Title: Memory Lapse
Rating: PG-13 language
Pairing: Ben/ Michael, Hunter
Summary: Have you ever suddenly realized you'd forgotten to do something really, really, really just ridiculously important?
Disclaimer: All rights are owned by Cowlip and Showtime.
Part: 2 of 3Author's Note: This version of the Bruckners belongs to me.
The first time Hunter was dragged out of dreamland, it was seven o'clock. Michael was rattling around the apartment before heading to work, and the commotion had woken Hunter up. Luckily, it hadn't lasted too long, and even before Michael had bolted the door behind him, Hunter had once again fallen asleep. Then second time, Ben woke him up by coming into his room, and asking him if he wanted to go meet Michael for lunch. Hunter's response had been to mumble something along the lines of "go the fuck away," and bury his head under his pillow. That had been somewhere around 11:30. It wasn't that Hunter had anything against free food with his foster fathers; he just had a very carefully planned Saturday ahead of him. He was going to sleep until one, get up, raid the fridge, watched Michael's much loved copy of Spider-Man 2 and drool over Mary Jane until dinner. So when an unknown fucktard started banging at the door around noon, his first instinct was to ignore them. Unfortunately, whoever it was a-knock-knock-knocking at his chamber door was also a persistent fucktard. So feeling half dead, Hunter rolled out of bed, stepped into the jeans he'd left laying on the floor the night before (House rule number 437, "Thou shalt wear pants when answering the door") and stumbled his way through the living room.
Trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Hunter checked that the zipper on his jeans was up, and unlocked the door. A woman was on the other side of it. She looked to be in her late 50s. Short curly reddish brown hair fell to her shoulders, framing a long face that was decorated with a fair share of crow's feet and laugh lines. She was taller than him, at least 5'9, and skinny in a way that reminded Hunter of a flamingo. Two blue-gray eyes peered at him from behind a pair of glasses. She wore jeans, and a long gray wool coat meant more for practicality than fashion.
The words "social worker" surfaced in his sleep-muddled mind, followed quickly by, "and you're wearing pants. Score." He was ready to move to the side and let her in, when he noticed a man of about the same age standing behind her. He was a little shorter than the woman, but it was something that you'd only notice on a second glance due to his size. He was broad shouldered, strong jawed, and looked as though he'd once had more muscle. Old age had introduced a bit of a stomach, though he was by no means fat. His hair was short, dark blond, graying at the sides and he was also wearing a pair of glasses though they looked almost out of place on him.
"Umm, yes?" Hunter asked uncertainly.
Neither the man nor the woman said anything. Both of them seemed to be too busy staring at him. He'd been onced over many of times in his life. By tricks that wanted to scope out the goods before they made their purchase, by his mother who'd looked at him with a calculating shine in her eyes. Even by Ben or Michael when they would just look at him, sometimes with pride, sometimes with curiosity, sometimes with complete and utter exasperation, but this was different. The two people at his door were looking at him, as though he were some rare endangered animal they never thought they'd get to see. It was really freaking him out, and as usual when frightened or nervous Hunter fell back on old habits.
"I said, 'what the fuck do you want'?" he snapped shifting his stance a little so that he blocked the way into the apartment. When he once again got no answer, Hunter narrowed his eyes and moved to slam the door in his gawker's faces.
Seeing the door sliding shut, the red haired woman seemed to jerk awake. "Wait, wait!" she cried shoving her foot into the doorway. Hunter momentarily considered slamming the door on her foot so that when she pulled away with a broken toe he could close and bolt the door, but in the end decided the lawsuit Ben and Michael might have to deal with would be more trouble than hearing her out.
"My name is Charlotte Bruckner," she said hurriedly. "This is my husband Jeff. We're Ben Bruckner's parents." She paused, and then a smile seemed to tug its way across her face. "And you must be Hunter."
Hunter could only remember snippets of the conversation Ben had had with the famous Bruckners two days ago. He'd been playing with his Gameboy at the time, but he had a hazy image of Ben sitting at the kitchen table clutching Michael's hand.
"Mom, I can't say I'm sorry more than I already have!"
"Ben, your grip's getting a little tight here."
"Mom, please stop yelling."
"Um…Ben I can't feel my fingers."
"If you give me a minute to explain I-"
"Sweet heart I really need you to let go of me."
"No, mom I haven't forgotten how the phone works, things have just been a little- Jesus Christ mom would you just let me-"
"Ben…ok, ow!"
"No, don't put dad back on! I am not-!"
"BEN!"
He didn't think the Bruckners had mentioned driving down from New York to Pittsburgh to pay them a visit this weekend. In fact, he knew they hadn't, because Ben wouldn't have just left him here if he'd known they were showing up.
Seeing Hunter's rather surprised expression, Charlotte Bruckner turned to face her husband, but kept her foot planted firmly in the door way. "Jeff, show him your license."
Jeff Bruckner raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"We can't expect him to let us in without proof of who we are," she responded. "We could be serial killers for all he knows."
"It's our son's apartment, not LaGuardia Airport," he mumbled as he fished out his ID, and handed it to his wife.
Hunter took the two licenses from her hand. Charlotte Bruckner, Age 59. Jeffery Bruckner age 58. They matched their photos.
"Um, it's cool then I guess," Hunter said handing them back. "Come on in."
The Bruckners shared a look of relief as the stepped past Hunter. As he locked the door behind them, Hunter wondered what the hell he was going to do with them now that they were inside. He didn't do small talk. He was 16 for fuck's sake! Ben did small talk, Michael did small talk. He grunted a lot, and avoided conversation with strangers at all costs. Luckily for him, the Bruckners seemed to be quite happy to entertain themselves by wandering around the apartment.
Charlotte was strolling casually through the living room, studying the combination of Tibetan wall scrolls and comic memorabilia that lined the walls. Circling around the couch, she let her hand trail across the upholstery then bent down and sniffed. "He managed to give up smoking," she mumbled approvingly.
Continuing her walk, she paused when she reached Hunter's open doorway.
"Your room?" she asked looking at Hunter.
Hunter swallowed wrapping his arms around his chest. He was suddenly very aware that he hadn't put a shirt on. "Yeah."
She nodded, and moved on.
"Ben's not here," Hunter said as she studied the many bits and pieces that made up his home. "But, I can call him for you."
Charlotte gave him a warm smile. "No, no. I'd like this visit to be a surprise." Hunter wasn't sure but he thought he heard, "Don't want to give him the opportunity to make a break for it" mumbled under her breath.
"Right," Hunter said. "I should go put a shirt on."
Fully clothed, he came back out to find the Bruckners taking a census of the photos on the fridge. There were a total of four pictures, one playbill and one history test covering its surface. One photo was of the whole Liberty Avenue gang crowded together in the booths at the diner. One was of Ben standing behind Michael, his arms wrapped around the other man's waist. One was of Michael's Uncle Vic, Debbie and Carl Horvath sitting at the kitchen table at Michael's childhood home, and one was of Mel, Lindsey and Michael on the day Jenny Rebecca was born. The playbill was for someone Michael knew named Devina Devore. The history test was Hunter's. The first test he'd (finally) gotten a B on. Michael had jokingly slapped it on the fridge. Hunter had been meaning to take it down, and bury it some place.
"Oh, yeah. We're kicking his ass," Hunter thought he heard Jeff mumble. "We're not even on the fridge."
Noticing that the teenager was in hearing distance again, Jeff and Charlotte both straightened up. Hunter sighed. He had at least two more hours until either Michael or Ben would be home, the Bruckners didn't want him to call them, and he somehow got the feeling that they weren't going to leave any time soon. Shifting from foot to foot, Hunter played the only card he had left.
"So, ever seen Spiderman-2?"