Hey guys, it's me.
I know, it's been a long time. But believe me, I didn't plan this, and I never intended to abandon the fic. The thing is that, sometimes, real life happens, and it sucks. And, like our dear Brian would say, not in a positive, life-affirming way. Real life was really hard these past few months, but things are getting better now, and I realized that writing can be a very good therapy. I can't promise it won't happen again, (I really hope it won't!) but writing this fic is something that gives me joy in a way you have no idea, and I will never give up on it. Thanks for putting up with me and for keep reading.
Ana :)
Chapter 33
(last scene)
…
"Aren't you inviting your mother in, Claire?"
Brian felt his insides turn to ice when he heard Joan's voice. As if on cue a dull throb started at his temples. "Fuck," he said under his breath.
"Uh…sure, come in, mother," said Claire hesitantly, risking a glance at Brian who was paler than the wall. She didn't feel good herself, her heart beating fast and her stomach rebelling against its content.
Joan stepped inside and looked around with a disapproving look. "I don't understand how you could leave the comfortable house you had for this place. You deserve better." Then her eyes registered Brian standing near the window. "Oh. I see you're not alone. Hello, Brian."
He nodded at her stiffly; annoyed that he couldn't find anything to say. His tongue seemed glued inside his mouth.
Joan stopped in the middle of the living room. "Where is my grandson?"
"He's doing his homework. I'd rather you didn't disturb him," Claire answered. "He has a Math test tomorrow."
"Very well. I just came to congratulate you on your victory today. Poor John called me to say he lost the case. He was devastated."
Claire snorted. "I bet he was."
"You shouldn't have done that, Claire. John was always a good father, he provided for you and your children."
"Right. He provided for us, but he was an absent father, an absent husband and he abused me verbally so many times that I can't even count."
"Then why did you put up with him all that time?" asked Brian, finding his voice.
Claire looked at him sadly. "What choice did I have? I had nowhere else to go. I certainly couldn't count on my parents to have me in their home with two children and no job."
"Of course not!" Joan exclaimed. "A divorced woman…!" She put her purse on the coffee table and sat down rigidly on the edge of Claire's old sofa. "Your father abused me too, not only verbally but also physically. But I held firmly, like a good woman. Divorce is a sin."
Brian snorted, addressing his mother for the first time. "But it's not a sin to stand aside while your husband beat the shit out of me?"
"And what about me, mom?" Claire asked bitterly. "He didn't hit me so much, but he was always making sure I knew I was useless and stupid. And I don't recall you defending me not even once!"
"He was your father. It was his duty to educate you both; and he did what he had to do for you to be a man," Joan said coldly, looking at Brian.
"Yeah, look what a brilliant job the two of you did. You and your wonderful husband raised a faggot," he answered.
"Don't you dare to say it's my fault you're going to burn in hell, Brian! I did what I could to protect you, but as always, it was all for nothing." Joan said ice on her voice. "I was nothing but a good servant of the Lord."
"Enough. I'm out of here," Brian said, grabbing his coat and heading for the door, but Claire grabbed his arm. "No. I invited you, not her." She looked at Brian, decided. "Why did you come here, mom? If it was to insult me and my brother, I think you should leave now. You have already done enough damage with us as it is."
"So now it's you and your brother, Claire?" Joan said sarcastically. "You two are turning against your own mother?"
"I don't consider you my mother anymore," Brian answered.
"Good, because I don't consider you my son anymore, young man," Joan retorted. "I had a talented, intelligent and handsome son, who could have married and formed a family. Instead, he turned his back on the Lord, preferring to live in sin, having…" she paused, face contorted, looking disgusted at the mere thought of it, "sex…with men, corrupting a young man much younger than you are, and now you are dragging my only daughter into your disgusting lifestyle. You certainly are no son of mine."
Brian balled his fists so tight that it hurt, and if it wasn't for Claire's hand still holding his arm, he could have slapped Joan right then. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he drew in a sharp intake of breath, thinking immediately about his father and the way he used to hit everyone when he was mad. He started to shake slightly trying to control the blind rage his mother seemed to provoke in him. He was not Jack Kinney and he had never hit anyone weaker than him in his whole life; especially a woman; especially his mother.
"Brian helped me when I needed it most, mom!" Claire said. "When you, my own mother, turned your back on me, helped John to take my Peter from me! How can you say that?"
"No, Claire," Joan said. "How can you say he's helping you? He may be bribing you with all his money but he's making you lose your soul!" She turned her disapproving gaze at Brian now. "How can you associate with someone who did that horrible thing with John?"
Brian paled and had to place his hand on the wall for support, feeling like he had just been slapped on the face. Claire gasped and looked at Joan, eyes blazing. "Johnny lied and you know mom, he told you! He made up that story because he was angry with Brian!"
"I see you have already made up your mind, lady," Joan said bitterly. "You were never very intelligent. You should thank the good Lord that you found a husband to give you a roof over your head, because you would never have gone to college anyway. But no, you had to be ungrateful, divorce your husband, live in a place like this," she looked around frowning, "and befriend…gays and lesbians. You disappointed me so much, Claire. I never thought you would follow your brother's path to hell."
"Please, take her out of here, Claire," Brian murmured between teeth, feeling Claire's hand squeezing his arm so tight that he was sure it would leave him bruises. "Take her away from me because she will make me do something I will regret."
"Like father, like son," Joan snorted.
Claire shook her head at Joan. "How can you say that to us? We're your children, for Christ's sake! You're supposed to love us!"
Joan got up, picked her purse and headed for the door. "My only obligation is with my conscience. And it's clean because I did what I thought was best for you. But maybe I didn't do enough." She turned to Brian. "Maybe I should have put you in a special school where they would cure you, like your father wanted, and you would be a true man now." Then she turned to Claire. "Maybe I shouldn't have let Peter stay with you in the beginning, because you are a bad influence to your son and you'll never be a good mother because you have no moral values to teach him." Joan stopped at the threshold. "This must be my punishment for what I didn't do: to be ashamed of my own children."
Claire and Brian stood there, paralyzed, looking astonished at their own mother while she once more stepped and twisted her feet over the bruises she inflicted on them so many years ago.
"Please, go," was all that Claire could whisper. "Leave us alone. Please."
Joan assumed a hurt expression that made Brian feel sick. "You don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm moving to Kansas with my sister. She's a widow too and she has a good church. I'm going to spend the rest of my days with people who respect God and who live by his laws. I don't think we'll see each other again."
"Please, leave," Claire repeated, her voice already breaking.
"Goodbye, Claire. Goodbye, Brian. I'll pray for your souls."
"Please, don't," Brian said, voice cracking a little. "Because if I have to go to hell so I never see you again this life and the next, I'll go gladly."
Joan's eyes closed. "May the Lord have mercy of your soul," she said, turned, and left.
"We don't need your pity, you hear me?" Brian screamed, holding the doorknob as she went down the stairs. "You're the one who deserves pity, you drunken bitch!" His face was red all of a sudden. "Go away! We don't need you!"
"Brian!" Claire said, behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "She's gone."
He turned his head and looked at his sister's sad face. He knew that, despite everything that Joan did, Claire still liked their mother because she had always had more contact with the woman. "Okay," he said, closing the door while she went to the sofa like an automat, sitting down heavily.
Brian suddenly felt very tired, like his legs were made of steel and weighted one ton each. He walked slowly to the sofa, and sat down beside Claire.
"Mom?" They heard from behind and both turned to look at Peter's worried face. "Is something wrong? I heard Uncle Brian screaming."
"Nothing's wrong, Pete," she said. "We were just arguing with someone, but this person won't bother us again."
"Okay. I'm going to bed. 'Night mom, 'night Uncle Brian."
"Night, kid," Brian said, but even his voice sounded strange, like he had to make a tremendous effort to speak.
"Good night, honey," Claire said.
Peter smiled and started to leave and then he came back. "Uh…Mom…You're the best mother in the whole world, okay? And you're a great guy, Uncle Brian. Goodnight."
"Oh God, he heard." Claire murmured, tears already streaming down her face. She started to cry, trying to muffle her sobs with her hand. "We don't have a mother anymore, Brian," she said, unable to top the sobs.
Brian opened his hand at her direction, palm upward, and Claire grasped it. They could feel each other trembling with rage, hurt, sadness, rejection, but they kept holding each other's hand, seeking a silent comfort, because only they knew what the other was feeling. Brian couldn't see straight because of the tears that blurred his vision and that he refused to let fall.
He took a deep breath and blinked several times. "We never had a mother, Claire. That's what is really sad about the whole story," he whispered. And they just stayed there; Claire's quiet sobs the only sound in the small living room.
Chapter 34
"Sit down," said Justin.
Brian looked at him and blinked, as if he was not registering what the young man was saying.
"Come on, big guy," Justin insisted. "Sit down."
Brian sat down on the bed and let Justin take his jacket off, then his tie and his shirt. His mind traveled to the time when Justin helped him to take his clothes off and get in bed when he had cancer. Funny, he thought. He had felt so tired that day, but it was understandable, he was sick. Now he wasn't; well, not anymore, but he was feeling as tired as he had felt that day. Part of him registered that Justin was taking his shoes off, then his socks and his pants. He even helped the blond with the belt. But he felt strangely detached from everything, as if part of his mind had just shut down, and he could see what was happening now as if he was watching a movie, as if he wasn't in his loft, on his bed, in his underwear, with Justin's hand gently resting on his shoulder.
"Lie down," Justin's voice filtered through the haze in his head. Brian obliged, because he felt so fucking tired. The blond pulled the duvet and Brian lay down on his side. Justin took his own clothes off, and laid down by Brian's side, facing him, and pulled the duvet over them. Brian looked at Justin silently and blinked again. He wanted to say something, to thank his partner for taking him home, but he couldn't. It seemed like such a simple thing to do, but it really wasn't. Speaking required too much effort and although his thoughts were racing, it was so hard to put them in order and actually speak, that he soon gave up. He just wanted to shut everything down and sleep.
Justin's hand caressed his face and took some strands of hair off his forehead. "Sleep, Brian. I'll take care of you," he whispered, blue eyes serious.
Brian wanted to say no. He was the one that should be taking care of Justin. He was older, and he hated to be taken care of. But he just nodded and closed his eyes, grateful that the blond hadn't made him talk, because he was sure he wouldn't be able to. He wanted to ask the blond to leave him alone for a while, but at the same time he felt so fucking relieved that Justin was still here with him, because being taken care of by Justin felt so good and so right that he didn't mind at the moment. Not much. He kept his eyes closed, feeling Justin's soft caress on his face, and let the touch of the young man's hand take him to a place where no one and nothing could get to him, only Justin's touch. It felt good; it felt safe. It wasn't long before Brian's racing thoughts left his mind and sleep took him.
Justin's hand didn't leave Brian's face. It was almost as if he couldn't stop touching Brian, as if he needed to make sure that Brian was alright. When Claire called Justin earlier that night, asking him to go to her house and get Brian, and he listened to her cracking voice, he knew that some shit had happened. His mind played the worst scenarios, and when he got there and Claire opened the door with her red-rimmed eyes and red nose, Justin's heart almost stopped.
"Mom was here," was all she said, pointing with her head to the sofa, where the back of Brian's head could be seen. "I don't think he should drive now, nor be alone."
Justin approached Brian, whose eyes were closed, head resting on the sofa. "Is he sleeping?" he whispered to Claire, but Brian opened his eyes and looked at him.
"Hey," Brian greeted him. Then he turned his face to Claire and said, "You shouldn't have called him. I'm fine and perfectly capable of going home on my own."
"Sure you are," Justin said, looking at the way Brian's hand trembled when he ran it through his hair. "Maybe Claire overreacted a bit by calling me, but now that I'm here and I am going to take you home, okay?"
"I'm not a child and I don't need you to take me home," Brian retorted. He sounded annoyed, angry even, but his eyes showed sadness, and Justin's heart clenched. "Don't think you fool me. You both are worried that I'm going to freak out because saint Joan said that being gay is a fucking disease and I'll march right into hell as soon as I die, but I'm not freaking out. I'm fine. Nothing she said was new to me."
Justin looked at Claire worriedly, and she just shook her head sadly. The blond cursed Joan Kinney inwardly. What kind of mother could leave her son and daughter like that, so devastated, so…raw? Because that was the way they were, each one reacting in their own way. Brian just put his walls up, insisting he was fine, while his vacant expression and trembling hands showed exactly the opposite. Claire looked as if part of her had just been ripped off. And Justin could only imagine what Joan had said to her to leave her like that.
"Come on, let's go home," Justin insisted, taking Brian's keys from the coffee table. "It's getting late, let's go."
Brian got up reluctantly, sighing heavily. "Will you be alright?" he asked his sister with a monotone voice.
"Yeah, I'm okay," she said. "I think I'll sleep with Peter."
"Do that," he said. "You shouldn't be alone either."
"Okay," she answered and Justin saw the look that passed between them, the silent understanding and the worry for each other. Brian could deny all he wanted but he really cared for his sister, and it was plainly clear that Claire cared for him too. The thought almost made Justin smile. It was a relief to know that at least one person in Brian's family really cared for him. Brian had him and his family of friends, but knowing your real family despises you hurt a lot, left an empty place inside you that would never be completely filled. Justin knew that from experience because Craig's place was still vacant in his own heart and it would never be replaced.
They left Claire's building in silence, Justin holding Brian's hand, and got in the car. Brian sat on the passenger's side without complaining and closed his eyes again, saying just "God, I'm tired." Justin sat on the driver's side and took them home.
Now, seeing Brian sleeping, Justin thought about his and Claire's expressions. Being despised by your own mother had to hurt. Craig had hurt Justin a lot, but he had never said things as "you shouldn't have been born" and that kind of thing was so hateful that he couldn't imagine hearing something like this. In his opinion, Brian and Claire were among the strongest people he knew because if they had to put up with this kind of thing when they were growing up and didn't turn out to be complete assholes – well, maybe a little – and still were capable of showing love for their own children…that was almost a miracle.
"I'll always be here for you," he vowed, knowing that Brian couldn't hear him. "I'll always be ready to catch you," he whispered. Justin closed his eyes and let himself drift toward sleep, holding Brian's hand.
"How can you say he's helping you, Claire? Brian may be bribing you with all his money but he's making you lose your soul! How can you associate with someone who did that horrible thing with John?"
"Maybe I should have put you in a special school where they would cure you, like your father wanted, and you would be a true man now."
"This must be my punishment: to be ashamed of my own children."
"Like father, like son."
"Like father, like son."
Brian sat up on the bed drenched in sweat, looking around. In a second of panic, he expected to see his mother laughing at him, her wrinkled face mocking him. He took a deep breath, calming himself, and looked at Justin, sleeping peacefully beside him. Looking at the clock, he saw it was still two AM. Sighing, he got up carefully. Justin had looked tired the night before, and Brian didn't want to disturb him.
He sat on the sofa then got up again, restless. Approaching the window, he stared at the empty streets. "Like father, like son," his mother's voice echoed in his head. "I'm not like him, dammit," he murmured, but the blind rage he had felt facing his mother reminded him so much of his father that it wasn't hard to believe that he really was like Jack Kinney.
Brian shivered, thinking of how he had almost raised his hand to slap her. Maybe he was like Jack, who knew? He looked around, trying to find something that would help him sleep again. If Justin woke up and didn't find him in bed he would start to ask what was wrong in that all caring way of his, and Brian just couldn't bear that now. He needed something that would help him stop thinking, something that would take Joan's voice out of his head.
Booze was out of question. With all the medication he had taken just a few weeks ago, his liver would complain, and it wouldn't be pretty. Pot…well, he doubted smoking would do his lungs any good now, if ever. Scratching his neck, he padded through the loft to the bathroom and opened the drawer. Grimacing, he grabbed the little flask labeled "Valium", took one pill – okay, maybe two would make him sleep faster – swallowed them dry and went straight to bed. He spent half an hour looking at the ceiling before sleep claimed him.
Brian woke up with the mother of all headaches. Wincing, he tried to sit up but a sharp pain between his eyes stopped him from doing it. He was still under the duvet, and he felt like he hadn't slept for a single minute, although he knew he had slept all night. Sighing, he ran his hand over his face, looked at the ceiling, and tried to to focus on anything but the pounding inside his head.
He heard footsteps and Justin's lithe frame appeared, holding a cup of what it seemed to be steaming coffee. "Hey," said the blond with a smile.
"What time is it?" Brian asked. He made an effort to sit up and this time he succeeded, frowning at the sharp pain again and grabbing the coffee that Justin gave him.
"Careful, it's hot," Justin warned. "It's twelve-thirty."
"PM? Shit! I was supposed to pick Gus at ten!" Brian placed the cup on the nightstand and got up, almost losing his balance when his head throbbed. "Fuck. I need a Percocet."
"Calm down," Justin replied, placing both hands on Brian's shoulders and forcing him to sit down again. "Mel called earlier and said that Gus has the flu. It's better that he doesn't leave his house today, it's raining a little."
"Oh."
"And you're not having a strong painkiller with an empty stomach," Justin finished. "Stay here. I made lunch."
"I don't think I can't eat anything right now."
"Yes you can." Justin looked at him pointedly. "It's just a grilled cheese sandwich."
"Would you stop treating me like a child?" Brian asked irritated.
"Sure, as soon as you stop acting like one."
… … … …
They ate in silence, Brian only nibbling his sandwich and drinking large gulps of water. Once or twice he winced, cursing softly. Justin knew he was with a terrible headache, but opted for silence. He knew Brian well enough to understand that the older man wanted to stay quiet and the less Justin tried to probe about the past night's events, the better.
Brian finally gave up pretending he was eating. Sighing, he got up, mumbling something about not being hungry and fled to the bathroom. Justin thought about going after him but the distinct noise of the door closing – something that rarely happened – told him that he'd better stay where he was. Brian really, really wanted to be alone.
The blond grimaced. It was hard to be there for someone like his partner. Brian couldn't be labeled as a "private" person when it came to sex. He surely didn't mind having sex in public; Justin had lost count on how many times they had done it in the backroom or at the baths. But when it came to emotions, Brian was as closed on himself as humanly possible; especially when it came to his parents. He had never, in all the years they were together, talked about them with the blond. Everything Justin knew about his childhood were things Michael or Debbie had said. Justin wasn't nosy, he never asked.
He didn't see himself as a possessive person. He didn't want to know everything about Brian to control him; as if it would ever be possible to control Brian Kinney. He just wanted to understand the man he loved better. He knew Brian avoided the subject of his childhood as if it were the plague. But sometimes it wasn't fair to be in the dark about Brian's life when Brian knew everything about Justin. He had been present in almost every important moment of Justin's life. Of course Justin couldn't do the same, being twelve years younger. But…it was almost thirty years of Brian's life that Justin knew nothing about.
Justin was doing the dishes when Brian came from the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a black shirt. He opened the fridge, grabbed another bottle of mineral water and drank it fast. "I'm going to see Gus," he announced, stopping behind Justin but not touching the blond.
"Okay," the blond answered without turning around. He wanted to give Brian the space he obviously needed, so he opted for acting nonchalant.
"Did you see my car keys?" Brian asked sounding irritated. "They're not on the counter."
"Huh…I'm not sure." Justin tried to remember where he had left the keys. He had practically dragged an apathetic Brian to the loft the night before, worried at whatever had happened at Claire's house without really knowing, because Brian wouldn't tell him. How the hell was he supposed to worry about the damn car keys?
"Well, could you help me and find them?"
Justin sighed, counting silently to ten, and remained as calm as he could. "Sure." He turned off the water, dried his hands and went to the sitting area. He had a vague memory of tossing the keys aiming for the coffee table, but he couldn't find them there. He turned to the sofa, lifting some cushions, conscious of Brian's impatient eyes on him. He finally found the keys on the floor, almost under the sofa; they must have slipped there. He threw them at Brian. "Here."
"Fuck, Justin," Brian grabbed the keys with an annoyed sigh, "could you be a little less messy?"
"Fuck, Brian, could you be a little less of an asshole?" Justin snapped. Shit, he was trying not to lose his patience but it was hard when Brian acted like a spoiled child.
Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck." He walked to the door, but stopped and turned to face the blond before opening it. "Look…it's not you, okay?" He sighed. "Just give me a little time."
Justin nodded his understanding. "I'm going to Michael's later; he had a few ideas for the next issue of Rage and we're going to work on it a bit."
"Do you need a ride?"
"No thanks. I still have some things to do at the studio."
"Okay," Brian said. "Later."
"Later."
Getting into the car, Brian stopped for a moment, the keys in his hand. "Fuck," he said again. He didn't want to be an asshole with Justin, of all people. But sometimes he couldn't help it; being an asshole seemed to be a second nature to him. Shaking his head in disapproval at himself, he murmured, "Great, Kinney, you're fucking it up again." He turned on the car, thinking of a way to make it up to the blond somehow, once he got back from Lindsay's house.
… … …
"Hey Mel. How's Gus?"
"He was a little warm a while ago, but we gave him some Tylenol and now he's sleeping," Mel said, stepping aside to let Brian inside the house. "At least he went to his bed after some protest."
Brian grimaced. He hated to see Gus sick. "Can I see him?"
"Of course," she said. "He's in his bedroom. Why don't you go there and sit with him a little? I'm making Jenny's soup."
Upstairs, he opened the door to Gus's bedroom, careful not to wake up the boy. But Gus's eyes were opened. The boy was on his bed, under the duvet, only head and arms visible, reading a book.
"Dad!"
"Hey, Sonny Boy," Brian closed the door behind him and sat at his son's bed, beside him. "How's it going? Are you feeling better?"
Gus shrugged. "I'm fine. Mom told me to sleep but I'm not tired," he complained. "She didn't let me go out because of the rain, but I said that I'm not a baby anymore, I can take anything, Dad! And it's not even raining that much!" He sneezed. "She didn't hear me, though."
"You rest, Sonny Boy. There'll be plenty of time for us to go to the park."
Gus put the book on Brian's lap. "Read for me, Dad?"
"Sure." Brian opened the book. "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," he read the cover. "Isn't this book too dark for a boy your age, Gus?"
"Dad, I told you," Gus rolled his eyes, so much like his father, that Brian had to control himself not to laugh. "I'm not a baby."
"You really like this sh…er…book, don't you?"
"Yeah. Now read."
Sighing, Brian started to read. "Harry sat at the table with Tom Riddle's diary in his hands. The pages were old but there was nothing written on them…"
After ten minutes the boy was asleep, so Brian closed the book and got up carefully from the bed. He kissed Gus's forehead lightly, carefully not to wake him up. "Sweet dreams, Sonny Boy. I'll come back tomorrow," he whispered.
He closed the door silently behind him and turned around, coming face to face with Lindsay.
"Hey, Lindz."
"I want to talk to you," she said, and her stony face and cold eyes told Brian that the conversation wasn't about anything pleasant.
"Lead the way."
She went down the stairs, Brian right behind her. When they reached the living room, she turned to him, hands on her waist and looked at him very serious. "What do you think you're doing, Brian?"
"What do you mean?"
She grimaced and sat on the couch. "Mel told me that you want Gus to have your name. Can I ask you why?"
"I'm his father," he said drily. "I don't see any problem in that."
"But I do."
"What?" He frowned. "What do you mean? What about all the times you said you wanted me to be more present in his life?"
"I did, didn't I?" She said calmly. "And all the times I said that you just ignored me. Then all of a sudden you want him to have your name? Funny that, isn't it?"
"What the hell, Lindsay, you took him to another country! You know I didn't want you to go. When you did it I was already spending more time with him. When he was born I was…I was a different person."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Brian. You're too…" she hesitated. "Why don't you sit here beside me?"
"I'm fine here. Cut the crap, Lindz, will you? I'm too what?"
"Very well," she sighed, resigned. "You're…unstable. Hard to trust."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache returning with a vengeance. "Unstable? What do you mean? Shit, Lindz, hard to trust? Me?"
"You change too much, Brian. When Gus was born you barely wanted to see him. Now you want him to have your name. What will be next? You'll want your parental rights back? You'll want to take him away from us?"
"He's happy with you and Mel. I'd never do that."
"Oh, Brian…" Lindsay shook her head sadly. "Don't you see? How can I be sure? How can I know for sure that you won't change your mind? You seem to change your mind a lot about people. Look at Justin, for example."
"What the hell? Justin has nothing to do with this," he said, pacing.
"He has a lot."
Brian sighed, massaging his temples. He was so sure he wasn't going to like what Lindsay was about to say that he was seriously tempted to just turn around and leave. But he wasn't going to give up Gus now. He wasn't going to step back. "Look, Lindz, I just want Gus to have my name. If Mel is okay with that, I don't see why you are not. And please, leave Justin out of this. I promise Gus will stay here with you and Mel, nothing will change, ever."
"Everything will change, Brian. Gus adores you, you're his hero. Do you realize that he will be very happy about having your name and then will be devastated if you let him down? You'll break his heart!"
"I'm not going to let him down, dammit!" he said exasperated.
"Yes, you will, because you're…look, I'm sorry, but you're selfish, Brian. You're all you care about. You manipulate people so they do what you want, and sometimes you don't even realize that. You did it with Justin; hell, you're still doing it with him. But you're not going to do it with my son." She sighed again. "I'm sorry. That's my final word."
"How the fuck did I manipulate Justin, for Christ's sake?"
"Maybe we should leave this conversation for some other time, Brian. We're not here to discuss your relationship with your partner. This is about my son."
"Yes, this is about our son, Lindsay. But you started this talk about me manipulating Justin, and I would like to hear what you have to say about that, if you don't mind."
"In fact, I do mind, Brian, because I'm sure you're not going to like it."
"It never stopped people before. Come on; you started this. Now shoot."
Lindsay averted his eyes for a few seconds. "Well," she started hesitantly, "you treated him like shit when you met him and he didn't care because he was so in love with you and totally blind about your flaws…he was such a cute and sweet boy, and I think for you it was convenient to have him around so you let him stay." She got up and started to pace, never looking Brian in the eyes. "Then Justin got bashed and you let him stay out of pity, that's what everybody said then."
"Including you?" Brian asked, sounding hurt.
"Please, let me finish," she said. "Then Ethan happened and you had to get Justin back…was it to prove that you were better than everyone, Brian? Because, if you hadn't pushed him away, there would never had been an Ethan. Then you lost everything and he still stayed, proving that he never cared about your money. You had cancer, and he went through all your shit with you without any complaint.
"Shit, Lindz," he said, running his hand through his hair.
Lindsay turned to him and raised her hand, asking him silently to let her keep talking. "And when he finally got a chance of being great, when someone suddenly saw his talent, you proposed. I wonder if you suddenly realized you loved him or what… Luckily he decided to go to New York and won the contest, but you couldn't let him stay in Europe, could you? No, you disappeared and he freaked out and left everything behind. Don't you see how selfish this is, Brian?" She shook her head sadly again. "I wish I could make you see how much you're selfish actions hurt him. He tries to hide it, he denies it, but I'm sure he regrets being here."
Brian was as white as the wall, all color gone from his face. "Do you think I almost died on purpose? To make Justin stay? Do you think I'm such a monster that I made him stay against his will, out of pity or obligation? I don't want him to sacrifice anything for me."
"It's easy to say that, Brian, when you know that's exactly what he'll do. We know him so well, he's the sweetest person I know…always ready to sacrifice anything for you, the man he loves. It's selfish to hold him back. He can be the best out there. Here, he'll be just another gallery owner who also paints, in an obscure city."
"He's free to go if he wants."
"But you know he won't. That's why I can't trust you with Gus. I'm really sorry. I know you don't see the analogy now, but you let Justin down the same way I think you'll let Gus in the future. Because you're selfish, honey. Maybe it's not your choice to be like that, but you are, and you make people around you suffer because of that. If tomorrow you decide to travel around the world or something like that, and you leave Gus behind, he'll be devastated. I'm his mother; I can't let that happen to him."
"Is that really what you think about me, Lindsay?" he asked, voice cracking a little.
"I'm sorry. Maybe I exaggerated a little. But it's my duty to protect Gus. He's my son; he's my world."
He nodded slowly, mouth slightly opened. "Okay. Tell him I'll come back tomorrow to see him," he said in a monotone. "But don't fool yourself, Lindsay. I never give up. We'll talk about this again." With that he left, almost colliding with Melanie on his way out.
Melanie looked at Lindsay, not quite believing what she had just heard. "Who the hell are you?"
"What do you mean? Asked the blonde, clearly annoyed.
"What the hell? The things you said to Brian… I thought he was your hero?"
"Shit, leave me alone, Mel!"Lindsay said, sniffing a little and storming out of the room.
"Yeah. Maybe that's just what I need to do," Melanie said to herself, shaking her head in disbelief and thinking about the twists and turns of life, and how for maybe for the first time, she was going to side with Brian Kinney instead her wife.
It was night when Justin came back from Michael's house. He opened the heavy metal door to find the loft immersed in darkness. Frowning, he turned on the light by the door.
"Shit, turn it off…!" barked Brian from somewhere. "My head is…it hurts."
"Yes, your highness," Justin snorted, "But how am I supposed to walk around here without bumping my knee on the furniture?"
"Dunno. Just…just leave'em off." Brian mumbled, voice sounding strained.
"Okay then. " Justin murmured a little worried, turning off the light and walking blindly in the dark, arms outstretched, until he reached the coffee table and the small lamp over it. Turning it on, he saw Brian stretched on the floor, wearing only jeans, bare torso and feet. "Shit, Brian, what are you doing there? Wanna get pneumonia? The floor is cold!"
"I'm on the carpet," Brian slurred.
"Yeah, your butt is on the carpet. Your upper half is on the floor. Which is so not healthy."
"It's h-hot."
"Hot? It's fucking freezing outside!"
"I'm sweating."
"Shit." Justin approached Brian and kneeled beside him to see he was covered in sweat. "Fuck, Brian, what's happening? You don't look good."
"No," Brian slurred. "My head." He put his hands on his temples and pressed hard, wincing. "Oh God."
"Are you running a fever?" The blond asked, touching Brian's forehead.
"No." Brian closed his eyes tightly. "Just…just hot."
"Did you take something? For the pain?"
"Maybe…maybe too much," Brian murmured. "Everything's…funny. Fuzzy."
"Fuzzy?"
Brian closed his eyes and didn't answer.
"Brian?"Justin shook him, heart beating fast.
"What? Don't…shake me...hurts."
"What did you take?"
"Uh…Percocet. I…I think."
"How many?"
"Dunno…F-five…d-didn't work though."
"FIVE? Shit, Brian. Percocet is Oxycodone. It has collateral affects like any drugs, and if you take too much it can kill you. You should know that by now."
"Not gonna…kill me. Bad…bad people don't die. Only…good ones. And…they go to…to heaven."
"You're not bad."
"I'm j-just like…like Jack."
"No, you're not." Justin rolled his eyes.
"Oh, and…s- selfish."
"Here we go again. Come on, get up. Let's go to bed."
"C-can't."
"Come on, help me here, you're too heavy for me."
"Leave me the…the fuck alone, okay?"
"I would like to, but I'm not leaving you on the floor."
"Why, Justin?"
"Because you'll catch a cold or something worse."
"Not…what I meant."
"Then why what?"
"Why you're…here. You should…you deserve…"
"I deserve you to help me and get up, let's go to bed. I'm tired, you obviously have more painkillers in your brain than you should, and I don't want to go through this talk again, okay?
"Leave me h-here. D-dammit."
"I would love to do just that, believe me, because I'm losing my patience. But if you get sick I'll feel guilty. And I shouldn't, because apparently, I'm a saint."
"Let me die…in peace, will you?"
"Fuck you. I hate when you talk like that. Brian."
"Then…leave me…the fuck…alone."
"You know what? I should, asshole. But I love you too much for that." Justin murmured to himself. Sighing sadly, he walked to the bedroom, grabbed two pillows and two blankets and went back to Brian's side. Kneeling again, he put one pillow under Brian's head, noticing that the brunet was already sleeping, forehead wrinkled. He covered Brian with the blanked. Then he took off his own clothes, lied down on the sofa beside Brian and got ready for a long night.
When Justin woke up, Brian wasn't on the floor anymore. The blond rubbed his tired eyes with his hands and massaged his temples. He felt as if he hadn't slept a single bit. The sofa was comfortable, but Justin's body was too accustomed with a soft bed, and the tension from the previous night just didn't let him rest properly.
He got up and looked at the kitchen area. He could smell the coffee, but Brian was nowhere to be seen. He walked to the coffee maker and poured himself some of the dark hot liquid, adding a little milk and sugar. When he turned around, there was Brian, near the stairs, waist wrapped on a white towel, hair wet, holding his own cup of steaming coffee. He was looking at Justin with an odd expression, almost as if he was yet to decide if he was sad, sorry, angry or everything at the same time.
"Hey," Justin said.
"Hey," Brian answered softly, but his expression didn't change.
"You scared me last night."
"Yeah. That was…I don't know what the hell that was."
"How's your head?"
Brian shrugged. "Alright."
Justin approached the brunet, noticing that Brian's eyes were clouded and still red. "What happened?"
Brian sighed and averted his eyes. "Nothing you should worry about."
"What?" Justin almost yelled, losing all his patience now. "Are you fucking insane? I come home to find you almost overdosed on Oxycodone and you tell me it was nothing?"
"Shit, Justin!" Brian yelled too. "It's not as if I was trying to kill myself! My head was exploding; I just wanted it to stop!"
"And what was all that hell about being selfish just like Jack and why do I stay and shit?"
Brian visibly flinched. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Fuck me. I'm not stupid, Brian. I may be blond, but I do have a brain, just so you know."
"Never said you were stupid."
"So stop treating me like a retard! Stop pushing me away! Stop hiding everything from me!"
"Hiding? What the hell did I hide?"
"How about the problem with your mother and your sister and the fucking justice, Brian? Even Melanie knew about it but me, your fucking partner, I only found out because your sister thought you were too distressed to drive!"
"Mel only knew because she was the lawyer that helped Claire."
"You don't need to tell me anything now," Justin snorted. "Last night, after you passed out, on the floor, Claire called asking how you were and she told me everything about it. Including every word your mother said, the investigator you hired, the way your mother stood against you two to take Peter from her…everything."
"Shit," Brian murmured, going to the bedroom. Justin followed him closely and watched while Brian put on his jeans and a black wife beater.
Fuming, he started to dress as well, because fuck it if he was going to have any argument with Brian only in his underwear. When he was in his jeans and a white t-shirt, he took a deep breath. "Brian, you can't keep doing this. Why do you have to hide every fucking problem you have from me?"
"I can do whatever I want. You're not my owner, I don't have the obligation to tell you every single thing that happens," Brian said, sounding a little defensive.
"Not obligation, no," Justin answered. "But you should. Because I tell you everything."
"Yeah, sure," Brian said sarcastically. "Like you told me that Ian was stalking you, right?"
"I didn't want to upset you. I knew you would be pissed."
"Oh…so you wanted to spare me. Thank you very fucking much."
"Asshole," Justin threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Why is it so hard to talk to you? All I'm asking is why you didn't tell me you were having a problem. You were there in every single big family crisis I ever had. And when you have one, you shut me down!"
"Listen, I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"
"Don't I know it? You never want to talk." Justin said angrily. "But I'm your partner, Brian. I live with you. Either we live together or we don't. We can't do things halfway. And the way you act sometimes, it seems you don't think I'm contributing to this relationship. I want to be there for you."
"I'm not a damsel in distress. I don't need anyone to 'be there' for me. Fuck, most of my life I spent dealing with all my shit alone."
"Yeah. Because you're so mature," Justin was so angry that he couldn't stop the sarcasm in his voice. "It was really very mature of you to disappear so you could die alone, instead of coming to me and asking for help, instead of curing a perfect treatable disease!"
"Yeah, right, because it would be a blast to be in between you and your career, again, when you were just ready to go to Europe. Thanks, but no, thanks. It seems that's all I do: stay in between you and your future."
"What do you mean, Brian?"
Brian ran his hand through his chestnut hair. "I think you know what I mean, Justin; and I don't want to talk about this now."
"Not now, not ever. That is the problem. If we don't do it now we never will. And I need to talk, Brian, because you're pushing me away again and I can't stand it anymore. I thought I could go on without telling you this, but I can't. You won't push me away again, because I won't let you."
"I don't need your permission to do anything, Sunshine," Brian said, snorting again.
"So you're telling me that you're deliberately pushing me away. Is that it?" Justin's voice trembled. If the answer was 'yes' he had no idea what he was going to do.
Brian looked at him, really looked at him through troubled eyes. "No," he said firmly. "But don't act as if I owe you anything, okay? I can do whatever the fuck I want, and it's not because we're together that I need to tell you all my "deepest secrets…"he made a gesture with his hands. "This is not a fucking love song. This is real life."
"This isn't about owing anything to each other, Brian. We're in a relationship, and I like to see us as equals. Sorry if I'm wrong."
Brian sighed. He wanted to go away and stay at the same time. He knew he and Justin needed to talk, but he wasn't sure if this was the right moment. Not right after Joan, after Lindsay. He wanted to tell the blond about them, but every time he opened his mouth, nothing came out. "We're equals," was all he said.
"So will you please explain to me what shit is that you're talking about? About you being between me and my career?"
Brian massaged his temples. "Look, I know you're sacrificing your career to stay here in glorious Pittsburgh with me. But it's okay, really. I'm alright and I definitely don't need a babysitter."
Justin almost said that last night wasn't a good example of being okay, but he bit his tongue. "But I'm not sacrificing anything. I want to stay here."
"Then you're more stupid than I think," Brian said sadly, turning his back on Justin.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Justin grabbed Brian's arm and turned him around. "I thought we had already talked about this, but apparently you're not convinced enough."
Brian pulled his arm free. "Let's face it, Justin; you have a whole life ahead of you. And I'm not sure if you should waste it with me."
Justin felt as if he had just been splashed with icy water. "What do you mean not with you?"
"You made the right choice when you left to NY almost three years ago. You wanted to grow professionally and as a human being. But now it just feels that you're giving up too much. And frankly, for what?"
"How can you ask me that? For us, asshole! I thought that us being together were reason enough!" Justin yelled.
"You can't give up your whole life based on a fucked up notion of romantic love."
"I bought a fucking gallery in Pittsburgh, Brian! I'm here to stay, in case you didn't notice."
"You're the one who's always saying I need to tell you what I think. I'm just saying that, maybe, ten years from now, you'll look back and realize you threw all your chances away for love, and maybe it won't be enough. You…we have different goals in our lives, Justin. I'm already established. You're starting. Do you think someone will see you if you stay here? Even being a gallery owner, this is no New York. You deserve better than this." You deserve better than me went unsaid, but it was so present that Justin almost saw it leaving Brian's lips.
"Shit! We had this conversation what, a thousand times? I thought we had agreed together that I would go and when I came back we would – "
"Come on; don't tell me a clever young man like yourself still believes in fairytales!"
"What the hell is going on, Brian? I thought everything was alright! That we had decided together that my moving to New York was a good thing for both of us!"
"We did. Because I would never make you give up your life and your future because of a stupid thing like a marriage."
"Stupid? Then why you asked me to marry you? Just to make the idiot naive blond boy with a gimp hand happy?" Justin asked, yelling again, all thoughts of a civilized conversation forgotten.
"Shit, don't say that," Brian felt his chest tighten so much it physically hurt. "It was never like that."
"Then tell me how it was, because the whole time we've been together I've been pulling and you've been pushing away, and suddenly you were there, asking me to marry you! Was it pity because I almost died at the bombing? Was it fear, Brian? Fuck, tell me!"
"No, your little shit! I was asking you to save the pathetic fool from himself and from his doomed self-destructive life!" Brian yelled too, eyes blazing with fire.
Justin's eyes and mouth were open wide, he was stunned. "But…you showed me the magazine with the article! I wasn't going to say anything! You started with the "cuddle" thing, and – and refused the guy at the bachelor's party, and you kept talking about New York and – "
"Stop saying I made you go. I may have suggested, but you went because you wanted to. Have some balls and admit you wanted to go for yourself. Don't blame me for fucking this up, because you know damn too well that it was you who did it!" There. He had said it. Maybe it wasn't even important anymore, after all this time…But these thoughts, these feelings had been stored deep down inside him for three years, repressed under reasons and rational thoughts and logic…and even so, they never stopped hurting. He hadn't planned to let them out, but now they were there, between them, hanging in the air.
"You are really an asshole, did you know that? All the time I was in NY, all I could think about was you! The same in Europe," Justin said, eyes shining.
"But you left anyway." Brian didn't want to say that, because it sounded like an accusation, but now he seemed unable to stop himself. He had never talked about that with Justin, and now all the things left unsaid were returning to slap him in the face.
"If you didn't want me to go, why did you let me? Why didn't you say anything?"
"What was I supposed to say? 'If you love me don't go?' or 'Choose between me and your art?" Brian yelled.
"Is that how you felt?"
"Why? Does it sound too lesbianic to you? That's not the man you fell in love with? That's not the legendary Brian Kinney?"
"You were changing! I never wanted you to change! You were domesticated, so un-like you that it was hard to tell where the real Brian was!"
"Has it ever occurred to you," Brian asked bitterly, "That maybe I wanted to change? That maybe, just maybe, I was starting to be ready? That okay, maybe the big house was too much, maybe I didn't want the house with the white fence but we could find something we could both enjoy? Or once the beast was tamed you lost your interest?" he asked sarcastically.
"I…" Justin didn't know what to say. He had never thought that Brian felt that way.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. You just never thought I could change. No one ever does. It's just so predictable to be asshole Brian Kinney that the possibility of change never occurred to anyone. Maybe I was exaggerating, yes. No one changes in one day. But everyone always expects me to act like the selfish asshole; then when I don't, they ask me what's wrong."
"Why didn't you just talk to me? We could have saved each other lots of heartache, you know?"Justin said angrily.
"Yeah, blame me, the asshole. But ten years from now you would blame me anyway."
"You think I blame you, but you blame me too, Brian, you resent me. We both fucked this up."
Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture so like him that it almost made Justin smile. "What now?" he asked.
"I don't know," Justin opened and closed his arms helplessly. "I really don't know. I…I need to get out of here."
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I need some time to think, Brian."
"So like you!" Brian took a deep breath, and by the way his voice shook, Justin could see how hard it was being for him. "Look, Justin, I'm not going to ask you to stay. But if you walk through that door again, I…I just can't stand it anymore. You just keep leaving. Maybe it's the way it's supposed to be, I don't know, but I can't…I can't do this anymore."
"You just keep pushing me away."
Brian felt torn, confused. He was angry and hurt at the same time, but part of him knew, from another point of view, that Justin was right. He was pushing him away; he just didn't know how to stop it. "It's…complicated, Justin," he tried to explain, failing miserably. "It's hard if you stay, when you have every reason not to. I don't wanna hold you back," Brian said, voice cracking. "But it's even worse if you go."
"Hey." Justin tried to himself, taking a deep breath. 'This is not the end' he told himself. He took Brian's hand and squeezed it, the only contact between them he could stand now. "I'm not giving up, you hear me? I'm going downstairs, to the studio. I need some time alone. I need to think and I can't do it with you so close to me, Brian. Please, take some time to think too, about where you want us to go from here. Because I want us to stay together, but I won't be pushed away anymore."
Brian nodded, unable to say anything. Justin let go of his hand, after squeezing it one last time, grabbed his jacked and left the bedroom, walking towards the door. He stopped before opening it and turned to Brian with a sad smile.
"I can't stand it anymore too, Brian. I love you…but you gotta believe it. I don't want to keep proving over and over how much I love you. How much proof do you need? How many times will you push me away, how many cliffs will I have to jump to make you finally believe that you're all want? Why is it so hard for you to believe that no one ever can compare with you?" Justin paused and looked at Brian in the eyes. "I do know I have a parcel in all this mess too; a big one. But until we figure everything out I think we should…slow down a bit. But…I'm not. Giving. Up. Now start acting like an adult and deal with it."
As the door shut, Brian gave a frustrated growl, banging his hand with all his strength on the wall. "Ouch," he said, cradling said hand, feeling caged, conflicted and bare. He wanted to scream for the world to stop turning, so he could make time go back and undo all the mistakes he had done in his life. Letting Justin go had been perhaps the biggest of all, and yet, he had just done it again. He had just pushed Justin away once more, but he didn't have the slightest idea why and he didn't know what the hell he was going to do now.