Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk or any of the characters; they belong to Showtime, CowLip, etc.
Brian's POV
I may be a heartless bastard, but I'm not stupid. I know I push people away, keep them at arm's length. I show them just enough of myself to keep them around so that I'm not alone, and even if they do something that would hurt anyone else, I just pretend it doesn't matter long enough that it really doesn't. I remember talking about it in that Psych 101 class we had to take to fulfill some bullshit general education requirements at Penn State – remember, Linds? – how our actions don't just reflect our emotions, they also influence us to feel emotions; there's a reciprocity between feelings and actions. Guess it wasn't bullshit after all, since it's pretty much become my way of life. Nobody ever gets closer than one degree of separation, and that's just you and Mikey. Even Deb can be two degrees away, can go in the box labeled "Mikey's mom," despite the fact that she's more of a mom to me than Joan ever was.
"What about Justin?" Lindsay asked quietly.
Shit, I didn't realize I said all of that out loud. "How much have I had to drink tonight, Wendy?"
"Way too much, even for you, Peter. That's why I'm staying here and forcing you to eat greasy food until you sober up enough to get home, since I know you won't let me drive your Jeep."
"Definitely not," I managed to get out.
"I didn't think so. But you still didn't answer my question."
"I was hoping you'd forget you asked it."
"Not a chance. I'm not drunk, remember." I pause for a long time, not because I'm avoiding her question, but because I don't know how to answer it.
"Justin is…just Justin."
"He's not just another fuck, Brian. He means as much to you as Michael and I do, but in a different way. You let him into your loft, into your life – all of our lives – and even into your heart."
"I thought we'd established that I don't have a heart."
"That's bullshit and you know it. You didn't go to his prom because you wanted to 'recapture your lost youth,' you went because you care about him and you wanted to make him happy. And then he got bashed and you got your heart broken," Lindsay responded in that matter-of-fact way that annoys me so much because she's always right.
"It doesn't matter what I feel!" I shouted, slamming my hand down onto the bar. "He's the one who got bashed! I don't get to feel pain, I don't get to be upset, because whatever I feel, he has it a hundred times worse! It won't help me, and it certainly won't help him."
"You know, for someone with a big fancy degree in advertising, you don't seem to have much insight into your partner's mind. How do you know it won't help him? Maybe he needs to talk about what happened as much as you do. Maybe you could both help each other heal."
Again with the "I know something you don't" voice, I thought.
"Have you been talking to him? And since when is he my partner?" I asked sharply.
"He needs someone to talk to, and even if you don't say anything, he notices how much it upsets you to talk about the bashing, so he won't ask you to. And he can be your partner, Brian, if you'll let him be. I'm sure he'd much rather be talking to you than to me." Taking my silence as an invitation to continue, Lindsay added, "It's not unreasonable that the bashing hurt you too. You may not have any physical scars, but you should know as well as anyone that they're not the only kind that matter."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm not stupid either. I can read between the lines when you talk about your childhood, your relationship with Debbie, how you approach the world. That attitude didn't come out of nowhere."
"What are you, my fucking shrink?"
"No, I'm your friend, and I'm Justin's friend, and I don't want to see either of you get hurt."
"It's a little late for that," I replied pointedly.
"Then don't hurt each other more than you've already been hurt. You can't control other people, but you can control yourselves."
"Yeah, I can never put myself in that situation again," I replied bitingly.
"And never let yourself be happy again?"
"I was perfectly happy before Justin came along!"
"You're right, you were." Wow, I hadn't really expected Lindsay to agree with me on that one. "And you'll be happy again someday if you make him leave." And the surprises just keep on coming. "But do you want to be just 'perfectly happy?'" Ah, there's the famous wisdom I know and…sometimes love.
"Why not?"
"Because I've seen how you are with Justin – there's something more than just happiness, there's l-"
"Don't say it," I cut her off. I wasn't drunk enough for that conversation just yet.
"Fine," she sighed. "So where is Justin tonight?" she asked, purposely changing the tone of the conversation.
"He's helping Daphne set up her new dorm room."
"And you're here at Woody's drowning your sorrows."
"Thank you Captain Obvious," I replied sarcastically.
"Oh, the Kinney wit's back, you must be sobering up," Lindsay retorted, laughing.
"Yeah, I think I'm okay to drive home now," I said, hesitated, then added, "Thanks for tonight."
"You're welcome. Think about what I said," she replied as we walked out to our cars together.
"I will," I said, sliding into the Jeep. And I did. I thought about the bashing, about standing outside his hospital room every night for six weeks, about recreating his prom night, about dancing with him outside of Woody's the night before I had just attributed that to the 180 degree turn that the gay world seems to do during Pride, but maybe it had been more than that.
When I got back to the loft I found Justin sprawled out on the bed, half under the covers and half on top. I quickly stripped off my clothes and crawled in beside him.
"Hey, you're back," he said groggily.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," I replied.
"It's okay, I wasn't really asleep yet anyway. How was your night?"
"Well, it ended with me getting drunk at Woody's with Lindsay." Justin was apparently suddenly wide awake, as he stared laughing hysterically.
"Not exactly what I expected you to say," he managed to get out through his giggles. "How did that happen?"
"I don't actually remember," I admitted. "Most of the conversation is…" I trailed off, thinking about the part I did remember.
"Brian?" Justin queried, concerned. When I didn't say anything right away, he rolled onto his left side, put his head on my chest and draped his arm around me.
"I was terrified," I blurted out. Well, I guess I have to go through with this now, I thought. "For those three days when the doctors weren't sure if you were going to live or die. Michael was afraid to leave me alone, so whenever he had to leave the hospital he made Lindsay and Gus come over to sit with me. I was so screwed up, Sunshine. I think I'm still screwed up."
"It's okay. We can be screwed up together."
"It hurt me too," I stated softly.
"I know," Justin replied. "But I'm glad you know now, too."
A/N: I know this usually comes at the beginning, but I felt like this story needed to be told without any preamble or explanation. The prompt for this one was #5, Degrees, and although the first thing that came to mind was "degrees of separation," I thought it would be interesting to work in a couple of other meanings of the word degree, since it has so many. Also, for anyone who was confused, the paragraph at the beginning is (mostly) spoken out loud from Brian to Lindsay, but it's not in quotation marks because Brian doesn't realize he's speaking out loud at first. Finally, this scene takes place the night after Pride.
Thanks to everyone who favorited/story alerted this story, it means a lot! Please review and let me know how I'm doing, what I can improve on, and what you'd like to see next. Even though I'm working from a list of prompts, I'm always open to suggestions!
