Title: Be My Downfall
Feedback: This is my very first fic, so feedback means alot. Love it, hate it, let me know.
Pairing: B/M, of course, with initial B/J, Be/M overtones
Rating: R
Genre: Angst, Romance, WIP
Summary: Michael has some news for Brian. Brian can't cope, and pushes Michael - and himself - too far.
Special Thanks: To my friends at livejournal and the Yahoo! list, which I like to refer to as my B/M family. :)
Spoilers: Through Season 4
Warnings: AU (only the plot - NOT the characters), WIP. And, er, its rather angsty. However, I promise when I say it has a very happy ending.
Disclaimer: No profit is generated from this. QAF and Brian/Michael are not mine. sniffsniff
Author's Note : This chapter is very angsty, mildly depressing. Don't say you weren't warned. ;)
CHAPTER FIVE
"Thanks Teddy, you didn't have to do this you know," Michael said gratefully from the passenger's seat of Ted's silver convertible. "I know how busy you are."
"Eh, its nothing. The least I can do to welcome home the two newly weds."
Michael smiled, reflecting on the welcome surrealism of being tagged with the term 'newly wed' as he absently chewed on the tip of his Pepsi Freeze straw. Leaning towards the open window, he breathed in the warm, polluted October air. Definitely back in the Pitts. The realization sparked an involuntary mixture of remorse and contentment.
Ted peered in the rear view mirror towards the cramped back seat, barely able to locate Ben's tolerant face amidst the pile of luggage he was buried in.
"So how was Boston?"
"It was great. As cultured and historical as I'd imagined it to be."
Ted turned off at the exit ramp that would take them home, casting Michael a sidelong grin at Ben's automated response.
"Better than great," Michael supplied. "As Em would say, it was fucking fabulous. Who would've thought Boston had so many great comic book stores? And the beach...God, when I'm old and grey, I definitely want to live on the beach."
"Don't we all. No more Pittsburgh winters, think how great that would be."
"I don't know, I think I'd kinda miss the snow after awhile. Boston was awesome, but still, there really is no place like home. Speaking of which, how is everyone? Amazing how out of the loop three weeks with your cell phone turned off will make you feel."
Ted shifted in his seat, clearing his throat in a habitual gesture of nervousness that was entirely Theodore.
"Fine, everyone's fine."
"That's it? Just 'fine'? C'mon, its theoretically impossible that after I leave things get boring all of the sudden," Michael teased.
"Well...things are, you know....fine."
Michael exaggerated a frown at Ted's jittery tone, recognizing it as his customary, basket case approach to breaking some bad news.
"What did Brian do now?" Michael's eyes shone with insight. He sighed deeply, passing a hand through his hair from exasperated habit, the movement causing sunlight to glint off the polished gold of his wedding band.
"Uh..." Ted hesitated, eyes fixated intently on heavy traffic that seemed to exist only his imagination.
Ben spoke up from his nest of luggage, and would have raised an arm; that is, if he could find any of his appendages. "Uh, Ted, you missed the turn."
"Dammit! I can't talk when I'm driving. Makes me lose my concentration." He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his face going pale.
Michael raised a questioning eyebrow, disconcerted by Ted's spontaneous need for silence. Had he said something wrong?
"Are you okay? I can drive, if you need me to..."
"No, no...that's not necessary. Just alot of traffic today. Must be because of the weekend. The majority of all wrecks occur on weekends, you know. And I think I might've ate something
at the airport café that didn't agree with me."
"Um, Ted...Teddy...you might want to get over..." Michael said, tone strained with alarm and eyes growing wide as he straightened in his seat, bracing himself for a bout of road rage.
"Oh, shit. See? Silence. Must have silence," Ted murmured, moving into the opposite lane with all the determination of a World War II B-17 pilot on a deadly combat mission.
Michael eyed his friend suspiciously, but Ted's gaze remained glued to the road, his shoulders hunched over the wheel. Michael wanted to know just what the hell was going on, but he wanted to get home in one piece even more.
"Whatever you say. Just remember to drop me off at the diner." Michael tossed a reassuring smile back at Ben's dubious face, peeking out from amongst the luggage, then leaned his head against the seat, the warmth of the morning sun slowly lulling him to sleep.
"Miiiiichael.....Michael?"
"Huh?"
"We're here. You're back in the Pleasant Pitts. Honeymoon over."
Michael rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands, gradually realizing he was at the diner. He stretched catlike in the seat, unbuckling his seatbelt sluggishly.
"Where's Ben? He didn't start singing, did he, and you left him by the side of the road?"
"Christ, he sings?" Ted said, faking a horrified expression. Michael laughed through a yawn, working out the last of the kinks in his stiff body. "I dropped him off at your apartment first, since you where still alseep."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"We tried. In case you forgot, you sleep like a fucking rock. Told us to 'go to hell'." Ted smiled fondly.
"Oh. Sorry." Michael grinned sheepishly, then turned his head to take in the familiar scenery. Or, truthfully - to stall a little longer. He wasn't looking forward to the sqealing and ranting he knew he his mother would partake in. All he could hope for was that no one he knew had decided to eat lunch at the diner on this particular day - and everyone he knew ate lunch at the diner. Unfortunately.
"Well, guess I better get going. Thanks for the ride, Teddy. See you at Babylon tonight?" They exchanged quick pecks on the cheek, then Michael stood to the side of the diner - taking great care to remain safely out of the vantage point of one certain occupant - and waved Ted off.
Making sure he had not been spotted, he took his escape route, heading for his destination. The one he'd been thinking about for days.
He had full intentions of greeting his mother, but he needed a walk first, to loosen his body and his mind. He also had a general idea of how unhappy she'd be that he hadn't called her but once, right after he and Ben had exchanged vows, for the entire length of their trip.
There were far more important things that needed to be done - and said - first.
He'd convinced himself into settling for the reasoning that Brian had had sufficient time to cool off, to get out of whatever weird funk he'd been stuck in three weeks ago. He himself had cooled off, and sorted out his badly shook up emotions. This incident would be no different than the many other times they had wandered too close to the invisible line between lovers and friends, always retreating in awkwardness and hardly speaking for days at a time. It was an eerily methodical cycle - after such an occurrence, they always - precise as clockwork - migrated back to each other as if nothing had ever happened. No words had to be spoken, no explanations made. It was a quiet acquiescence between intimate friends, as natural for them as the changing seasons.
He was confident that this time would be no exception, even though he knew, deep down in the stubborn grasp of his primal consciousness, that what had occurred between them three weeks ago was vastly different from anything that had ever happened before. More so, the fact that Brian did not say goodbye to him before he left for Boston stung a little. Alot. He didn't know why, but it did. Maybe it was the thought that Brian might have possibly been okay with the fact that the bitter words spoken in Babylon's bathroom could have been the last they ever said to each other. Not that he was like Ted - always expecting something terrible to happen to him - but he and Brian had never, especially in their youth, let the sun rise on an argument. Because they didn't argue all that much in the first place, and because any heated disagreement that took place between them affected Brian adversely. Michael could continue functioning in his daily life; Brian could not. It tore him up in a way that only Michael understood, because only Michael knew, was allowed to know, the dark secrets of Brian's past. Which was perhaps why he was always quick to forgive Brian, to promptly return to his place at Brian's side. Because he knew if he didn't, it would be the catalyst of Brian's self-destruction.
Or, he thought with a smirk, maybe it was just because he loved him so damn much.
If only his friends knew the truth - being that Michael didn't 'run' to Brian - Brian ran to him. But, it didn't really matter, for he was willingingly the faithful keeper of Brian's deepest secrets and most fatal weaknesses, and had nothing to prove to anyone, not even Ben, when it came to his friendship with Brian.
He stepped up his pace, already feeling the muscles in his legs beginning to uncoil. He grabbed his sunglasses from the front of his tee, sliding them on. It was beautiful day, cool fall air tinged with the warmth of the sun's weakening rays - maybe he could fit in a trip to the park with Brian for a little frisbee before the days end, if he didn't already have plans with Justin. For some reason, he felt so wound up with energy that he had to restrain himself from breaking into a jog. Goofing around with Brian always seemed to be the greatest way to channel excess energy, and had been since they were fourteen and consumed with more piss and vinegar than they knew what to do with. Michael secretly reveled in the knowledge that his presence gave Brian the same feeling of eternal youth that Brian's presence gave him.
"Hey, Jeff," he greeted a tall blonde man who lived in Brian's building (and who was also a past fuck buddy), holding the door for him when he saw that his hands were full with cartons of beer. Brian had never liked the guy, bristling whenever Michael spoke to him. So Michael always spoke to him.
"Thanks Mike."
"No problem."
He decided to skip the elevator, bounding up the stairs two at a time. He knocked at Brian's door, having abandoned the ritual of simply walking in, now that Justin was essentially, whether Brian wanted to admit it or not, living at the loft.
"Brian, it's Michael."
He smirked, waiting a few moments, having a pretty good guess at what Brian might be doing to occupy his Saturday afternoon.
As if in deviant confirmation, a tan, muscular man with soft blue eyes opened the door, his chiseled chest glowing with perspiration in the dim light.
Michael didn't bother trying to conceal his discomfort. Brian never let tricks answer his door.
The cool gaze traveled languidly up Michael's form before meeting his eyes in an affable smile.
"Can I help you?"
Michael glanced over a sinewy shoulder, trying not to betray his growing apprehension.
"Uh...is Brian here?" He didn't know what else to say. 'Where is he and why the fuck are you answering his door' might come off a little harsh. But, sometimes, subtlety simply wasn't possible, and only a direct frontal assault would serve the purpose.
Blue eyes narrowed for a moment, sculpted brows knitting together in puzzlement. Michael was inclined to simply brush past him, but thought best of it. Even though he looked to be in his early forties, the guy was built like a brick shithouse.
"I'm sorry. I'm the only person that lives here. You might have the wrong apartment...?"
What the fuck?
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Back up. I've been coming here for years. Unless the earth's dimensions shifted while I was away, Brian Kinney lives here." It was a statement, not a question; he didn't appreciate Brian's tricks fucking with him, not that Brian ever allowed it in the first place. This had to be some form of a twisted Kinney joke.
It wasn't funny.
Realization sparked in the blue eyes, and the man leaned against the loft door casually, flexing a generous bicep as he did so.
"Ah...you're looking for Brian Kinney." He emphasized the last name, as if it singled out something extraordinary. Gee, I wonder what?
The guy seemed genuine enough, so Michael restrained himself from rolling his eyeballs and settled for an agitated nod. Rude people seriously irked him, (which was quite ironic, considering that in the eyes of many, his best friend was the rudest of them all) so he strove to uphold his own philosophy, even if it was with smart aleck tricks.
"He's the guy that sold me this place."
"Excuse me?"
"About two weeks ago. Tall, brown hair, hazel eyes - totally hot. That who're lookin' for?"
Michael realized his mouth was hanging open, and abruptly snapped it shut. He felt a tingling in his spine that was rapidly spreading to copiously numb the rest of his body.
"Yeah, can't forget him," the man said, shaking his head softly in vague wonderment. "Said he was moving to LA. Big movie business or some shit like that. You a relative? No, no," He corrected himself hastily, straight white teeth spread in a lascivious smile, "I bet you're a trick."
Michael grimaced at the assumption, jolted back to the moment by the seductive gleam in the ice blue eyes.
"No, I'm not. I'm...I'm his best friend. You...he said...LA?" He uttered the last word softly, reluctantly, as if merely saying it would bring the roof crashing down upon him.
"Yeah, that was all he said, though...rather secretive kind of guy - not that I blame him. But who doesn't give their best friend their new address?" he said lightly, staring down at the smaller man with unrestrained curiosity.
The tingling in Michael's spine had drifted to his head now, filling his ears and consuming his senses with a dull ring. This had to be a mistake.
This was Brian's loft...his home. He should be here, like always.
"I don't know. Listen, I..." he ran an anxious hand through his hair to rest on his the nape of his neck, rubbing at his hairline in flustered distress. He stared down at the floor, brown eyes darkening with something that might have been pain as he shook his head softly in uncertainty, lost in a labyrinth of confusion.
"Hey, you okay?" The man put a compassionate hand on Michael's shoulder, only to have it gently shrugged off.
Michael raised his head, all traces of distress dissipated, replaced with an easy grin. "Yeah, just...a little shell shocked. Thanks for your help, ...?"
"Grant."
"...Grant." He turned to leave, but Grant stepped forward, hand outstretched towards the interior of the loft in supplication.
"No need to rush off. You can come in, if you like. I was just...workin' out." His grin was suggestive and seductive, but not in a crudely predatory manner; a fact for which Michael was eternally grateful, given the awkward circumstance.
He couldn't muster the capacity to verbally ward off the blatant invitation, so he simply raised his right hand and thumbed the gold band that wrapped around his ring finger, smiling weakly in apology. For some reason, Grant's gentle eyes reminded him of Ben's - so earnest and sincere - and he couldn't help himself but to be as considerate as he could, given the blow that had just been dealt to his unsuspecting consciousness.
Shadows of disappointment in his eyes, Grant nodded in understanding, and Michael felt himself walking towards the elevator with heavy steps. Best not to take the stairs.
He leaned heavily against the wall, grateful for the support as he mulled over the best action to take. This was ridiculous - this was Brian's loft, and Brian should be here, like always. Michael had known it was on the market, but still...he never really thought Brian would actually sell it so improvidently. Would actually... His stomach fell, the feeling similar to the jolt felt on one of those crazy amusement park rides he used to go on as a kid.
Said he was moving to LA.
Refusing to allow himself time to even think about the several different things those six words could possibly mean, he reached blindly for the phone clipped to his back pocket, speed-dialing Brian's cell with diffident, trembling fingers. He nibbled at a thumb nail, rocking lightly on his toes, body and mind overcome with anxiety. We're sorry, this number is no longer available. The service has been disconnected.
"Fuck!"
He raised his arm, seconds away from heedlessly lobbing the source of the mechanized voice away from his ear and into the concrete wall, blind with anger and burgeoning shock, before he stopped himself short. He still needed it. Anger was not going to get him anywhere.
Instead he moved the hand to his forehead, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the pain that was seeping in through the fury. Why hadn't Brian told him? Why hadn't his friends told him? At that moment, he felt so abandoned, so...lost. More than anything, he felt cheated. Screwed over in a very bad way.
Another attempt to protect poor Michael from the truth. Another perfect example of unprecedented Kinney selfishness.
Never before had he wanted to kick that man's ass so badly in his life. Not after the escapade of his thirtieth birthday party, not the time he put E in their home economic teacher's coffee - not even the time Brian had handcuffed his half-naked, violently protesting self and dragged him to a raunchy orgy.
Somehow he made it to the sidewalk outside Brian's apartment building - or, more precisely, Brian's former apartment building. Staring down at the LCD screen of the phone, clasped within a clammy deathgrip, he ignored various complaints as he unconsciously bumped into passersby. He took a shuddering breath as he pressed the pad of thumb against the send button.
"Hello?"
"Lindz."
"Michael! When did you get back? Gus has been asking for you."
Michael smiled as he heard Gus in the background, squealing Michael's name - the same one his daddy used - over and over in his adorable little toddler voice. Gus was the one thing in the world right now that could possibly give him cause to smile. Which prompted him to wonder, how in the hell could Brian just leave his son? Gus wasn't even his biological child, yet the thought of being far away from the little brown haired boy made Michael heartsick.
"Why wasn't I told, Lindz?"
"Tell me. Tell me everything right now."
All it took was one look at his face, at the rigid lines of his compact body, at the trenchant heat of deep brown eyes; and the Saturday night crowd of Liberty Avenue's bustling sidewalk parted down the middle like the Red Sea, for one single man, so breathtaking yet utterly intimidating in the vehemence of undeniable fury.
Some recognized him, some did not, some weren't sure; but they all steered clear of his path.
Michael could feel the slow burn of rage building in his stomach, hurt and pain licking at his heart like uncontrollable flames. He knew it was reflected in his eyes, because tonight, he didn't have to push and navigate his way through the street.
He wondered, only to have his fury transcend yet another notch, if this was how Brian felt when he went places; on the outside, in complete control, on the inside, falling-the-fuck-apart.
He reached the front of his destination, not hesitating to compose himself, and jerked the door open with all his might as he strode inside, familiar sounds and smells engulfing his senses, yet doing little to soothe him. Homey warmth hit the cooled flesh of his bare arms, prompting goosebumps to rise on the smooth skin. But they were not summoned from physical cold.
"Hello, Michael! Nice to see you back in town. How's it hangin'?"
"Not too good, Betty."
A confused frown graced pink lips, but Michael continued before she could question. He braced both arms on the front of the counter, scanning the diner with flashing eyes.
"I need to talk to Ma."
"Sure, sweet thing, she's in the back," she said, patting Michael's cold cheek affectionately. He briefly wondered through a hazy mind why it was that no one could keep their hands of his cheeks.
"Thanks." He smiled weakly, acknowledging a few casual acquaintances and hello's with a wave of his hand as he stalked towards the back of the diner.
"Michael, sweetheart!" Debbie rushed him with both arms open wide, plethora of pins clattering together, but Michael grabbed her elbow with gentle force before she could clasp him into one of her patented bear hugs.
"Ma, I need to talk to you. Right now."
"That's a fine way to greet your mother. So, talk to me. Since you haven't in three weeks straight."
"Not here." He guided her towards the storage room, the muscles in his jaw visibly clenching.
"Michael, what the fuck are you doing?! I will not be manhandled by my own son!"
He ignored her, closing the door behind them and turning to face her with crossed arms and simmering eyes.
"Why the fuck did you do it, Ma?" Debbie's face softened at the choke of her son's voice, the liquid hurt of his brown eyes. "How could you?"
Michael knew it was not entirely his mother's fault, but lost in a red haze, instinct screamed at him to lash out at someone. He felt his voice rising, his heart hammering as the same thought repeated itself across his consciousness with blazened clarity.
He's gone. He left. He left me without saying goodbye.
"Honey, it was for the best. I was doing you both a favor. He would have never left if he talked to you, and you wouldn't have married Ben."
White hot pain blazed across his heart, so intense he was compelled to shut his eyes against the sudden brightness of his surroundings, and lean upon the storage room door for support. The second time that day he'd needed the support of an inanimate object.
"You know what Ma? Maybe that's how it should've been. And MAYBE, just maybe, you should mind your OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!"
He knew he shouldn't be yelling, not at his mother. Not with a diner full of gossipy gay men. But Jesus, Brian was gone. He left. And no one had told him.
"Michael Charles Novotny, I raised you better than this!" She stepped in front of Michael, looking him up and down, as if apalled that her son had the nerve to counter her. "And just what do you mean, 'should've been'? You want to go back to the days of following Brian around all the time?" She punctuated 'Brian' with an all too familiar condescending lilt that caused Michael's anger to upgrade from simmering to boiling; yet he wisely chose to ignore the stinging remark.
"You had NO RIGHT not to tell me! To tell, no - to order - everyone, all of my friends, to keep it a secret from me! Christ Ma, did you think I was never gonna notice he was gone?! How could you let me find out this way?"
"I just asked everyone to keep it down until you got back. I wasn't going to see your wedding ruined just because 'Brian' suddenly decides to pack his bags, in a last ditch effort to keep you from..." Debbie caught herself, averting her eyes as she realized what she had allowed to slip.
Michael's eyes narrowed, understanding and incredulity slowly overtaking the rigid posture of his body. His arms fell from his sides, his voice whisper soft as he spoke.
"What did you say to him?"
Debbie gazed obstinately at the wall. "I don't have time for this Michael. And in case you didn't notice, its Saturday and the diner is full. I don't get paid to stand around and argue with you." She attempted to push past him, but Michael stood firm, clasping his mother's arms as he stared adamantly into her eyes.
"Ma...I talked to Lindsay. She filled me in on what you told everyone. That I'd come running back like a lost puppy if I knew Brain was leaving. And I'm sure they understood, because that is what you would have everyone to believe. Well Ma, I don't give a shit what everyone thinks, or what YOU think. And obviously my feelings are mutual."
Debbie attempted to bat his hands away, her features scrunched up with impatience. "What -"
"I'm not finished. You've stuck your nose into something that you will never understand. Brian...we...I just need to know what you said to him."
Silence. Guilty silence, he thought bitterly.
His voice became more forceful, faltering from the potency of barely withheld tears. "What did you say to him? That would cause him to not even tell me goodbye?"
"ALL I did was tell him that he should go on with his life, and leave your's alone. I told him there was no reason to tell you, because you were happy with Ben, that Ben gives you what you need and what he can't."
Michael let his hands slide away from Debbie's arms, and melted against the door, suddenly so weary he could barely stand. Closing his eyes he slowly tilted his head towards the ceiling, muttering a silent plea.
No. This isn't happening.
His mother didn't know what had happened that night. She didn't know Brian's fragile soul the way he did. She just didn't understand.
"Sweetheart, I was only trying to protect you, and Brian."
He laughed with disbelief. "Protect us from what?"
Debbie felt the conversation slipping through her fingers like hot sand, the blame being set upon her shoulders - and she did not like the feeling. This wasn't about her, anyway, she told herself firmly.
Her tone became placating and sympathetic; the one she invariably used whenever Michael let Brian 'get to him'. "Michael, I knew you'd be this way. You're just upset, is all. Besides, it was a last minute thing. He decided the night before you left, so there just wasn't time."
"He what?"
"Justin told me he called him after he left Babylon the night before, told him he'd reconsidered. Don't try to convince me that if he'd told you, you still would've left the next morning."
"Shit."
"Michael! Where are you going? Don't you walk away from your mother while she's still talking!"
Debbie was met with silence as the door swung shut before her.
Michael sat, still and pensive, in the one place other than Brian's arms that gave him a complete sense of comfort and security. He could have lied, telling himself that Ben's embrace offered the same sensation, but not tonight. Things were different tonight, and perhaps would forever be.
His eyes slowly encompassed the darkened expanse of his comic book store, his actualized dream and most prized material possession. The crisp pages and silent superheroes of his most beloved comic books did not ask questions nor offer unwanted pity. They merely were; an abstract source of assurance and ethereal calm.
As a child, fatherless and often times friendless, during those timeless years before wide-eyed perception of the world is shattered; he took whimsical contentment from the fact that his superheroes would never lie to him, never abandon him, and never be more one page turn away. They were alive in his imagination and in his heart; it was impossible for them to let him down, break a promise. They were beautiful, strong, honest; and they would never leave or belittle him like the people of his reality.
Dream and reality, gloriously meshed together, walked into his freshman literature class twenty years ago, forever changing who he was, who he wanted to be. Brian was his superhero, his Superman; and he was Brian's Lois Lane. Together, they were - and promised they always would be - unbreakable, untouchable, inseparable.
He lowered his eyes, futiley blinking back tears as he absently caressed the buttons of his cell phone. His gaze drifted to the random clutter of pictures taped behind the counter, locking onto a single black and white photo, the edges creased from age, but the faces young and fresh. It was of Brian and him, stretched out on their bellies atop the sun-warmed sand of Pocono Lake, shoulder to shoulder, forehead to forehead, smiling boyishly into the camera that he remembered his Uncle Vic had been holding.
They had been barely seventeen. Brian had been so beautiful, in every way, even then. Although he would undoubtedly deny it, he still looked much the same; his body now a bit more toned, the elegant face a bit more refined. The eyes and smile, though, were the exactly the same - then and now. They were less guarded, however, more approachable, but still the same features so beloved and intimate to him. Michael tore his gaze away, unable to look any longer, because for the first time, he couldn't see those eyes and smile two feet away from him, couldn't reach out and touch a soft cheek or smooth a honey strand of hair. Pictures, along with the images and memories of his mind, were all he had. Nothing tangible.
Michael felt an all to familiar squeeze in his chest, and unconsciously grabbed at the T-shirt over his heart. He'd felt such a poignant psychological ache only a few other instances in his life. The kind so powerful that it overtakes as thoroughly and persistently as thistle weed overtakes a field of pure timothy.
Grappling with choices and decisions, he stared down at the number that glowed ominously across the screen of his cell phone.
Brian's number.
He had learned from Lindsay that Brian had changed wireless plans, switching to a picture phone so that Lindsay could send him photos of Gus. And the prick didn't have the common courtesy to tell his best friend this little detail. Why bother, though, if he couldn't even tell him he was moving halfway across the country.
After nearly an hour of silent struggle, of brooding over what to say or if it was even a good idea to call in his current frame of mind (which was extremely pissed and heartbroken - not a good combination); Michael pressed down on the send button, flooded with a mixture of relief and dread as he did so.
"Hey, Mikey."
Dismay jolted through Michael, curtailing his joy from hearing his best friend's voice for the first time in three long weeks. Brian sounded exactly like he had when Michael returned from Portland, when he had found him fazed out in the backroom with five tricks attached to his dick.
"Don't you dare 'hey, Mikey' me, asshole. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Somebody's Italian ire is piqued."
"You're damn right it is."
Silence hovered, the marked and muted clashing of two stubborn men who knew each other entirely to well. For a moment, they simply absorbed the soothing presence of their tenuous connection, singularly preparing themselves for the confrontation and confessions to come. Neither wished to be first in broaching the subject at hand.
"Well, did you call to discuss the current state of the gay-rights legislation, or the inexorably high interest rates?"
"Brian..."
"I'm sure its not easy for a family these days."
"Brian..."
"Speaking of which, shouldn't you be at home, making pot roast with the Professor?"
"Are you done?"
"I don't know, stick a fork in me and see."
Michael moved out from the behind the counter, pacing the length of the store, feeling the adrenaline flowing the way it always did whenever Brian got like this - reticent, derisive; basically just a complete pain in the ass.
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" Michael queried breathlessly, tormented by the silence he was met with. Michael realized that Brian had erected (for once, not in the sexual meaning of the word) the proverbial brick wall, so infamous to his character, and Michael was left with the tedious task of chipping it away slowly; piece by piece, word by word. The effort would be tenfold, considering the element of physical communication was nonexistent. What could be resolved by a tender touch of the forehead or a chaste 'shut up' kiss was resorted to what Michael knew would be a bitter mudslinging session. Brian was all about actions; not words - and the words were always painful.
"You had plans," was Brian's succinct reply.
"You know, when your best friend decides to move from one ass end of the country to the other, I think a person has a right to be told, plans or no plans. Jesus, Brian! What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking about how much I didn't want my loft graced with a permanent fixture in the form of your mother."
"Brian, I know what she said to you -"
"Ah, Mikey's done his homework -"
" - and you know its not true! And since when did you start doing what she told you to, anyway?"
"She's right."
"What?"
"Come on now Michael, you know that if I had told you, you would have abandoned your suicide pact with Benjamin to come begging at my boots. And how unfortunate would that be?"
"Fuck you, Brian! Is that what you really think of me?"
"Depends on what you really think of me."
"I'm getting really sick of this cynical, worn out, cryptic bullshit of yours."
"Well, you know what they say - a cynic is a person who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing."
"This is all about what happened at Babylon, isn't it?"
"This is about me," Brian said, as if he were explaining the concept to a young child, "finally getting my one-way ticket out of 'Shitts'burgh. And this is about you, finally getting your little 'hearth and home' fantasy."
Michael smoothly bypassed Brian's clever diversion - even though in his heart, he knew it held a disturbing amount of truth. They were both finally getting what they wanted - or were they? "I was scared, Brian. Confused. I didn't mean what I said, you know that. Why can't we just forget it and go on, like always?"
"That's exactly what we've done. You're there with Ben, I'm here with Justin. Painfully simple as that. You made your decision, I've made mine."
"Why couldn't you have just told me, if it's so damn simple?"
"I'd rather not have Deb serving up my balls on a silver platter. She's your mother, you deal with her."
"I already have. You can't fool me, Brian; there's more to this than just what she said to you. What made you call up Justin, and change your mind? At the last minute? Please....Brian tell me."
Brian huffed a sigh of resignation, a short gust of air that Michael knew well - and Michael stopped pacing, his breathing hitching in his parched throat as he waited on pins and needles for Brian's response.
"Me, Michael. I made myself change my mind. I wanted out of there, I needed out. There's nothing for me there. Never has been."
Michael couldn't talk, couldn't breath. He found the nearest wall and slid down it numbly to rest his forehead against a jean-clad knee. He wanted to beg him to stop, to come back to him, but Brian only drove the knife deeper, just as Michael expected him too.
"You know, you should have stayed in Boston. You do realize that in the Pitts, its worthless, right? What the fuck does marriage accomplish anyways, other than a paycheck for divorce lawyers?"
"You broke your promise."
Brian snorted disparagingly, pretending not to notice the anguish of Michael voice. "Could you please refresh my memory? Since, of course, I going around making so many idle promises."
Michael's voice raised, his anger spurred by Brian's blatant callousness. It was almost as if his best friend's tactic was to push, prod, insult, and taunt; until finally Michael could take no more, breaking down and spilling forth every little detail of his heart. The only thing that kept Michael from doing exactly that was his fear, his pride. What would Brian say? Would he laugh? Would he thank him for proving his point? Or would he return what Michael gave?
He wasn't about to make this easy for Brian. He wasn't going to be the only one to put his feelings on the line. He'd done so too many times in the past, only to be rejected.
It was Brian's call. It was Brian's turn. Surely he knew that Michael had always been in love with him, always would be. What was holding him back, unless it was unrequited? It was the fear that had kept Michael locked in the same place for nearly twenty years.
"You promised me, Brian. That no matter what happened, no matter how we 'moved on', that we'd always be there for each other! That we wouldn't let anyone, or anything, come between us!"
"YOU broke that promise, Michael, first with David, now with the Professor. You got married for Christ's sakes! How is that not supposed to change things?!"
"What about YOU! "I don't do boyfriends, I don't do relationships, I don't do love." At least I didn't break my own fucking holy code! You know I want those things; you told me you wanted me to have them! Make up your mind Brian. Its a two-way fucking street."
"Yeah. And I just hit the intersection and took the road OUT."
Michael was stunned into silence. He bit his lip, tasting blood.
"Fine, if that's what you want."
"Fine."
"Fine."
The petulant exchange would put a hormonal group of teenage girls, squabbling over their favorite boy bands, to dreadful shame. How Michael ached to just laugh at their foolishness, admit that they were both lying. But this was real, and things were rarely ever so simple.
"What about Gus."
"He has his mothers." A slight pause, an indrawn breath. "He has you."
"You're his father, Brian."
"He doesn't need me."
"That's not true, Brian, and you know it. He does need you." I need you. Why did it feel they were closer to the real issue than ever - and when they were talking about Gus? Michael could feel the hesitancy in Brian's pause, could almost see hazel eyes darkening with confusion.
"I can be replaced."
"Bullshit. You can never be replaced."
More silence. Not the comfortable, companionable kind.
"Look Brian, its almost midnight. I've got to get home."
"Of course. Go home to your family, Michael. Spit shine your wedding bands. Serenade each other in front of the fire. "
"Why do you do that?"
"How much time have you got?"
"You always have my time, Brian. Every minute, every second, every hour," he said softly, pleading for Brian to hear the purport behind his words, to shed his protective sarcasm and simply hear what Michael had to say for what it was.
"That sure isn't how it seemed three weeks ago."
Well, scratch that.
"Christ! I've already told you that I didn't mean it. Your selective memory is forgetting that you were the one who went MIA for three weeks, only to jump me like a jungle cat in heat. What was I supposed to think? I'm not a mind-reader."
"Great, 'cause I'm not either. So maybe we should just stop. Go our separate ways. Because we don't seem to understand each other anymore."
Michael's heart plunged for at least the fourth time that day, and he gave silent thanks that he was already huddled on the cold floor.
He never thought this day would come, had never even entertained the thought. Though, in absent retrospect, he was surprised that he wasn't furious, couldn't be furious. He couldn't cry. He couldn't yell. He couldn't demand anything more of Brian. This was really it. They'd pushed each other too far this time, and the repercussions were far uglier than either ever imagined.
The end of always.
All he could do was grieve, feeling as if a dear friend had passed away, a sadness so overwhelming that Michael was certain a part of him died as the words left Brian's mouth and processed in his brain.
Listening for what could be the last time to the funny little wheeze of Brian's deviated septum, memorizing it, he summoned up the strength to find his voice. It was almost as if Brian was waiting for something. For Michael to cleanly and mutually sever the last threads of their unbreakable bond?
The thought caused Michael to swallow back the bitterness of bile. He would not lose it. He would not fall apart.
"Just remember this, Brian - I will always love the false image I had of you."
He hit the end button, and this time, he didn't stop himself from throwing it.
I Ran Away by Coldplay
I ran away from you
That's all I ever do
And though I started here
I ran away from you
I'm gonna come on in
And see it through
I ran away from you
That's all I ever do
And when I heard you call
"Come back to me"
I know I should stay
I don't have the stomach to
Everyone I know says
I'm a fool to mess with you
Everyone I know says
it's a stupid thing to do
I have your love on call
And yet my day is so full
There might be nothing left to do
So I ran away from you
I'm gonna come on in
My eyes are closed
I can feel it there
The sun's so close
I'm gonna come on out
And burn the sky
A star arose in my own cage
I'm stuck in life and in a cage
Just a single star
I sing for
TBC......