A/N: After a break I am back with my second story in the QaF fandom! I appreciate the warm welcome I received from everyone and the lovely support for "Birthday Revelations"!
This story takes place two months after Justin left for New York. Since I can't bear to watch the final episode, I honestly don't recall if everyone else knew about the house Brian bought. So, for the purposes of this story no one else knew about it.
Spoilers: Only if you don't know how the series ends!
Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters or places depicted. I am making no money from this work of fiction, and no copyright infringement intended!
A very special thank you to my awesome friend MyShame7 for her advice, support, and guidance!
"Little Boy Lost"
Chapter One:
"Jesus Christ, Brian! Where the fuck are you? We're all getting worried. Call me, okay?" Michael shouted into his phone before flipping it shut. He sighed and looked at his companions seated across from him in a booth at the Liberty Diner. "That's like my hundredth voicemail and he hasn't called back. Christ, it's been four days!"
Ted and Emmett wore matching expressions full of concern as they picked at their lunches. Emmett reached across the table and patted Michael's hand. "He'll call when he's ready to talk, Sweetie. I just wonder where he could be," Emmett pondered, tapping his index finger on his bottom lip.
Ted snorted and stated forcefully, "Yeah, well, he better call soon. He has a major new client coming in next week and there is a shitload of stuff he needs to sign off on! Not to mention all of the contractors I lined up to rebuild Babylon. Brian needs to sign the work orders so they actually, you know, get to work on it!"
Michael glared at Ted. "Geez Ted, a little sympathy please? Brian's whole world just fell apart and all you can think about is work?"
Ted snapped back, "Yeah, well he's probably just off somewhere getting his dick sucked."
Michael was about to escalate the exchange when Debbie came over and sat next to him. She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him over so she could kiss the top of his head.
"Still no luck, honey?" When Michael sadly shook his head she said, "He'll be fine. You know Brian. He always comes out on top. Just give him some time."
The bell over the door jingled signaling the arrival of a new customer, so Debbie stood to resume her duties behind the counter. She stopped when saw Jennifer Taylor walk in.
"Jennifer," Debbie exclaimed with a high-pitched squeal. "Come on over here! How are you? We never see you anymore! How's my little Sunshine? Is he coming home," Debbie questioned hopefully as she pulled Jennifer into a one-sided hug.
"Ma! Chill out already and let Mrs. Taylor talk," Michael admonished with an eye roll directed at his mother.
"It's okay, Michael," Jennifer said with a nod and a weak smile as she pulled away. She looked as though she had aged ten years in the two months since Justin moved to New York. "I, uh, was just in the neighborhood to drop off some papers for Brian but apparently he's not home, or at least he isn't answering the door."
"Papers? Papers for what," Emmett asked curiously.
"It's the new listing for his loft. I need him to approve it before it goes into the MLS system," Jennifer replied tiredly.
"Wait," Michael barked after nearly choking on the French fry he had just popped in his m mouth. "He's selling the loft? Why?"
Jennifer cocked her head and looked at Michael. Glancing at the others wearing the same shocked expression she said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you all knew," she said nervously. "When you see him, please have him call me. I've left several messages but he hasn't called back."
"You either," Debbie asked with a scowl. "Michael's been trying to get a hold of him all week. He hasn't been around, he hasn't called. No one knows where he is. It's like he just disappeared. I'm actually getting worried about the little asshole!"
Seeing tears spring into Debbie's eyes, Jennifer dropped her head. "Have you tried the country house? He may be there."
"What country house?" Debbie, Michael, Ted, and Emmett demanded in unison.
Jennifer dropped down next to Michael and put her head in her hands. "He bought it a couple of months ago. It's a ten-acre estate, actually. Big house, pool, tennis court, stables." At their astonished looks she continued, "It was supposed to be a wedding present - for Justin."
When Michael grabbed his jacket from the back of the booth, Jennifer jumped up seeing that he was in a hurry. As he shrugged into it, he asked her, "Where is this place? I'm gonna go see if he's there."
Debbie handed Jennifer a blank order ticket and her feather pen. Jennifer sighed then jotted down the directions while explaining to Michael how to get there.
Michael snatched the paper from Jennifer's hand then turned to leave.
"You want us to go with you, sweetie," Emmett asked.
"Nah, that's okay. Ted needs to be here, and I should probably go alone anyway. I'll call you guys later," Michael called back over his shoulder as he pulled out his car keys and cell phone.
"You be careful," Debbie yelled to him as he pushed open the door. "Call me the minute you get there, whether Brian's there or not."
Michael climbed behind the wheel of the Durango he and Ben had bought the year before then called to let Ben know that he was going to find Brian. Ben had long made peace with Michael's attachment to Brian and gave his blessing to take as long as he needed. Ben assured Michael that he and Hunter would take care of the store during his absence. Michael hung up and drove off after exchanging "I love yous" with Ben.
A little over an hour later, after a quick stop home to pack for a couple of days just in case, Michael pulled the Durango to a stop on the crushed stone drive behind Brian's Corvette parked in front of the massive Tudor style house.
"Fuck me!" he muttered under his breath as he climbed out and took in the grandeur of the place.
Reaching the front door, Michael heard the muted but distinct sound of breaking glass. He hesitated just long enough to take a deep breath before firmly grasping the brass doorknob and turning it. The door was locked.
"Brian? It's Michael. Are you okay? Open up," he shouted before pounding on the door with his fist.
A few moments later the huge door was flung open and Michael gaped in horror at the man standing before him. Brian looked like he hadn't slept in days and the effects of heavy drinking was plainly evident in his bloodshot eyes and dull almost gray complexion. His unwashed hair was sticking up all over the place, his clothes were a wrinkled mess, and it was obvious that he hadn't showered or shaved in days.
"Jesus, Brian! Are you okay? Can I come in," Michael asked, stunned by how far his normally stylish and elegant best friend had fallen.
Brian took a swig out of what appeared to be a half full bottle of Jim Beam and threw the door open before turning away and shuffling barefoot across the marble floor into the spacious living room off of the cavernous entryway.
Michael's eyes scanned his surroundings as he slowly followed Brian. A sweeping solid oak curved grand staircase lead up to the second floor. Through towering French doors to his left was a library with shelves lined with hundreds of dusty old books. Straight ahead of him was a long hallway, which he assumed lead to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house. An identical set of French doors were opened into the living room to his right where Brian stood silently taking generous swigs from the bottle in his hand. Michael's eyes drifted to the polished oak plank floor in front of the fireplace where a makeshift bed was laid out.
"Why haven't you returned any of my calls? Fuck Brian, what are you doing all the way out here," Michael asked.
Brian just stared at Michael, his face expressionless, then slowly shrugged.
"Aren't you going to say anything," Michael demanded. "I drive all the way out here to find you, looking like shit I might add, and you won't even talk to me?"
"Whadya wan me to say," Brian finally asked tiredly, his speech slurred from the effects of the alcohol.
Michael closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh before crossing over to where Brian stood absently staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace. He took the bottle from Brian's hand without much resistance, twisted the cap back on, and set it on the mantle. Slouched and swaying drunkenly before him was not the beautiful confident, cocky, arrogant, self-absorbed man he had known more than half of his life. Instead before him stood a six-foot two tall sad, lost little boy. He had seen the hurt in Brian's eyes when Justin chose Ethan over him a few years ago, but that was nothing compared to the utterly destroyed man before him. Brian had been a master at hiding and denying his true feelings and emotions, but Michael could always see through it.
He took Brian's face in his hands and said, "I want you to tell me why you're selling your loft and why you came all the way out here in the middle of nowhere," Michael said softly. "Talk to me, Brian."
Brian flashed a defiant smirk at Michael and replied with a soft-spoken but menacing, "Fuck. You." He then jerked out of Michael's grasp and staggered over to retrieve the bottle. The cap spun off with such force that it rolled halfway across the room. Brian chuckled as he watched it roll away, then turned to Michael and shouted, "Now get the fuck out of my house and leave me the fuck alone!"
Michael stood there stunned and gaped at his best friend, who in reality was more like a brother to him. Having dealt with dozens of Hunter's angry outbursts and tantrums, Michael knew it was tough love time if he was going to get Brian to talk to him.
"No. You are gonna put the bottle down, go up and take a fucking shower, and then you and I are gonna talk," Michael said firmly while trying to keep his emotions in check. "I'm not leaving until we do."
Brian huffed at him in disgust and with a petulant tone said, "Fine. Whatever it takes to get you to leave."
Michael didn't flinch as Brian shouldered his way past him and headed for the stairs. "And shave while you're at it. You look like shit," he yelled at Brian's retreating form on the stairs, getting flipped off for his trouble.
When Michael heard the shower running upstairs he headed down the hallway from the front foyer and into the huge gourmet kitchen. The house was stately and likely a hundred years old, but the last owner had definitely spent untold thousands of dollars to modernize and restore it. The kitchen had been remodeled with granite countertops, newer maple cabinets and all new state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances.
He opened the refrigerator and was relieved to find it fairly well stocked. He noticed a few grocery bags sitting on the granite-topped island and pulled out a loaf of bread and a bag of potato chips. It was obvious that Brian was planning to stay for a while at least since he had stocked up on food.
By the time the water upstairs shut off, Michael had a simple dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, and chips prepared. He heard Brian's bare feet slowly padding down the hall toward him as he set the plates and bowls at the long breakfast bar and retrieved two bottles of water from the refrigerator.
"I fixed us some dinner. I hope you're hungry," Michael said with a smile.
"Not really," Brian grumbled as he pulled out one of the bar stools and sat down with a sigh.
"You gotta eat something, Brian. You can't live on booze alone." The shitty attitude was still in place, but Brian at least looked and smelled better after showering, shaving, and changing into clean clothes.
"M'not living. Just waiting to die," Brian stated simply as he absently dunked half of his sandwich into the soup before taking a small bite. He frowned at the ancient memories of eating this very meal on a fairly regular basis with Michael at Debbie's kitchen table.
From years of experience, Michael knew that getting into a heavy discussion with Brian when he was in such a dark headspace would get him nowhere. Brian had such a stubborn streak that Michael feared he would completely shut down or worse he would try to leave. No, it was best to at least make sure he ate something and sobered up a bit then maybe they could talk.
When they finished eating, Michael rinsed their plates and bowls then left them in the sink to be dealt with later. He figured he would wash them after getting Brian to lie down and get some sleep. Pulling a still wobbly Brian to his feet, Michael gently steered him back out to the living room.
The fire was still blazing in the fireplace giving the room a warm and cozy feel despite the vaulted ceilings and huge plate glass windows. Pointing down at the comfy looking pile of blankets and pillows on the floor, Michael ordered Brian to get some sleep. Brian responded by flipping him off again, but within a couple of minutes he was snoring softly. Michael pulled one of the blankets out from under Brian's legs and pulled it up to cover him. As he tucked Brian in, it wasn't lost on him how their roles had changed over the last few years.
Michael returned to the kitchen and washed up the few dishes and pans he had used, leaving them to dry in the rack next to the sink. He then put the rest of the groceries away before setting off to explore the gigantic house. A clock in the library chimed 7:00. Brian would hopefully be out for several hours, so Michael stepped outside to make a couple of phone calls. The only light was a gas lamp near the driveway and a full moon overhead.
"Yeah Ma, it's me. Look, do me a favor and let everyone know I found Brian. He's safe but he's a fucking mess. I may end up being here for a couple of days," Michael said forlornly before giving Debbie a full rundown of the day's events.
Debbie sounded pleased that he had at least gotten Brian to eat something and get some sleep.
"He always loved dunking grilled cheeses into tomato soup," she said trying to sound cheerful. "You try and get him to talk then you bring his skinny ass home where he belongs. His family is here, and we will take care of him. You tell him that. Do you hear me, Michael," she demanded forcefully.
"Yeah, I hear you," Michael shouted back. "Look, I'm gonna call Ben and let him know what's going on. I need to go check on Brian then I'm gonna check out the rest of the house. You should see this place, Ma! It's a fucking palace!"
Michael counted four large bedrooms each with its own attached bathroom upstairs in the guest wing of the house. A narrower staircase at the end of the long hallway led up to a third level, which Michael assumed was the attic. He made a mental note to ask Brian.
The main wing housed an enormous a master suite complete with two separate dressing rooms and gigantic walk-in closets. The enormous luxury bathroom was a gay man's dream come true! The marble-topped vanity with its double sinks, cabinets and shelves took up one whole wall. The glass enclosed shower with dual shower heads probably had plenty of room for six people, as could the deep marble surrounded Jacuzzi bathtub. The real prize, however, was the ten foot by ten foot cedar steam room. A sitting room and a private study were down the hall.
It was late by the time Michael completed a cursory inspection of the library. As expected, many of the books were first editions of well-known classics. God only knew how much they were worth to collectors. He doubted Brian cared or had any desire to read any of them. The library doubled as a billiard room complete with red-felted antique pocket pool table and an impressive wet bar.
When he finished checking out the house, Michael curled up on a settee in the massive but mostly unfinished main living room to get a few hours of sleep. He awoke several hours later to a loud groan in response to the chimes of an antique grandfather's clock. The bright early morning sunlight streaming in through the large windows on the east side of the house was a secondary cause of the loud groaning. He looked at the writhing mound cocooned under the pile of blankets on the floor. "Well, at least he's still alive," Michael thought to himself before rolling off of the settee and stretching to alleviate the kinks in his back from sleeping on the small couch that was easily a foot too short for his five-foot ten inch tall frame.
"Brian, you awake," Michael asked in hushed tones as he leaned over Brian's prone body. "I'm gonna make coffee."
Brian slowly peeled back the blanket covering his face and leveled a bleary one-eyed glare at Michael. "What the fuck are you still doing here?" he demanded as he reached for his pack of cigarettes that had been lying on the floor next to him and pulled one out. In his extremely hung-over condition operating his Zippo lighter proved to be too much of a task to bother with. He disgustedly threw the cigarette a few feet and dropped the lighter next to the nearly full ashtray.
Taking pity on his incapacitated friend, Michael lit a cigarette for him before heading for the kitchen. Brian took a couple of drags before pulling himself up into a sitting position with his knees pulled up to his chest. He groaned again at the pounding in his head; the ache in his head matching the ache he felt in his heart. A few minutes later he got up and shuffled his way to the kitchen, yawning and stretching with each slow step.
Brian snorted at the sight of a big glass of water and two Advil sitting on the breakfast bar as if they were waiting for him. He glanced up and watched as Michael, seemingly making himself right at home, pulled two coffee mugs down from a cupboard next to the sink. Brian sat on the bar stool he had used last night and chased the Advil down with the entire glass of water. He sat the empty glass down and picked up the steaming mug of strong black coffee that Michael placed in front of him.
"You want some breakfast? I can whip up a couple of omelets," Michael offered tentatively. He took the raised eyebrow and sneer leveled at him in response as a definite "No".
After several minutes spent drinking their coffee in silence, Brian finally spoke up in a resigned tone. "Mikey, why are you here?"
Michael couldn't believe what he was hearing. Incredulous at the ridiculous question, he barked, "Why am I here? Why the fuck do you think? Everyone's worried about you, Brian! You leave town for a week without a word to anyone, blow off work, and blow off your friends. We keep calling but you never answer. You must have a thousand voicemails by now. For fuck's sake, my mother is even getting worried! Ted is freaking out about some new client and contractors, and Jennifer has some papers for you to sign."
Seeing a hint of contrition creep into Brian's bloodshot eyes, Michael said, "Okay, my turn. You wanna tell me why you bought this huge fucking house out in the middle of no-goddam-where and why you're not selling it instead of your loft. I mean, Justin's mom said something about it being a wedding present."
Brian shrugged and for a minute Michael thought he was going to cry. "Bri, talk to me," Michael plead softly. "I just want to help."
His head no longer pounding thanks to the combination of Advil and strong coffee, Brian placed his empty mug on the counter then stood and shouted, "Help? You want to fucking help? This is all your goddam fault! All of you fucked me over, so I don't want your fucking help! What I do want is for you to get out of my fucking house and leave me ALONE," Brian bellowed before storming out the back door, slamming it shut with such force that the antique leaded glass window rattled.
Michael stood frozen in place as Brian's words slowly sank in. It struck him that the grief Brian was suffering over losing Justin paled in comparison to his anger. Brian's anger was not directed at Justin; it had been a mutual decision to call off their wedding, but instead it was squarely aimed at Michael and everyone else he had once considered a friend.
