The shower sucks.
He thought it would feel good, getting under the spray and letting the heat of the water soak into his sore muscles. He thought it'd be nice to get the beer out of his hair and get into some clean clothes.
Problem is, that's all easier said than done. Peeling off his clothes is a pain in pretty much everywhere but his ass. His shirt's stuck to his back with dried booze and blood – that broken glass got him pretty good, he thinks – and he figures he probably got hit in the left knee at some point, because it's not real happy with him when he tries to kick off his jeans. He manages, though, stuffs his ruined t-shirt down one of the legs of his pants, balls the whole thing up in the corner, and steps in the shower.
That's the part that really sucks. He doesn't think the cuts on his back and knees are that bad, but the second the steaming water hits them, they might as well have been fucking shredded. His head's even worse. He thinks the back of it might be bleeding where that son of a bitch broke a bottle over it – the collar of his shirt was brown when he took it off – and his suspicions are confirmed when he touches it and his fingers come away red. It's not too bad; he doesn't even think anyone noticed.
Doesn't mean it's not a bitch to shampoo.
He's rinsing it out when there's a knock on the door, and he jumps so hard he nearly slips and falls.
"You decent in there?" It's not Dom's voice; it's Leon's. "I got some clothes for you."
It takes Brian a second to find his voice. "Yeah, come on in." It's not like the door's locked or anything. It doesn't even have a lock. Leon's just being polite.
The door clicks, and there's a draft of cool air that lets him know it's open. "I'm just gonna leave these on the counter. Mia said she'll wash yours when she gets back, if you want me to take 'em down."
"Nah, man, I'll take care of it." The last thing he needs is for Mia to see his clothes and freak out. She's pretty cool about most things – with her family, Brian guesses she has to be – but she's a Toretto. And like a Toretto, like Dom, she's crazy protective of her own.
It's just…a different kind of crazy.
After that thing in the kitchen earlier, he's still trying to wrap his head around the idea that she still thinks of him like that: as one of her own. After all the shit he's pulled, he doesn't deserve it. He's not their problem, and he doesn't want to be. Not when he's just barely thinking he might still be their friend.
And to be honest, he's pretty fucking elated about that much.
"'Kay, bro," he hears Leon say. "Don't drown in there." Then the door clicks again, and he's alone.
He lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and lets his forehead fall against the tiles of the shower wall. It's not until the water starts going cold, God only knows how many minutes later, that he finally musters up the energy to shut it off and step out.
The clothes Leon left are just a t-shirt and some jeans. He thinks they're probably Leon's, because there's no way in hell he can wear anything of Dom's – too big – or Jesse's – too small – and Vince wouldn't let him borrow a dirty gym sock.
He shrugs it all on over his own boxers; it's a close enough fit, though he's grateful for the belt, and it all smells like that cologne Leon's always wearing.
He guesses anything's an improvement, though. It's not like he smelled like roses before. There's even an unopened toothbrush sitting on the counter, so his mouth doesn't taste like ass anymore, either.
So yeah, he still feels pretty shitty, but it's less shitty than he felt before, and he'll take that.
He's not breaking any land speed records coming down the stairs. He thinks about popping in the living room, but he hears the shouting before he's even halfway down the steps. Vince and Dom are having words, and he thinks it's probably best to leave them to it.
Especially since it sounds like he's the topic of conversation.
Instead, he heads for the door. He gets as far as turning the handle, though, before a voice stops him dead.
"You better not be leaving."
Brian turns to see Leon leaning back against the kitchen door, an apple in his hand.
"I'm just saying," he continues, "Mia'll have kittens. And Dom'll probably hunt your ass down." He pushes off the doorframe with a shrug. "Might as well just make it easy on yourself."
That's the kind of advice Brian gives the people he's arresting. Might as well make it easy on yourself, because you're screwed either way. Usually, it was just a question of how many blows they had to trade before it happened.
Brian tends to think he's pretty damn good in a fight. But right now, if it went to blows, he's thinking it wouldn't take very many to put him down. Especially not if Dom was the one throwing them.
He sighs. "I'm just throwing these in my car," he says. He doesn't wait for Leon's response to head out the door and out to his car. He's not gonna lie; there's a part of him that wants nothing more than to jump behind the wheel and go. As much as he wants to work this out – and Christ, he does; he misses these guys like crazy – he just doesn't think he has it in him right now. He thinks if he can just put some distance between them for just a little while longer, until he's finished with this thing with Yeung and the Little Saigons, then maybe he can come back and try again.
Only, it doesn't work like that. He knows it doesn't. So, he's changing his strategy. Instead of running like a dog with his tail between his legs, maybe, he thinks, he can start small. If he can just survive a day…he doesn't have a shift at the station tomorrow, but he's got to open for Harry, so he's got a good enough excuse to ditch later.
This is his chance. It's piss poor timing, it's completely accidental, but he'd forgotten what it's like to be here, to be a part of this, and…
And he wants it back.
There's a lump in his throat as he shoves his stuff in his car. He's got his arm braced on the roof, and he's taking in a breath through his nose. His ribs aren't gung-ho about deep breathing, but he needs to calm the fuck down, because his head's going ninety to nothing and his body feels like it can barely make a ten minute mile. He needs to find some middle ground.
He doesn't know how long he's been standing like that, head bowed over his car like he's praying or some shit. Not longer than a few minutes, he thinks, but long enough that when he straightens, his head spins.
The walk back to the house is longer than he remembers; the stairs, steeper. But hell, he's done more with worse, so he sucks in as deep a breath as his rib cage is gonna let him right now, and he steps inside to face the music.
"—bad news, Dom. He always has been!"
"I know people say that about you, too, Vince."
"Least I ain't a fuckin' cop."
That seems like as good a place as any to butt in. "Technically, I'm off the clock," he says, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded like he belongs there.
Vince is sitting on the couch, and Dom's in one of the chairs; they're both red in the face, but Vince looks like he's about to go atomic.
It only gets worse when he sees Brian standing there, and if looks could kill…well, Brian guesses he might even feel a little worse than he does, now. If only a little.
"Were you off the clock when you were selling us out, too?" he spits.
Brian smirks, pushing off the wall. He acts like it doesn't hurt; he'll die before he lets Vince see him so much as flinch. "Kinda hard to remember," he says. "But I know I was when I was saving your ass."
"Saving my ass?" That gets a rise out of Vince. A literal one – he's on his feet. "Let's get one thing straight, Buster," he says, closing the distance between him and Brian with hard, purposeful steps, "I. Don't. Owe. You. Nothing." He punctuates each word with a jab of his finger into Brian's chest, and yeah, it hurts.
He's still smirking, though.
"You done?"
He thinks, if he can catch the light right, he might be able to actually see steam coming out of Vincent's ears. Which should scare the hell out of him, but he's feeling pretty damn fearless.
"Am I done?" Vince's expression is somewhere between incredulous and just incredibly pissed off. Frankly, Brian doesn't know why he's so surprised. He's never backed down from Vince and his attitude before; he's not starting now.
He's getting ready to fire off another smartass remark that'll probably get him popped in the lip – again – but the couch creaks before he can get it out.
"You're both done," Dom says. He's making his way over, but he's taking his sweet time.
In the meantime, Brian's gone and let himself get distracted, so he doesn't notice Vince going for him until he's already got a hand twisted in the front of his shirt. He pulls him forward, and Brian just barely manages to keep his feet under him. He's thinking, before this is all said and done, that he might owe Leon a new shirt.
"It's bad enough his pig ass is stinking up the place," Vince is saying, and Brian resists the urge to point out that he ain't exactly shower fresh himself. "Now he's giving me lip."
Brian notices, though, that it's not him Dom's glaring at.
"Lay off him, Vince."
"Dom—"
"I said lay off him!"
Apparently, Vince's idea of 'laying off' is shoving Brian into the TV set, but nothing breaks, so Brian isn't complaining. He brings his hand up to rub at his neck and tries not to think about how this is the second time that morning Dom's saved his ass.
He's not gonna let that be a trend.
"Man, this is fucked up," Vince practically snarls. "Bringing him in here, acting like he's one of ours."
This time, it's Vince getting his shirt grabbed, and Dom hauls him in close. He grinds something through his teeth that Brian can't quite hear over the subwoofer booming between his ears, and then he shoves Vince back.
Whatever he said, Vince isn't happy about it. "If he's here, then I ain't," he snaps.
Dom points, and Brian can see how hard he's tensed from the muscles in his arms. "Then there's the door."
Vince stands there for a second, and he's got that incredulous look again like he can't quite believe what's going on. Even from where he's standing, Brian can see the vein standing out on his forehead.
But then, he's moving. He shoots Brian a glare on his way out, but Brian just stands up a little straighter and stares right back. He's not scared. He got the shit kicked out of him a few hours ago by half a dozen angry Asians – Vince can bring it the fuck on.
He doesn't, though, and Brian doesn't blame him. He wouldn't cross Dom either if he could avoid it. And apparently Vince's way of avoiding it is to stomp out like a damn bull and slam the door behind him so hard it feels like the whole house shakes.
He stares at the door for a second, partly because he kind of wants to make sure Vince isn't gonna change his mind, but mostly because he's not sure he can bring himself to look at Dom just yet. He can practically feel the guy's eyes on him, hard and intense. It's like he's looking for something, and Brian's kinda worried if he lets Dom look too close, he'll realize that whatever he's looking for…it ain't there.
"I should go." The words tumble from his mouth in a rush.
He hears the rustle of clothes behind him; he imagines Dom is crossing his arms. "What was that?"
Brian takes a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pain in his side when he does. "I said, 'I should go.'"
"Didn't your old man ever teach you to look at people when you're talking to them?"
That actually makes Brian smile, in a bitter, 'you have no idea' kind of way. "Nah, Dom. My old man didn't teach me shit." Except for how to take a hit, maybe, but even that's kind of fuzzy. Too many concussions, he guesses.
"Then consider yourself taught. Now turn around." He's not yelling anymore, but there's this weight in his voice, this firmness that doesn't just suggest obedience; it demands it.
Brian turns, and it takes every shred of pride and self-control he has left to force himself to meet his eyes. "I don't want any trouble," he says. "And I don't want to cause any."
"Then don't."
"That your way of saying you want me gone?"
Dom's lip twitches. "If I wanted you gone, you wouldn't still be standing here," he says, and Brian knows that's the truth. Dom could probably pick him up by the seat of his pants and throw him out the damn door, and there wouldn't be much of anything Brian could do to stop him.
He tells himself he'd put up a hell of a fight, though. It makes him feel a little better.
"So, what? You looking for some kind of apology?"
Dom shakes his head. "I think you've done enough apologizing."
Brian's not really sure what that means, but he's not stupid enough to ask. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and he's careful not to get too close to the back. "Then what is it you want from me, Dom?" 'Cause he's pretty damn short on things to give.
If Dom can hear the frustration in his voice, he doesn't act like it. He doesn't even look amused like he usually does when Brian gets pissed off at him. The way his brows are furrowed, he just looks…serious.
"You can start by sitting down," he says, nodding his head towards the couch. "I think it's time you and I had that talk."