Fic: QAF "Back to the Beginning" (8/9)
Title: Back to the Beginning (8/9)
Rating: PG
Summary: Brian gets one hell of a surprise after Joan’s funeral.
Disclaimer: The characters of QAF belong to CowLip and Showtime. If they were mine, there would be a QAF channel on 24/7. But they’re not.
Earlier installments: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
For the next 48 hours, everything at Kinnetik went on without Brian. Cynthia and Ted handled calls, rescheduled meetings, and shielded the boss from anyone who had to talk to Kinney. He’d turn up on Monday and act like nothing had happened, they knew, so they told anyone who called to try again next week ‘when he got back’: they were vague about where he had gone, and let clients assume it was vacation. Both of them knew he’d blanch at the first word of sympathy from a client or an employee, so they didn’t bother to tell anyone at the office what was really going on.
Justin called the florist, and spoke to their friends, telling them when and where the church and graveside services would be held. It saved Brian the trouble of explaining what had happened, and he didn’t have to reel off a series of glib comments about how he didn’t expect any of them to show up, when Justin sensed that he wished they would be there.
On Wednesday, Brian met with Butterfield and arranged for Joan’s memorial service to be conducted Friday morning. Short, sweet, not too long. Claire could have gone with him, but the very mention of it had set off a fresh wave of tears, and as expected, Brian was left making all the other arrangements. Casket, clothes, cemetery-Brian thought of it as all so much crap, and even that started with the letter ‘C’.
A few details surprised him: Butterfield asked what Claire’s favorite hymn was, so it could be part of the service and without hesitation, Brian responded. “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” As he answered, he half-smiled at the knowledge, something dredged up from childhood memories and 14 years of being at his mother’s side.
How many years had he gone to church with his mother? Brian started inventing excuses not to go when he was a teenager and discovered that all it would earn him was a tonguelashing or angry silence. His 14-year-old self was more than willing to bear a few harsh words to get away from a church full of hypocrites who would only turn their backs on him if they knew he was homosexual. They wouldn’t want him and he didn’t need them, so he took to spending Saturday nights and Sunday mornings with the Novotnys. He knew where unconditional love really lived.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Butterfield asked, dragging Brian back to the present, out of his thoughts.
Brian gave the minister a knowing leer, but refrained from an outright proposition, considering that they were sitting in the front pew of the church for their conversation. If they’d been at the baths, he’d have done something else entirely. As it was, Brian set his jaw and plunged in. “My mother left half of her estate to Claire and half to be given to charity. You get the joy of picking out the lucky recipients,” he added, as if it were a task that only hopeless idiots would enjoy.
Butterfield looked confused, and cocked his head to one side. “But I thought… Brian, she told me she intended to leave everything to you.” He was obviously puzzled by this turn of events.
“Yeah, well, did she tell you that the gift came with strings attached?”
“No. What strings?” The blank honesty on Butterfield’s face in that instant made Brian’s flash of distaste for the man disappear. He truly didn’t know what Joan had done. Typical. Saint Joan the Secretive.
Mockingly, Brian replied, “If I renounce my so-called ‘sinful homosexual lifestyle’ in your presence, then I could have it all.” Having dropped the bombshell, he waited for the minister’s reaction.
Whatever he’d expected, he didn’t get it. Butterfield dropped his head, rubbed his hand over his forehead, and sat there, shaking his head from side to side. He didn’t say anything at first, then softly, he spoke only to himself. “I failed. I failed her.”
“What?” Brian couldn’t have been more surprised if the minister had burst out in song and dance. What kind of fucked up response was this?
Butterfield raised his head and looked at Brian, his sadness apparent. “Brian, I teach love. I teach forgiveness and acceptance. I try to help all my parishioners appreciate God’s creation, and all his creatures. She…must not have heard me.” The man clearly recognized that Brian had no intention of denying his own sexuality, and said the only thing he could. “I’m so sorry.”
Brian bit back his standard reply--”Sorry’s bullshit”--and opted for “Yeah, well, whatever. I don’t need the money, and you’re stuck picking a charity. Let me know which one, so I can have my accountant direct the funds to the right place. See you Friday.” And with that, Brian strode out of the church and into the iron-grey sunlight of another February morning.
+++++++++
The church service on Friday was somber, interrupted only by Claire’s occasional sobs of grief. Brian seemed withdrawn, and remained silent throughout the ceremony, standing or sitting as required but saying nothing. Through it all, Justin was beside him. Indeed, that’s the way the last 72 hours had been: Justin turned up, moved back into the loft and acted as if he had never gone anywhere. Even though they hadn’t discussed it, Justin felt his place was at Brian’s side, and Brian didn’t do anything to push him away.
In the church, Justin stayed next to him, occasionally placing a hand on Brian’s arm in comfort. Their dark suits made them seem like twins, but their difference in height and the contrast between light and dark hair proclaimed that they were not alike. Still, on this day, they moved in unison, did everything the same. Jennifer, looking at the two men from a pew farther back, bit her lip as she watched them doing everything in synchronized fashion. In her heart, she knew that her son belonged with this man, and it saddened her that it took something like a funeral to bring them together once more.
Butterfield’s words were brief and dignified, but not many people heard them. The small group of mourners seated behind Brian and Justin, Claire and her sons was a testimony to how few friends Joan actually had.
There were more people present from Brian’s Liberty Avenue family than the rest of the others combined: Ted and Emmett, Debbie and Carl, Ben, and Michael of course. Brian had been a little surprised to see Lindsay there, with Gus and JR, but he’d simply given them all hugs, and a special kiss for his son. He didn’t want to think about how long a drive it must have been for her, with two small children to entertain in a minivan, all the way from Toronto.
When they were in the Corvette, driving to the cemetery, he asked Justin about it. “Did you ask them to come?”
“No, Brian. They wanted to be there. For you.”
He didn’t answer, but drove on in silence, the slow trickle of snowflakes hitting the windshield, signaling the onset of another winter flurry.
When they reached the plot where his father was buried, Brian cut the car engine and looked around. There were few other cars in the cemetery, and there was no use standing out in the snow waiting for the others to arrive. To kill time, he pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “Butterfield handed me this before the service. Said it was his designated charity.” Brian looked over at Justin, who shrugged his shoulders. “Open it.”
Brian opened the envelope flap, pulled out a sheet of paper, church letterhead with a single typed line of words and a signature. Justin could see at least that much through the back of the stationery. He wasn’t prepared for what came next.
Brian, laughing. Throwing back his head and a huge, car-shaking bout of laughter filled the tiny interior. The laughter subsided into snorts, but there was no doubt about it, Brian was laughing at something. “What is it?” But Brian couldn’t answer him, incapacitated with laughter. Justin grabbed for the piece of paper, tearing it out of Brian’s hands and reading it himself.
Then he understood. “Oh. My. God.” Justin wrapped his arms around Brian, the two of them laughing until they couldn’t stand it any longer. When they both stopped shaking and Justin stopped giggling, Brian silenced them both with a long kiss, a glove-covered hand ruffling the back of Justin’s hair. There was a smile on his face when the kiss ended, a face that hadn’t been smiling all morning.
The hearse, and the rest of the mourners arrived eventually, and the two men unfolded themselves from the low-slung car, walking slowly to the gravesite. “Are you going to put it in the eulogy?” Justin asked.
“Damn right I am. And now I won’t have to get high to deliver it.”
+++++++++++
Butterfield said a few words after the casket went into the ground, then he looked over at Brian for whatever he wanted to add.
Brian cleared his throat, then repeated the short piece he’d decided on the day before. “You come into the world alone, and you leave it the same way. Alone. Along the road, you may be fortunate enough to find friendship, or love.” Brian glanced over to Michael and the rest of his friends ranged next to Lindsay and Deb. He could tell that they were all waiting for him to say something rude, or out of place. Michael must’ve briefed ‘em he thought.
He swallowed, and went on. “But not everyone is so fortunate.” Meaning you, Joan.
“Joan took pride in her family” Well, Claire counts. Joan was never proud of me or Jack.
“and she enjoyed helping those in need.” Especially when others could hear about it.
“Her last good deed is the donation of half her estate…” which caused Claire’s head to whip around so hard Brian thought she’d break something. You thought you got nothing. Surprise!
“…to one of the worthiest charities in Pittsburgh. The Vic Grassi AIDS hospice on Liberty Avenue.”
There was a collective gasp from Deb and Michael, and the rest of the family was simply staring by this point, in shock. His announcement also made Claire stop crying and start spluttering, which Brian considered a net gain.
“Thanks, Mom.” Brian’s mouth curved into a mirthful smile as he turned to look at Justin, and took his lover’s hand into his own for an affectionate squeeze. He’d managed not to say anything negative or hostile, skirting the edge of the truth, while utterly pissing off Claire, and for Brian, that meant the day was damned near perfect. Tugging on Justin’s hand, the two walked away from the grave, as snow continued to fall on the stunned mourners who remained behind.
Nine
Rating: PG
Summary: Brian gets one hell of a surprise after Joan’s funeral.
Disclaimer: The characters of QAF belong to CowLip and Showtime. If they were mine, there would be a QAF channel on 24/7. But they’re not.
Earlier installments: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
For the next 48 hours, everything at Kinnetik went on without Brian. Cynthia and Ted handled calls, rescheduled meetings, and shielded the boss from anyone who had to talk to Kinney. He’d turn up on Monday and act like nothing had happened, they knew, so they told anyone who called to try again next week ‘when he got back’: they were vague about where he had gone, and let clients assume it was vacation. Both of them knew he’d blanch at the first word of sympathy from a client or an employee, so they didn’t bother to tell anyone at the office what was really going on.
Justin called the florist, and spoke to their friends, telling them when and where the church and graveside services would be held. It saved Brian the trouble of explaining what had happened, and he didn’t have to reel off a series of glib comments about how he didn’t expect any of them to show up, when Justin sensed that he wished they would be there.
On Wednesday, Brian met with Butterfield and arranged for Joan’s memorial service to be conducted Friday morning. Short, sweet, not too long. Claire could have gone with him, but the very mention of it had set off a fresh wave of tears, and as expected, Brian was left making all the other arrangements. Casket, clothes, cemetery-Brian thought of it as all so much crap, and even that started with the letter ‘C’.
A few details surprised him: Butterfield asked what Claire’s favorite hymn was, so it could be part of the service and without hesitation, Brian responded. “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” As he answered, he half-smiled at the knowledge, something dredged up from childhood memories and 14 years of being at his mother’s side.
How many years had he gone to church with his mother? Brian started inventing excuses not to go when he was a teenager and discovered that all it would earn him was a tonguelashing or angry silence. His 14-year-old self was more than willing to bear a few harsh words to get away from a church full of hypocrites who would only turn their backs on him if they knew he was homosexual. They wouldn’t want him and he didn’t need them, so he took to spending Saturday nights and Sunday mornings with the Novotnys. He knew where unconditional love really lived.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Butterfield asked, dragging Brian back to the present, out of his thoughts.
Brian gave the minister a knowing leer, but refrained from an outright proposition, considering that they were sitting in the front pew of the church for their conversation. If they’d been at the baths, he’d have done something else entirely. As it was, Brian set his jaw and plunged in. “My mother left half of her estate to Claire and half to be given to charity. You get the joy of picking out the lucky recipients,” he added, as if it were a task that only hopeless idiots would enjoy.
Butterfield looked confused, and cocked his head to one side. “But I thought… Brian, she told me she intended to leave everything to you.” He was obviously puzzled by this turn of events.
“Yeah, well, did she tell you that the gift came with strings attached?”
“No. What strings?” The blank honesty on Butterfield’s face in that instant made Brian’s flash of distaste for the man disappear. He truly didn’t know what Joan had done. Typical. Saint Joan the Secretive.
Mockingly, Brian replied, “If I renounce my so-called ‘sinful homosexual lifestyle’ in your presence, then I could have it all.” Having dropped the bombshell, he waited for the minister’s reaction.
Whatever he’d expected, he didn’t get it. Butterfield dropped his head, rubbed his hand over his forehead, and sat there, shaking his head from side to side. He didn’t say anything at first, then softly, he spoke only to himself. “I failed. I failed her.”
“What?” Brian couldn’t have been more surprised if the minister had burst out in song and dance. What kind of fucked up response was this?
Butterfield raised his head and looked at Brian, his sadness apparent. “Brian, I teach love. I teach forgiveness and acceptance. I try to help all my parishioners appreciate God’s creation, and all his creatures. She…must not have heard me.” The man clearly recognized that Brian had no intention of denying his own sexuality, and said the only thing he could. “I’m so sorry.”
Brian bit back his standard reply--”Sorry’s bullshit”--and opted for “Yeah, well, whatever. I don’t need the money, and you’re stuck picking a charity. Let me know which one, so I can have my accountant direct the funds to the right place. See you Friday.” And with that, Brian strode out of the church and into the iron-grey sunlight of another February morning.
+++++++++
The church service on Friday was somber, interrupted only by Claire’s occasional sobs of grief. Brian seemed withdrawn, and remained silent throughout the ceremony, standing or sitting as required but saying nothing. Through it all, Justin was beside him. Indeed, that’s the way the last 72 hours had been: Justin turned up, moved back into the loft and acted as if he had never gone anywhere. Even though they hadn’t discussed it, Justin felt his place was at Brian’s side, and Brian didn’t do anything to push him away.
In the church, Justin stayed next to him, occasionally placing a hand on Brian’s arm in comfort. Their dark suits made them seem like twins, but their difference in height and the contrast between light and dark hair proclaimed that they were not alike. Still, on this day, they moved in unison, did everything the same. Jennifer, looking at the two men from a pew farther back, bit her lip as she watched them doing everything in synchronized fashion. In her heart, she knew that her son belonged with this man, and it saddened her that it took something like a funeral to bring them together once more.
Butterfield’s words were brief and dignified, but not many people heard them. The small group of mourners seated behind Brian and Justin, Claire and her sons was a testimony to how few friends Joan actually had.
There were more people present from Brian’s Liberty Avenue family than the rest of the others combined: Ted and Emmett, Debbie and Carl, Ben, and Michael of course. Brian had been a little surprised to see Lindsay there, with Gus and JR, but he’d simply given them all hugs, and a special kiss for his son. He didn’t want to think about how long a drive it must have been for her, with two small children to entertain in a minivan, all the way from Toronto.
When they were in the Corvette, driving to the cemetery, he asked Justin about it. “Did you ask them to come?”
“No, Brian. They wanted to be there. For you.”
He didn’t answer, but drove on in silence, the slow trickle of snowflakes hitting the windshield, signaling the onset of another winter flurry.
When they reached the plot where his father was buried, Brian cut the car engine and looked around. There were few other cars in the cemetery, and there was no use standing out in the snow waiting for the others to arrive. To kill time, he pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “Butterfield handed me this before the service. Said it was his designated charity.” Brian looked over at Justin, who shrugged his shoulders. “Open it.”
Brian opened the envelope flap, pulled out a sheet of paper, church letterhead with a single typed line of words and a signature. Justin could see at least that much through the back of the stationery. He wasn’t prepared for what came next.
Brian, laughing. Throwing back his head and a huge, car-shaking bout of laughter filled the tiny interior. The laughter subsided into snorts, but there was no doubt about it, Brian was laughing at something. “What is it?” But Brian couldn’t answer him, incapacitated with laughter. Justin grabbed for the piece of paper, tearing it out of Brian’s hands and reading it himself.
Then he understood. “Oh. My. God.” Justin wrapped his arms around Brian, the two of them laughing until they couldn’t stand it any longer. When they both stopped shaking and Justin stopped giggling, Brian silenced them both with a long kiss, a glove-covered hand ruffling the back of Justin’s hair. There was a smile on his face when the kiss ended, a face that hadn’t been smiling all morning.
The hearse, and the rest of the mourners arrived eventually, and the two men unfolded themselves from the low-slung car, walking slowly to the gravesite. “Are you going to put it in the eulogy?” Justin asked.
“Damn right I am. And now I won’t have to get high to deliver it.”
+++++++++++
Butterfield said a few words after the casket went into the ground, then he looked over at Brian for whatever he wanted to add.
Brian cleared his throat, then repeated the short piece he’d decided on the day before. “You come into the world alone, and you leave it the same way. Alone. Along the road, you may be fortunate enough to find friendship, or love.” Brian glanced over to Michael and the rest of his friends ranged next to Lindsay and Deb. He could tell that they were all waiting for him to say something rude, or out of place. Michael must’ve briefed ‘em he thought.
He swallowed, and went on. “But not everyone is so fortunate.” Meaning you, Joan.
“Joan took pride in her family” Well, Claire counts. Joan was never proud of me or Jack.
“and she enjoyed helping those in need.” Especially when others could hear about it.
“Her last good deed is the donation of half her estate…” which caused Claire’s head to whip around so hard Brian thought she’d break something. You thought you got nothing. Surprise!
“…to one of the worthiest charities in Pittsburgh. The Vic Grassi AIDS hospice on Liberty Avenue.”
There was a collective gasp from Deb and Michael, and the rest of the family was simply staring by this point, in shock. His announcement also made Claire stop crying and start spluttering, which Brian considered a net gain.
“Thanks, Mom.” Brian’s mouth curved into a mirthful smile as he turned to look at Justin, and took his lover’s hand into his own for an affectionate squeeze. He’d managed not to say anything negative or hostile, skirting the edge of the truth, while utterly pissing off Claire, and for Brian, that meant the day was damned near perfect. Tugging on Justin’s hand, the two walked away from the grave, as snow continued to fall on the stunned mourners who remained behind.
Nine