here."

"I know you do," Brian said. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed a little before saying, "so if it's so brilliant, why are you wasting time ringing me?"

"I always ring you about this time."

"Mm, but if you're busy…." he trailed off. He didn't really have anything else to say and he couldn't bring himself to tell the twink to hang up but he felt Justin shouldn't be ringing him whilst being treated to limo rides and night trips to the empire state building.

"Brian," he could almost hear the frown in Justin's voice. "I like talking to you, it's always the best bit of the day. That's why I ring you at night so it's something I can look forward to."

"I thought you rang me at night so that you can touch yourself."

Justin let out a hot, breathy laugh before saying bluntly, "I miss you."

"Listen," Brian dug his forefinger and thumb into the corners of his eyes. He couldn't cry, not on the fucking phone. He'd seem like a right little faggot and it would probably only ruin Justin's night out. So, instead, he bit back the tears and in a slightly strangled voice he said,

"have a good time tonight, you hear? I'll see you next weekend."

"Okay, later."

Brian hung up, downed his drink and went for a shower. He'd fought off another wave of tears successfully and congratulated himself with a trip to The Adonis.

ooooo

Brian looked at the clock on the cooker. He knew he'd get a phone call any second and it was going to break his heart. He took a swig from his beer but found the bottle was empty, he put the bottle with the other four and got another one out of the fridge. He took a long swig of the drink and went back to the bar stool, still watching the time ticking away. Any second now …

Even though he'd been expected the call, the sound of his cell still made him jump. He left it for a couple of rings and then picked up, took a deep breath and said, as casually as possible,

"What's up?"

"Hey. Where are you? I think it's your plane that's just come in and I can't see you anywhere. Is something wrong with your luggage? Oh wait, is that you by the weird potted plant?"

"No," Brian sighed, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. "That's not me."

"Never mind. That guys just started making out with this woman … disgusting breeders. They're everywhere in New York."

Brian smiled a bit. "I bet," he said, taking a long swig of beer to quash that lump that was starting to form in his throat. With every word Justin was saying, Brian was regretting his decision even though he was sure, ultimately, it was for the best.

"So where are you?" Justin whinged.

"I'm in the loft." Brian closed his eyes and waited for the reaction to come. He waited a while until he heard a very quiet, very confused,

"What? I mean, why?"

Brian steadied himself carefully, he had all this planned he knew what he had to say and he knew how he had to say it, he donned his famous sneer and said, "something came up."

There was silence for a long time, until eventually the buzzing of a dial tone told Brian that Justin had hung up. Brian stared at the phone for a couple of seconds before hurling it wildly at the wall. He heard a smash of glass, and a clattering of metal as a painting hit the floor. Brian stood up slowly and padded over to it. He didn't worry about the glass getting in his feet he just stepped over and picked up the broken picture. It was one of the earliest drawings Justin had done after he was bashed and it was the first one Brian ever suggested they hang up in the loft. He remembered Justin's face when he'd said it and he remembered the subsequent events. He shook his head free of the memory and took the picture carefully to the draws by his bed and put it in the bottom one. One less thing to remind him of Justin. Then, he looked around the flat and frowned. Christ, Justin was fucking everywhere. It was as though a Justin tornado had ripped through his loft leaving evidence of the blonde twink's existence everywhere. Brian frowned. It needed to go.

Slowly, he picked up every photo, every painting, every forgotten jacket or sock and put them all in the draw. Every paint brush and pencil. Even that pot of cayenne pepper, he'd insisted they buy to improve his fucking jambalaya. All of it was put in the draw, ready to be forgotten. When Brian looked around the flat now, it was full of things that were Brian and no one else. It was better now. Things would be better now. He went to the fridge and took out another beer, he was going to need them tonight.


Brian had expected one of the Novotny family to turn up and berate him eventually but he hadn't expected it to be as early as the next morning. He was hardly recovering from his hangover and he was all ready to ignore the knock, knock knocking at his door but whoever it was, was fucking persistent. He dragged himself out of his too large bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and moved slowly over to his front door. He dragged it open and was assaulted by loads of colours and glitter.

"Debbie," he gritted his teeth and stepped aside to let her in. She walked straight past and plonked herself on his sofa. "You wanna drink?" he asked her.

"I've got my own," she said, pulling a bottle of wine out of her bag and plonking it on the floor at her feet. "Bring us two glasses."

Brian shrugged, picked up two wine glasses and a bottle opener and walked over. "Drinking in the morning?" he asked, handing her a glass.

"Hair of the dog," she shrugged, "for you at least," she added, running a thumb over the black bag under Brian's right eye. "Looks like you had a long night."

Brian said nothing, he just picked up the bottle and removed the cork, waiting for the real purpose of Debbie's visit to become apparent. He put the corkscrew down and filled the two glasses.

Debbie took a sip before adding, "but I guess destroying relationships can take a lot out of you."

Brian nodded. There it was. "Look," he said, "if you're only here to beat me up about it, don't bother. I've already beaten myself up enough."

"Well I don't think you have. How can you keep doing this to him?"

"Keep doing it?"

"Don't give me that face, you've been playing this game with Justin ever since you met him. You keep letting him get close and then panicking and shoving him away again. Luckily for you, he keeps on coming back."

Brian looked down at the floor, at the window, at his bedroom, anywhere but at Debbie. She grabbed his face and forced him to meet her eyes.

"But to ask him to marry you and then let him down like this; that's too much for anyone to handle. He can't understand it. No one can but…"

"Let me guess," Brian cut in, downing the remainder of his glass and filling it up again, "you've figured it all out because," he pointed at her with his glass, "you know me better than I know myself?"

Debbie gave a weird sort of nod as if she'd expected the outburst before continuing calmly, "that's true, I do. Because notice, I'm not shouting and yelling at you like maybe you'd expect."

"You, Deb?" Brian asked a hint of mock innocence in his voice. "You don't shout and yell, you bring gifts," he indicated the wine, "and play mind games," he pointed at his head as thought to reinforce the point. "You're like a fucking Trojan horse."

Debbie smiled a bit and put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "You know, it's getting easier to read you, kiddo. You're getting worse at hiding your emotions everyday. I remember when I first met you. You were fourteen and I thought you were just a trouble maker with a bad attitude."

"I thought you still believed that."

"No, I changed my mind about that a long time ago," she smiled, sipping her drink. "Got a joint?" she asked, "I find reminiscing easier when I'm stoned."

Brian smirked a bit and went to get a joint. He returned, lit it and handed it to her. She took a hit and sighed contentedly.

"That's better," she smiled, letting her head fall over the back of the sofa. "It was your fifteenth birthday," she continued. Brian's stomach immediately squashed into a ball as he realised what she was talking about. They'd never talked about that night … ever. No one knew about it, except them. "Not that you'd told anyone that, of course. You just arrived on our doorstop, mid-afternoon, asking Michael if you could spend the night. And of course, Michael was never going to say no to you."

Brian smiled a bit, "he's a good friend."

"And don't you forget it," she warned, pointing threateningly at him with a yellow fingernail before passing over the joint. "So you two disappear into Michael's bedroom and I don't hear anything from you for the rest of the evening until much, much later."

Brian took a hit and closed his eyes too. He could feel the emotions of the memory hitting him but mainly he felt anger at his past and love for the woman sat next to him.

"I was in bed," Debbie continued. "And I hear someone moving about downstairs, so I creep down…"

"With a baseball bat," Brian chipped in, handing the joint back.

Debbie smiled a bit, "with a baseball bat" she repeated, "and turn on the light to find you, curled up on the sofa clutching at one of Michael's old soft toys sobbing your eyes out."

Brian pulled his lips into his mouth and shrugged a bit. "You scared the shit out of me swinging that bat around," he protested.

"Hmm." Debbie raised and eyebrow sceptically. "Don't try that again," she smiled fondly, remembering how Brian had used the same lie when she'd shook his shoulders gently that night. "We sat up and talked way into the night and I made us some…"

"Tuna casserole," Brian finished. "Give me that," he said, taking back his joint before continuing, "and we didn't talk late into the night. You just wouldn't leave me alone until I told you what was wrong."

"And it was worth it. We threw a massive birthday party for you the next day."

"First one I'd ever had," Brian replied distantly. He felt Debbie's fingers stroke through his hair gently, just like they had on that night, when he'd curled up against her and cried and cried and cried.

Slowly, he shifted his weight so he was falling against her again and she held him like she had over twenty years ago. Tears began to leak from his eyes.

"You know what I remember about that party," he said quietly, taking a long hit. He needed to form some kind of excuse for this tomorrow, maybe getting high would be good enough. He passed the joint back to her and she asked him what he remembered.

"It was when Jack turned up and you told him he wasn't invited." He felt Debbie stiffen a little before taking a drag and relaxing.

"I didn't realise you knew about that."

Brian nodded, "Michael saw him coming up the path. He got all excited for me, like I'd love to see my alcoholic, asshole father at one of the first happy moments of my childhood. But Michael had blinkers when it came to dad's, even asshole ones. So he starts jumping about all excitedly. But I ran, I ran upstairs and hid in Mikey's room. And that's when I heard you … through the window. You were telling him to fuck off because I didn't want him at my birthday."

Debbie said nothing, she just continued to stroke Brian's hair gently.

"And he told you it wasn't my birthday but you believed me. First time in my life an adult had ever believed anything I said. So you asked him when my birthday was and he didn't know. That's when you slammed the door in his face."

Debbie smiled a little at the memory. She remembered turning around and seeing Brian running down the stairs with a big grin on his face and going to dance in the middle of the living room. He'd always loved dancing, it was an easy way to get everyone to look at him. It was his way of saying fuck off to the people who'd said he wasn't good enough. Whatever anyone did to him and whatever they said, they couldn't take dancing from him.

"Thanks," Brian whispered suddenly. It was so quiet and so unexpected that Debbie wasn't sure she hadn't made it up. It was quiet for a while and Debbie knew Brian was sobbing again. His shoulders were shaking violently but, just like way back then, she didn't mention it, she just let him cry for a while.

After a while, she felt him shift as Brian dried his eyes with his sleeve.

"I know you think your parents never loved you," she said.

"Not think," he interrupted, "know."

"Fine. I just want to say that, despite their faults, they managed to produce one great kid."

Brian snorted a bit and sat up, he gave Debbie a strange look before saying, "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," and kissing her gently on the cheek.

"Yeah, well sometimes, even the most stubborn assholes need to know they're loved."

"Part of the supermom thing?" he asked, a sarcastic look of knowing on his face.

"You got it, kiddo."

Brian reached for his wine and took another drink, before sighing clutching his head with his hands. "What the fuck," he muttered not sure if he was referring to his hangover or his life.

"I know you're afraid," Debbie said quietly. "I know you love him and you're terrified of what it's doing to you. I know you've never seen love work in your life and I know that that affects you more than you'd ever admit. And, I know why you pushed Sunshine away."

Brian raised an eyebrow and looked at Debbie sceptically.

"It's because you think it'll be better for him. You think he's gonna forget you because he's in New York and he's moving on to better things. You think he's gonna leave you eventually because he's going to find a better life there. You think he's going to come back for visits and you're not going to measure up to his new life. And most of all, you're terrified that he won't love you anymore … just like you were when you had cancer."

"Christ," he muttered, "Michael really does tell you everything, doesn't he?"

Debbie just smiled but she didn't say anything. I was silent for a long time. Brian hardly moved. He just sat with his knees apart, elbows on thighs and hands in head, staring blankly at the ground. Debbie waited for him to say something else, though something about the endless silence told her she was right.

"He still loves you," she said gently. "He always will. I know that's hard for you to believe. I know something inside you tells you, you don't deserve to be loved but you ignore that, you got it? Everyone deserves to be loved, so … don't throw it all away because of some lie your parents taught you."

Brian sighed heavily, before getting up suddenly and announcing he needed a shower.

Debbie watched him disappear into the bathroom and shut the door. She heard the sound of the shower come on and she sighed. She picked up the remainder of the wine and tipped it down the sink. She did not want Brian finishing the rest of that on his own. And then, she slipped away into the real world where work and people still carried on, whilst the old 'hottest stud of liberty avenue' watched his old life collapsing on all sides.

ooooo

Thirty-five. It had loomed up quicker than Brian had ever expected and, lonely and alone, it seemed the only thing the day had brought worth celebrating was a voicemail from Cynthia announcing the collapse of Vanguard. Brian looked in the mirror for a long time that morning. He pulled nervously at the skin around his eyes, it wasn't quite as taught as it once had been. He sifted through his hair nervously, it wasn't quite as glossy as it once was. He took a few steps away and turned to look at his body but as he checked himself out he found the image was a little blurry. He frowned and looked down at his toothbrush, that was blurry too. He looked into his bedroom. Everything was blurry. Shit! His fucking eyes were giving way.

"Christ Kinney," he muttered moving close to the mirror so he could eyeball himself. "What's happened to you?"

He couldn't deny that he wasn't quite as hot as he used to be. He couldn't deny that Brandon and his cronies were closing in on his act … and fast! And he couldn't deny that whilst all his friends had settled down and grown up, he was still hanging around at bars and making friends with guys five years younger than him. Fuck, he was turning into Theodore. But at least Theodore had still had hope that one day he'd find the perfect guy to settle down with, which he did. Brian didn't even have that. He'd found his soul mate, for want of a less lesbionic word, and he'd lost him. He'd pushed him away. So, with Justin on his mind, he did what he should have done five years ago. He got high. He got drunk. He got a scarf. He wrapped it around his neck. He reached the perfect orgasm and then, he fell off the chair in a lifeless heap.