VERSE TWO Chapter Fourteen

JUSTIN

"So this Juice Pig character … he's not really a villain?" I ask, puzzled.

"No," Michael states vehemently. "He's taking this drug to make him bigger and stronger but it's fucking up his personality … making him unpredictable and kind of dangerous, sometimes. But he's still a good guy underneath."

I wonder where he's come up with this idea. I don't ask Michael about his personal life anymore than he asks about mine, but I can still put two and two together. I've seen Ben a few times since I've been coming to Michael's to work on Rage and it's obvious that he's looking even buffer than before – he's been working out a lot, according to Michael. But there's an underlying tension in him – even when he's being affectionate it's like he's really having trouble reining himself in; like he's just waiting to let go. And I've heard him snap at Michael in a way he never used to; over stupid little things that would never have bothered him before.

I think Brian's flu explanation might be a little short of the mark. I think Ben's been taking steroids. I think Mikey and Ben's real problem is a case of bad old Roid Rage.

"Okay," I say, gathering up my sketches. "I'll work on them again, see what I can come up with."

Mikey smiles and nods. "Thanks, Justin." He watches as I roll up the sheets of paper and put them in my backpack. "How's Mel doing?" I ask.

He looks surprised, but pleased too. "Oh, you know Mel. She's supposed to be taking things easy but there's no getting through to her. I guess she's a kind of female Brian sometimes."

Which is, of course, why they can't be in the same room without fighting like cat and dog. "Well, give her my love when you see her. Linds too," I say, standing up, ready to leave.

As Michael rises to see me out there's a knock on the door, and when he goes to answer it I see Brian there. Well, speak of the devil. My traitorous heart does a stupid little flip-flop like it always does, and I wonder again how long it's going to take before his presence stops making me feel like a stupid kid with a crush … or if it ever will.

"Mikey," Brian says, but his eyes are on me. "Justin." His voice is soft, and he gives me a small, hesitant smile.

"Hi, Brian," I greet him casually. "I was just leaving."

"You probably ought to wait a while," he says. "It's pissing down out there." He shakes drops of water from his hair, and I look away quickly, putting on my jacket and grabbing my pack.

"I don't mind the rain," I tell him. There's no way I'm going to play gooseberry in the Brian and Michael show; I'd rather get wet. Even if I can't guarantee being able to grab the bathroom for a shower when I get home. "I've got a project I need to work on."

"Then I'll drive you. I was hoping to see you anyway; I've got a commission I need some help with."

I try not to let my irritation show; like Brian needs my help for his business – like he hasn't got his own team of artists already. I wonder what devious little plan he's cooking up now. But I don't want to get into anything with Michael looking on, all ears and eyes, so I nod reluctantly. I realise that's probably what he was counting on.

We go down to the Jeep in silence, which continues until we're driving away. I'm the one to break it. "Why didn't you tell me Ben was using steroids?"

He flicks me a quick, surprised glance. "Mikey told you?"

"No, of course not. But it wasn't difficult to work out, not with the way Ben's acting. Not to mention the amount of muscle he's put on. Oh, and of course Michael's new superhero was a pretty good pointer."

Brian's lips twitch into a smile. "You always were a clever boy."

"Not clever enough, apparently." I gaze out through the clear arcs in the windscreen where the wipers are working overtime to sweep away the driving rain. "And I'm not a boy."

He sighs. "Justin. It's a term of endearment … like'Sunshine' … or 'twat'. It's not meant to demean you in any way."

"Whatever. Anyway, what was with the 'flu' crap?"

He shrugs. "It's Mikey's business, not mine. It's up to him what he tells people." He throws me another look. "And you know how good I am at keeping secrets."

I don't answer.

"Anyway," he continues, "it's not as if you're around much, anymore. I figured if you wanted to know what was going on, you wouldn't have cut everybody dead like you have." He can't completely keep the note of accusation out of his voice.

"I haven't," I hear myself protesting, though I know it's a lie. "Things have just been kind of hectic, that's all."

"Uh huh. I know you have such a busy social schedule."

"Fuck you," I say angrily. "It's none of your business anyway."

"No." He makes a sound like a sigh. "You don't have to tell me. I gave up that right a long time ago." He turns his face towards me. "Justin, I don't want to get in a fight with you about who did what and to whom and why. Can't we get past all that?"

There it is again: we. That word he would never use. Why now, when it's too late; when it doesn't matter any more? But I refuse to go round on the same old track again, so I press my lips together and keep resolutely quiet until we pull up before my building. Then I dive out into the rain with a hurried "Thanks, Brian," and run for the entrance. It's not until I'm wrestling with the lock that I realise he's standing behind me, water sluicing off his hair, shoulders hunched against the wind.

"What?" he demands. "Are you just going to leave me here to get hypothermia? You could at least offer me a towel."

Eventually I manage to turn the key and he follows me up to my flat, where he stands dripping onto the floor boards while I hunt for towels. He takes off his jacket, shakes it, and hangs it on the hook behind the door: catches the towel I throw in his direction and rubs his hair vigorously.

"Coffee?" he asks.

I sigh. He's obviously not planning on leaving anytime soon. I fill the kettle and switch it on, then dig out the jar of instant from the cupboard and place it on the piece of Formica board, which serves me as a counter. I put two spoons of coffee into a mug, add sugar, and top it up with boiling water. Then I hand it to Brian.

He takes it gingerly, and I suppress a smile as I wait for the explosion. I wonder when the last time was that Brian Kinney drank instant coffee. But he holds his tongue and sits down on the nearest chair, raising his eyebrows in invitation to me. Reluctantly I take the other seat.

"How are things going with the comic?" he asks.

I shrug. "Okay. Michael's come up with some new story lines."

"Good." He seems a little distracted now; looking into his coffee, at his feet, around the flat; anywhere but at me. "And the two of you are getting on alright?"

"Sure." We are; now my relationship with Michael is purely professional, we're getting on fine.

"Good," Brian repeats. He takes an unwary gulp of his coffee and ends up coughing violently. When he recovers himself he puts the mug down on the floor. "Hot," he explains a little sheepishly.

"Sorry it's not Moroccan," I grin.

He glares at me. "I have a proposition for you," he says abruptly.

It's my turn to raise my eyebrows.

"Not like that," he huffs, his face relaxing into a smile. "The GLC have commissioned me to promote their fund-raising event and I want you to design the poster. You'll be well paid for the work."

"You working for the GLC!" I can't believe that. "You despise everyone concerned with it!"

"Not when they're paying so generously for my talents," he smirks.

"Then why don't you use your art department at Vanguard?"

"Because it's a private commission so it's not very ethical. Plus, they're not as good as you. Plus, I need it by the end of the week. Plus, you need the money."

"I'm making enough." I am; although with winter coming I could certainly do with more. But I don't want to get drawn back into Brian's world. "It's not a good idea," I tell him.

"Why? Because you might have to speak to me a couple times? Am I really so dangerous?" Brian's still smiling, but his eyes aren't.

"Brian…" I find myself rubbing my face helplessly. Why is this always so fucking hard? "It hurts, okay?" I tell him. "I know it shouldn't, and I know it's stupid, but it just … hurts," I finish lamely.

"Is that why you're avoiding everyone?" Brian asks softly.

"It's past. I have to let go." I can't look at him. "I know what you think … I'm just being a little pussy-boy. It doesn't matter."

"You have no idea what I think, Justin!" his voice rises, shaking a little as he tries to control it. "You have no idea what I do. You're never there to see."

"Brian." I stand up. I can feel my legs trembling. I so don't want to do this with him. "Thank you for thinking of me, but I'm sorry I can't accept…"

"Sit down," he interrupts, "because I don't intend to go anywhere until you've heard me out." He fixes me with his eyes, and I realise that short of trying to physically throw him out the only thing I can do is let him say his piece and get it over as soon as possible. I sit down again, trying not to feel sick.

"Okay," I say as calmly as I can. "Say what you have to."

He stares at me, and suddenly he seems uncertain again. He bites his lip a little, twists his hands together; "Justin…" he begins, and then stops again. "Shit, I don't know how to start now." He takes a breath and mutters, "Fuck." Then he seems to come to a decision and sits up straight. "Okay. I'll just say it. You don't have to bury yourself away because of me. Because you're afraid of what I'll do. Things are different now, Justin. I'm different. I don't expect you to believe it because, fuck knows, I've never given you any reason to think I could be anyone other than Brian fucking Kinney for the rest of my life; but if you'd been around you'd have seen it for yourself. Everyone else has. I'm not saying I've turned into a monk or anything, but I don't try to drink or fuck myself into oblivion every time I hit a wall anymore. When I told you I hadn't brought a guy home since you left, I was telling you the truth. If I want a trick, I do him in the Backroom or at the baths; I keep it where it belongs."

"And why do you think this is any of my business?" I hope he can't hear my voice trembling. I don't want to hear what he's saying.

"Because I want it to be your business," he says impatiently. "Justin, I was fucking worried sick about you … I thought that I'd never see you again, and I couldn't stand the thought that it was me who drove you away. I knew how vulnerable you were … I told you the Loft was your home, and then I expected you to just sit and take it whenever I felt like doing a trick on our couch or our bed. It wasn't just heartless; it was fucking disrespectful, and I can't apologise enough for the way I treated you."

"So, the whole guilt trip, then?" I try to sound sarcastic, although my mind is reeling. Brian Kinney just said sorry. Really said sorry. And had he said, our bed? "No wonder you came running to Baltimore to fetch me."

"I came because I was afraid for you," Brian says quietly. "And because I missed you."

"Missed fucking me, you mean," I retort.

He gives a little lopsided grin. "I'd be a liar if I denied it. But if it was just the sex, I could have dealt with it. I missed you. More than I could ever have believed possible."

"Please, Brian…" I'm almost begging him. My stomach is in knots. "You don't have to say all this, I know you don't want to, and it doesn't matter anyway…"

"It matters to me!" Brian yells, the tendons on his neck standing out. "And you're going to fucking well hear it, whether you want to or not. Because I am not going to go through that again; knowing that you're gone and I don't have the chance anymore to tell you how I feel, because you might be living in another country, or with someone else, or fucking dead, and it's too fucking late!" He leans forward into my face and I scoot back in my chair, afraid he's going to grab me. But he calms down and sits back, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry. And you're right, saying this isn't easy for me; I guess it never will be. But I have to, Justin, because you're making decisions about your future based on facts from the past … facts that no longer apply. I've changed. Maybe as much as I can, maybe not. I don't know. But enough to say that I want you back in my life; as my partner if at all possible, but if not, then at the very least as my friend."

I try to answer, but my throat has closed completely. I make a small, strangled sound.

"Christ." Brian pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't want to lay all that on you like this. You just haven't given me a choice. Again." He reaches out and takes both my hands; I think I'm paralysed because I can't fucking move. "Justin." His eyes are locked onto mine, intent, worried, sincere. "Are you happy? Because if you are, then I swear on Gus' life I'll walk away and I'll never bother you again. All you have to do is say it. I know you won't lie."

I have never really been able to, not to him: never since the beginning. "No," I whisper. "I can't even remember being happy."

I can feel his hands shaking. "Do you still love me?"

My head nods before my mouth works.

"Okay," he breathes, and laughs suddenly, his whole face lighting. He lets go of my hands. "That's what I hoped to hear. And all I need. Now it's all yours."

"What?" I'm struggling to make sense of all this. What the fuck he's trying to do.

"I told you everything was your call, and it is." Brian's still smiling like he's won the Lottery or something. "You might still love me, but you sure as hell stopped liking me. And I want the chance to put that right. All you have to do is to keep an open mind about me, like you did when we first met. Because that's more or less the way it is: you haven't met me yet. And maybe, when you do, you might start liking me again."

"And if I don't?" My heart's pretending it's a rabbit's.

"I'm prepared to take that chance," Brian says softly, "for as long as you want." He leans down and presses a single kiss on my forehead. "Now, let's make a deal on this fucking poster."

BRIAN

I walk down the six flights from Justin's with a big sappy grin on my face. He's agreed to take the commission for $500 plus a bonus if he delivers early. About my other proposition, he hasn't said yes. But he hasn't said no.

I'm walking on fucking air.

TBC