THE SIGN, PART 7 / 8

[kachelofen]

THE SIGN

PART SEVEN

There is complete silence for a few moments and some weird part of Justin’s brain wonders how they ended up in a shouting match less than five minutes after Brian got home. He didn’t exactly plan it this way. It was all meant to be a simple conversation that would give him the answers he needs. But his head is full of memories that he’s tried hard to forget for the past three years and it’s making him upset and angry.

There’s Debbie’s face when she got the phone call at the diner, where Justin was visiting her on one of his frequent trips back from New York. He can still hear her voice, strangely subdued like he’d never heard her before but has a lot since that day. “There’s been an accident. Lindsay and Gus are dead. A truck crashed into their car.”

He remembers that all he could think of was Brian, how running all the way from the diner to the loft was helping him not get snowed under by grief and how, when he got there, he'd somehow expected that Brian already knew. But, of course, he didn’t. How could he? In situations like these everybody always goes with their first instinct. Michael's was to rush to see his daughter, who’d been sleeping peacefully in her bed with Melanie downstairs, working from home. Debbie was on her way over there as well.

So it was up to Justin to tell Brian, only, he couldn’t get the words out properly. And Brian looked at his stuttering account uncomprehendingly for the longest time, until Justin realized that he needed to say it, and that he needed to be unambiguous about it for it to sink in. And saying the word ‘dead’ brought it home to himself as well, more than hearing it from Debbie had. He burst into tears on the spot, half because of his own pain and half because of Brian’s.

And Brian didn’t say anything. Nothing at all. He nodded and turned away and sank heavily into a seat. Justin wanted to hug him, comfort him in any way he could and, yes, taking some comfort, too, but Brian just put out his hand warningly when Justin moved towards him.

And that was how it stayed. From the moment he was told to the day of the funeral, Brian barely spoke, moved only when it was unavoidable, ate and drank what Justin put in front of him and smoked without any discernible break. On one of those days, he never got out of bed at all, although he didn’t seem to actually sleep much.

Justin was waiting for the acting out, the booze, the drugs, the trips to the baths, but none of that came. What also didn’t come was a lowering of the defenses, a chance for Justin to get closer, to provide some comfort, even if only by being physically close. His anxiety over Brian overrode his own grief for the time being and in some weird way he was grateful for that.

On the day of the funeral, Brian got up, showered, shaved and got dressed in his best suit. He drove them to the church and sat silently in his seat, stony-faced, his eyes glued to the two coffins in the front.

Melanie looked like she’d aged ten years over the last few days, but seemed as stoic as Brian was. About halfway through the service, JR started crying and wouldn’t stop despite being passed from her mother to her grandmother to her father. In the end, Justin’s mom got up, took her off Michael and went outside with her for the rest of the proceedings.

At the graveside, just after the small ceremony there was finished, Melanie finally collapsed onto the damp grass and cried like Justin had never seen anyone before. And that was when Brian finally snapped.

“Will you shut up, you stupid bitch! If you weren’t such a cunt, we wouldn’t be here.” It came out more vicious than even Justin had ever heard Brian talk to anyone. It was true that Lindsay was on her way to see Brian after an argument with Melanie, but that didn’t mean that it was Mel’s fault. It wasn’t as if nobody else ever had arguments that caused one of them to storm out. And it wasn’t even as if Lindsay made a mistake in her worked-up state. Or that the truck driver made a mistake when he ran the red light; he simply had a heart attack at the wrong time, if there's ever a right time to have one of those. It was just a chain of unfortunate circumstances.

Brian stalked off and Justin has since had ample opportunity to regret the minute or so he took to put a hand on Melanie’s shoulder and tell her that Brian was just upset, and that he didn’t mean it, that nobody blamed her and that she didn’t deserve to be treated like that today of all days. By the time Justin made it to the parking lot, Brian was already gone. And Justin didn’t see more than glimpses of him until the day he woke up in the hospital in New York three years later.

Justin tries to shut down the memories that are flooding him.

“Yes, you did,” he says, still angry, but less so already. He knows that if Brian had come back to him after those two months, Justin wouldn’t have said a single word of reprimand. It’s the intervening time that made his anger fester. He gets up from the couch, but he doesn’t approach Brian. “You lost your son. But we all lost someone that day. Maybe none of us knows what it was like for you, except maybe Melanie. But we were all hurting and it would have been much easier if you didn’t make it worse by disappearing. And quite frankly, Brian, what you said to Melanie at the funeral was unforgivable.” It feels good to finally let his anger out, to say the words that he’s kept in his head for three long years.

“Well, don’t worry, I don’t want her forgiveness,” Brian sneers. “So I’m a selfish asshole. Is anyone surprised?”

There‘s another long pause, in which Justin feels his anger drain away somehow. “To be honest, yes,” he says gently. “I was very surprised. Because you weren’t like that anymore. If you ever really were.”

“Maybe you just never knew me, Sunshine.”

Justin huffs a mirthless laugh. “Oh, I know you, Brian.” He steps forward and he can feel Brian wanting to retreat but standing his ground nonetheless because that is what he does. Brian Kinney doesn’t back down, ever. Justin puts his hand on Brian’s chest, feeling a wild heartbeat there and then he just wraps his arms around Brian’s waist and rests his cheek against Brian’s shoulder, skin on skin. He waits for Brian to put his arms around him, which Brian does eventually, one arm around Justin’s shoulders, one hand in his hair.

“I just wanted to be there for you,” Justin says quietly. “I thought we were in a place where you‘d allow me to do that. And then, when you disappeared, I thought you were dead, especially after seeing the loft.”

Brian relishes the feel of having a handful of Justin’s hair between his fingers and rubbing Justin’s scalp with his fingertips. It’s the little things that he missed. He can understand what Justin's saying. Hasn’t he himself worried about Justin in one way or another, if not from the very beginning, then at least since the prom? He remembers what it was like fearing that Justin might be dead - vividly. If there’s one thing he regrets, it’s putting Justin through those weeks of frantic worry. Putting anybody through that.

But Brian wasn’t lying when he said that he remembers next to nothing of that time. From the moment he left the funeral to his first phone call to Cynthia weeks later, everything’s a blur. The guilt and the pain that he carries around with him to this day sent him on a self-destructive downward spiral for two months of booze and drugs and sex, that even now makes him wonder how he survived. He was reckless, courting destruction and still he didn't die. So when he had his first lucid moment at the end of those weeks, he reckoned that if fate decided not to kill him when he provided every opportunity, there must be a reason for that. There were things to do. He had to get his life in order.

That morning, finding himself in a cheap motel in Cincinnati with no recollection of how long he’d been there and only vaguely remembering how he got there in the first place, Brian called Cynthia and told her that he was coming back to work. When he got back to Pittsburgh the next day, he found his family frantic with worry - to the point of having involved the police, who, predictably, had laughed in their faces - and Kinnetik in disarray. So he avoided the family’s recriminations and vowed that, next time, Kinnetik would be in great shape - one that would be sustainable to some extent without him.

He’s given himself until his fortieth birthday. No one can ask more than that of him and if they do, they’re shit out of luck. And at the back of his mind, there’s always the nagging doubt that he may be wrong, that even withdrawing from the family to a mere acquaintance level may not be enough to keep them safe. He knows there’s a price to pay - there’s always a price to pay.

Brian is aware how toxic he is to everyone in his life, always has been. His parents never stopped telling him how he was everything that was wrong in their lives and even his friends did occasionally, by calling him an asshole - not that it was ever undeserved. Except Justin. Justin always acknowledged Brian’s faults but gave the impression that he thought they were unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Justin made Brian feel like his faults were forgivable and like Brian could do anything.

And therein the danger lay. Brian became complacent and smug. He was showing the world how you can flaunt every rule in the book and be as brazen as you like and still come out on top, quite literally in his case. He dared fate, as he’d dared God when he was younger, until fate turned around and showed him his place. And he’s learned his lesson. He accepts now that some things will never change. All he wants to do now, desperately, is keep safe the people he loves. If his punishment is having those people taken away, then surely giving them up voluntarily will remove them from danger. It’s hard, but you really don’t bargain with fate for whatever it is that you need, and you don’t expect it not to hurt. You have to offer something in return. He offered Justin and so far it’s worked.

But maybe having Justin thrown back into his path was another cruel test. Maybe going to the hospital was a complete failure; the only thing he’s certain of is that it was a sign of some sort. For a while he thought that if he took care of Justin but still left at the end, the deal was still on. Of course, you never know what fate has in store for you and it’s not as if anything has ever been spelled it out to him in so many words. Brian just knows that in the long run you have to pay for everything and if you get things you don’t deserve and aim to keep them, they'll be taken away or sometimes you'll be left to watch them suffer for your greed.

Brian thinks now that maybe he wasn’t supposed to go to the hospital, that maybe that was the real test, to see if he'd stick to his resolve. But he had no choice. He simply had to go. And knowing that it would be twice as hard to go back to living without Justin after seeing him, he thought that perhaps that would be punishment enough to balance out his slip-up. But it isn’t. It isn’t twice as hard, twice he could bear - maybe.

When Brian flew from New York to Denver two weeks ago, he was determined to pick up where he left off before Jennifer’s phone call. Until then, he had a plan. He’s less than two years away from his fortieth birthday. By that time he will leave Kinnetik in such shape that it can be run by Cynthia, kept financially straight by Theodore and supplied with the innovative ideas that the clients are accustomed to by a group of account managers whom he has hand-picked and is training up for just that purpose. Sure, some customers will leave, but Kinnetik will stay afloat. He owes this to his dream and to the people who give their all for the agency.

When he was still in Denver, he got a phone call from Mitch Barron of Barron Industries to come to Boston for a pitch and when he watched his new client sign the contract a few days later - a contract that Brian knew would catapult Kinnetik into the top league - Brian decided that enough was enough. Bagging the multimillion dollar contract, all he felt was a vague satisfaction for achieving his goal after trying for over a year, but he couldn’t quite work up any enthusiasm. And that was when he knew what seeing Justin again had been a sign for.

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” he says, remembering what this weekend’s all about.

“I know,” Justin says. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Brian feels a strange sense of relief to hear that. Unlike Melanie, how Justin feels about him is actually important to him, partly because he knows that it’s important for Justin’s well-being that he doesn’t hate Brian. And quite frankly, Brian has long ago forgiven Melanie for her part in what happened, too. He knows he was just lashing out at the most convenient target at the funeral. He'd never apologize to Melanie, but as he hasn’t seen her since then, there was never any need or occasion for that anyway.

Justin moves his head a little, the light stubble on his face scraping pleasantly against Brian’s skin, and kisses Brian’s chest just above his nipple. But if Brian thinks this is pre-cursor to more, he finds out how very mistaken he is a moment later, when Justin moves out of his arms and steps back a little.

“What I can’t forgive you for is that you never came back to me. You went to see Debbie and Michael, but you wouldn’t even take my calls. There was a security guard stopping me from getting into Kinnetik. What the fuck, Brian? I had no clue what was going on. What did I do that was so terrible? I waited for you. And what did you do? You snuck into the loft when I wasn’t there and got all your stuff. And then you rented it out without telling me. Why? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything.” Brian would give anything for this conversation to be over already. But isn’t this what he came here for? To give Justin some well-deserved answers? “When I left the funeral, I was angry. Before that, I could pretend that it wasn’t happening. But afterwards I was so fucking angry. At everyone and everything. I broke some stuff at the loft and when that didn’t help, I went to the baths and then to Babylon. But that didn’t help either. I could have just as easily beat the crap out of the tricks as fucking them. I was… concerned what I might be capable of.”

Justin remembers coming back to the loft after waiting at Debbie’s for over an hour after the funeral until he finally realized that Brian wasn’t coming. He remembers his shock at seeing the broken lamps and the shards of what was once the Mies van der Rohe coffee table. His anxiety went through the roof at that point. But he’s had a lot of time to think since then. And he’s done a lot of reading.

“Anger is part of the grieving process, Brian. It’s normal. I know you wouldn’t have hurt me. Or anyone else. That’s not you.”

Brian shrugs as if he isn’t so sure about that.

“We’re not talking about that anyway,” Justin continues. “We’re talking about what happened after you came back. After you got it all out of your system. Why was I the only one you didn’t want to talk to?”

“You weren’t.”

“That’s funny because it looks to me like you checked in with everyone but me.”

Brian looks pained and part of Justin can appreciate how hard this is for him. And some other part of him, the part that’s still hurt and angry, wants it to be hard. Because Brian deserves at least that much for the three years of hell he’s put Justin through.

“I went to see them because I knew they wouldn’t leave me alone if I didn’t. I asked them for some space and they agreed. And that hasn’t really changed. I see them once in a while so that they don’t bother me. I keep sending Michael postcards when I’m away on business so that he doesn’t call me.”

Suddenly Justin is glad that it was Michael who got the postcards. What seemed like token of affection at first is really just a ploy to keep Michael at arm’s length. Justin's surprised that it didn’t occur to him when he first saw them. It’s such an un-Brian-like thing to do that he should have known that it’s all just part of a bigger plan. And Justin has to admit that if he got those postcards, he would never have left Brian alone. Brian was quite right in thinking that it would have been impossible to keep Justin at arm’s length. It’s always all or nothing with them.

“Why?” Justin asks, finding himself wanting to vent his anger less and less and simply needing to understand. “Why did you not want to see us anymore? We’re your family. Do you have new friends now?”

Brian snorts. “That would defeat the purpose.”

“So, there is a purpose?”

Brian shrugs. “I couldn’t bear to be in the old places. I went to Debbie’s house and everywhere I looked…”

Justin nods. He felt the same way for the longest time. After Melanie and Lindsay came back from Canada, there had been a lot of dinners at Debbie’s and the memories of Gus and Lindsay there is one of the reasons that the get-togethers have dwindled to special occasions. And even those are now more like real family dinners. With Debbie and Michael and their spouses and children. As JR’s mother, Melanie has become deeply embedded in the Novotny family, almost like a daughter-in-law. Justin often feels like an outsider now, especially since he only comes for visits and the rest of them see each other on a daily basis.

“So you avoided going to the usual places and because they reminded you of Gus and Lindsay?”

“Pretty much.”

“And the loft? Gus was hardly ever at the loft.”

“But you were.”

“So you avoided the loft because it reminded you of me. Which brings us back to my question: why were you avoiding me?”

Brian exhales heavily and walks over to his suit jacket to dig out his cigarettes. Justin watches him shake one out and light it and has to brace himself not to go over there to shake the answer out of Brian. He wonders fleetingly what he would do if Brian turned around now and started to leave. Justin thinks it’s quite possible that he'd turn violent in that case. He needs to know.

Brian moves over to where the ashtray is on the side table and Justin pivots on the spot to keep his eyes on his face. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

“I had it all, Justin. Success, money, a family, you… and then Gus and Lindsay… “ He falters and then takes a deep breath. “I could never go through that again.”

Justin is struck by the fact that even after all this time, Brian still can’t say the words. It reveals more to him than any lengthy explanation ever could.

“You pushed me away because you were scared of losing me?” It comes out so incredulous that it borders on mocking. Justin is aware that he’s close to hysterical laughter. All this time Brian kept away from him because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him? That would make sense only in Brian’s twisted brain.

“Kinda,” Brian admits. “It’s not so far-fetched, don’t you think? I mean, you always seem to be in the firing line of all the homophobic pricks out there.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Brian. If I’m to die,” - he ignores Brian’s wince - “then wouldn’t it make more sense to want to spend as much time as possible with me before it’s too late?”

Brian rolls in his lips and stares at Justin’s feet.

“Brian?... If you’re worried about me, wouldn’t it make more sense to stay close and keep an eye on me? How’s staying away from me going to prevent my death?”

Brian winces again, takes another drag from his cigarette and then looks at Justin, the exhaled smoke obscuring his features ever so slightly. He holds Justin’s eyes but doesn’t say anything.

In his time with Brian Justin had to make a lot of leaps of faith, but there have also been leaps of understanding. He had to get used to taking tiny clues and work out Brian’s convoluted logic from there. Most of the time Justin thinks Brian is full of shit, but Brian is who he is and Justin has accepted that there are some things that he can't change, just understand and work with. So he suddenly - finally - understands what this is all about and it hits him like a physical blow, twisting his stomach in pain and compassion.

“Oh my God! You’re still bargaining! You think the accident was some kind of punishment. For what? For being happy? And this is some kind of deal that you made, isn’t it? You think that if you sacrifice yourself, you can keep me safe. Jesus, Brian, that’s the most fucked up thing you’ve ever come up with!”

Brian averts his eyes, stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and stays resolutely silent.

Sighing, Justin steps closer and wraps his arms around Brian’s waist. He leans back a little, trying to look into Brian’s eyes, but Brian has focused his gaze somewhere on the wall behind Justin.

“Look at me,” Justin says gently.

Brian’s eyes dart this way and that before he complies eventually.

“It was an accident! It had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t punishment. It was a random event in a world full of random events. Not everything’s about you. If it was some kind of punishment, what did the rest of us get punished for? What did Melanie get punished for? You got to stop this shit! You have to finish grieving. You have to accept what happened and start living again. It wasn’t your fault!”

He can see that Brian’s not convinced, but at least he’s listening.

“You can’t bargain with God or fate or whatever. It’s bullshit. You did all this for three years and I still ended up in hospital. If you take your logic to the extreme, I would have died the minute you came to the hospital. And I didn’t! Because it was just another random event. Not God. Not fate. Just a virus. It happens. And I survived. So the spell’s broken. You have to stop thinking this way.”

“I was a shitty father,” Brian argues.

“That’s bullshit. You helped Melanie and Lindsay have a child when you didn’t really want one. You were just meant to be a sperm donor and then you became so much more. You were there for every birthday even the one when he was in Toronto. You helped them move back to Pittsburgh because you missed Gus. You gave them oodles of money so that Gus wouldn’t want for anything. So maybe you'd never have taken him to a game, but my dad did that and I can tell you now, it means squat. In the long run, you gave him something more important. You loved him unconditionally and that would never have changed. And Gus knew that. He never doubted that you loved him. It was obvious from the way he was around you. That makes you a great dad.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what would have happened further down the road.”

“No, I don’t. That’s true. But I know you. And I know that when you love someone, you don’t hold back. Not on the inside. That’s why you stuck with Michael all this time even though you’ve outgrown him a long time ago. Because you love people unconditionally. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t still be around. You forgave me everything I ever put you through. You would have done the same with Gus.”

Brian puts his hand back in Justin’s hair, flexing his fingers a little to rub the tips against Justin’s scalp. “I love you,” he says softly and it's both, the right and the wrong answer.

*

Brian keeps his eyes closed for a minute, basking in that tired and only half-awake state that always lures him into thinking that there may be some more sleep to be had. But then his consciousness cranks up a notch and slams him into wide awake from one second to the next and he knows that his night is over. He opens his eyes.

Justin’s lying on his stomach, his arms hugging the pillow, his hair in a tangled mess, snoring lightly. Brian smiles and props his head onto his hand, watching Justin. He can’t shake a tiny stab of disappointment and realizes that, irrationally, he expected Justin to cure him of his insomnia instantly just by being there. But this is the second night that Brian’s woken up after his usual quota of three to four hours sleep and he’s admonishing himself for even thinking something that ridiculous. He runs a finger along Justin’s spine, barely touching the skin, right down to the crack of Justin’s ass.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Justin mumbles half into the pillow.

Brian smiles. “Sleep’s overrated.”

Justin snorts and turns onto his back without opening his eyes. “I’ll just pretend that I’m still asleep. But do carry on.”

Brian doesn’t need to be told twice.

“So what’s the deal with the not sleeping?” Justin asks at the breakfast table.

Brian digs into the egg white omelets he’s made for both of them and that Justin rejected with a mocking sneer before making himself a fully loaded one.

“Insomnia.”

“Proper insomnia?” Justin asks, looking up, his face showing deep concern.

Brian shrugs and carries on eating.

“How long have you had it?”

Brian shrugs again. He thinks the answer to that question should be fairly obvious and, apparently, so does Justin, because he nods a few times in understanding.

“Nothing helps?”

“Drugs, if I take enough to be this close to an overdose. Medication, if I don’t mind feeling like a zombie the next day.”

“Sounds positively awful.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Brian agrees. It comes out jokingly, but Brian is quite serious. Over the last three years his sleep deprivation has turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He’s always tired and his senses are perpetually numb. It takes all his concentration to stay sharp at work, which affords him little time to think about anything else. Everything takes longer, but then again, he has more waking hours now. When he’s not working, he often finds his mind drift off into nothingness. It’s not entirely unpleasant.

“You get delusions and hallucinations from insomnia, you know.”

“And how did I know you’d know something like that?”

Justin laughs a little and drops the subject but Brian knows that he hasn’t heard the last of it. Justin can never leave well enough alone and Brian isn't sure if he finds that annoying or comforting.

In the late afternoon Brian drives into town to see Michael. Having to reveal to Justin that the ‘vette has been stored at the house all this time makes Brian a little uncomfortable. This is Justin’s house and has been for nearly two years and Brian thinks that maybe he should have asked Justin’s permission to use the garage. It was simply the best place he could think of that felt completely safe and wouldn’t cost him a small fortune in parking fees because of his frequent absences from Pittsburgh. Justin just smiles and runs a loving hand over the hood of the car like he’s greeting an old friend.

Michael is at the store and lets Brian in with a smile that’s part surprise, part delight and part trepidation. Brian gives him a short hug and kisses him on the lips. Michael misses that, misses seeing Brian every day, even though his own life has become so busy that he probably wouldn’t have time for that anyway. But on the few occasions that he does see Brian, he somehow misses him more than when he doesn’t see him. He can’t get his head around that one.

They talk about their respective work, while Michael is perched on the counter, drinking the Starbucks coffee that Brian brought for both of them and Brian leafs idly through some of the new releases on the rotary stand. Brian asks about Debbie and listens to her exploits with apparent amusement. Michael always finds his mother funnier in hindsight. Usually what she does makes him cringe when he’s actually there. But Brian has always had this appreciation for Debbie that comes easily when you’re not actually related to her, although Michael acknowledges that Brian is as good as. Or was at least. Michael used to take pleasure in that.

He skirts awkwardly around the subjects he thinks he should be avoiding around Brian. It seems cruel to him to talk about JR in front of Brian and as she fills up so much of his time and is part of every aspect of his life now, it’s a difficult undertaking. And he doesn’t talk about Melanie, whom he sees more than he ever thought possible, and just to be safe, he excludes Hunter as much as possible, too.

Of course, he can’t talk about Rage much either because that would involve talking about Justin and Michael is pretty sure that wouldn’t be a good idea for altogether different reasons. Or maybe they’re basically the same reasons, all of them relating to a loss Michael doesn’t want to remind Brian of.

So their conversation ambles along leisurely, though not quite comfortably, and every now and then, Michael falters because he becomes aware that he’s just about to stray into forbidden territory and he can’t quite divert from there without an uncomfortable pause, although they’ve become shorter over time as Michael has more practice. He sometimes wonders if they'd disappear altogether if Brian would allow them to spend more time together, but he knows deep down that things will never be the same - for any of them.

“How’s JR?” Brian finally asks.

Michael stares at him, taken aback by the question, which is the first time ever that Brian has asked about Michael's daughter. “Uhm… fine.”

If Michael was talking to anybody else, he'd jammer on about his little princess and bring out the photos he has tucked away in his wallet. But he’s talking to Brian and Brian can no longer be burdened with parental bliss - even when it was Brian who asked the question in the first place.

When there’s a light tapping at the glass of the door, Michael is almost relieved, although he really should finish sorting his invoices and more visitors can only mean more delays. His heart stops a beat when he sees Justin through the glass and his head whips around to look at Brian with a panicked expression. “I didn’t know he was coming, I swear,” he splutters.

“Relax, Mikey.” Brian walks over to the door and turns the lock, leaving Justin to let himself in, while Brian idles back to the counter.

“What’s going on?” Michael says, forgetting to return Justin’s hello and noticing the distinct lack of greeting between his two visitors, which speaks of a recent encounter rather than frosty ignoring. Looking from one to the other, relief is giving way to something akin to annoyance. Why doesn’t anybody ever bother to keep him in the loop?

Justin just smiles that smug smile that he has when things are going well with Brian.

“We’ve gotta go,” is all the explanation Brian provides and Michael slides off the counter to follow them to the door, intending to lock it behind them.

“You wanna come to Babylon tonight?” Brian asks out of the blue, just inside the doorway.

“Can’t,” Michael says. “It’s my…” He falters and looks at Justin beseechingly, but finds only a somewhat annoyed stare. “…weekend with JR,” he finishes quickly and in such a low voice that both Brian and Justin probably have trouble hearing him. Michael sincerely wishes that the worst he can expect was still being mocked by Brian, not hurting him.

Brian slings his arm over Michael's shoulder and kisses him again. “Enjoy it,” he says pointedly. He cards his other hand through Michael’s hair, still keeping him in his embrace, and murmurs almost like an afterthought, “I love you. Always have.”

Not having heard the words for three years, Michael almost misses his cue. “Always will,” he then says in a rush, while Brian is already making his way outside. For the first time ever Michael feels guilty saying these words in front of Justin, but Justin is just watching Brian with a tilted head and speculative look. Brian slings his arm over Justin’s shoulder and they both give a short wave before walking away. Michael stares after them, a little stunned by the whole encounter. Then he decides to leave the invoices until Monday and go home. As always he tries not to think about the fact that it could have just as easily been Melanie and JR instead of Lindsay and Gus.

On hearing Brian’s question, Justin, who’s already out on the sidewalk, turns to look at Brian questioningly. He didn’t know they were going to Babylon, but he thinks it might be fun. He hasn’t been to the club in a long time.

There’s something weird going on between Michael and Brian. Justin is well aware by now that their relationship was only marginally better than his and Brian’s over the last three years, but Brian is weirdly soft and gentle with Michael and that doesn’t tally with what Brian said about keeping Michael at arm’s length. No way would Michael have let Brian withdraw to the degree that he did, if Brian had treated him like this all along.

Justin also doesn’t like that Michael stumbles over his words whenever he talks about JR. He knows that it’s just Michael's own brand of consideration, but if this is what everybody's been doing around Brian, then it’s no wonder that he's been able to repress what he didn’t want to deal with. Justin would not have allowed him to do that - which, Justin supposes, is another reason Brian froze him out of his life.

They drop Brian’s rental car, which Justin drove into town, at the airport and have dinner at a nearby restaurant. Later, they spend an hour and a half in the gallery about a block down the road and Justin can’t help critiquing the art, which is even more provincial than Pittsburgh’s usual fare. Brian seems amused by his remarks and smiles at Justin a lot. Justin’s skin is starting to itch.

Babylon is in full swing even this early. It always is on Saturday nights. Justin entertains himself with dancing and talking to a guy who remembers him from long ago when Justin used to come here all the time, while Brian disappears into the office for an hour. When Justin's just about to go and see what Brian's doing, he re-appears and drags Justin onto the dance floor.

Two hours later, Justin is pleasantly buzzed and not at all opposed to following Brian into the VIP lounge. Brian pushes him towards one of the armchairs and kisses him while taking Justin’s shirt off and pushing his pants down. It’s been a long time since Justin’s been completely naked in public, but the drinks and the drugs that Brian’s fed him go a long way to awaken his dormant exhibitionist streak and he knows that Brian's still sober, which makes Justin feel safe. Brian always makes him feel safe from other people. It’s feeling safe from Brian that’s the problem.

Brian gives him a little push so that Justin lands sprawled in the armchair and Brian looks down at him with his tongue wedged into his cheek. Justin feels his love for Brian spike almost painfully.

Then Brian kneels down to help Justin the rest of the way out of his pants and shoes. Justin leans forward to kiss any part of Brian’s head he can reach, first his hair, and then, when he looks up, his cheeks and mouth, their tongues getting busy with each other for a long time.

“You getting undressed?” Justin asks because he’s starting to get impatient. This isn't the place for leisurely exploration, this is the place for hard and fast fucking.

“In a moment,” Brian says with a smile and trails his finger down Justin’s chest before his hand closes around Justin’s cock, just holding it for now.

Justin makes a strangled noise because he’s so ready for this and Brian still has to take his clothes off. He’s not sure if he can wait that long. But then he doesn’t have to because Brian bends down and licks around the tip of his cock. Alarm bells go off in Justin’s head almost despite himself.

“Brian!” he hisses in an urgent whispers.

Brian looks back up at him and grins. “Yes, dear?”

Justin makes an upwards nodding motion towards the rest of the room, where more than one couple have faltered in their activities to watch Brian Kinney on his knees. Justin’s eyes flash warningly, reminding Brian where they are.

Brian gives Justin’s cock a little squeeze and raises a questioning eyebrow.

“We're in the VIP lounge,” Justin says pointedly. “At Babylon.”

Brian looks around as if he’s only just now becoming aware of his surroundings. Most of the guys watching them look away hastily, only one or two look back at him with an amused smirk. “You don’t like it here?” Brian asks, looking back at Justin. “You wanna do this in the backroom?”

Justin stares at him in surprise and then Brian licks a long, slow trail from the base of Justin’s cock up to the tip and Justin’s eyes close involuntarily.

“You want me to stop?” Brian’s voice floats from somewhere into his dwindling consciousness and Justin forgets why he ever thought he should be objecting to this.

“Don’t you dare,” he mumbles and grabs the sides of the armchair when Brian chuckles and it vibrates around Justin’s cock as Brian takes him halfway in.

On the way home, Justin's still dizzy with happiness, not as happy as his seventeen-year-old self would have been if he’d got blown by Brian in public, but happy enough to not think too much about whether this is the right time to start a serious conversation or not. He’s thinking about the loft and how he always loved it there, and how much he hates Britin. Having to drive all the way out here in the middle of the night just reinforces that he doesn’t want to live here.

He’s been meaning to talk to Brian about this all day but never seemed to be able to find the right moment or the right mood. Now seems to be as good a time as any.

“I nearly went off the road here on my first day,” he says by way of an introduction, as they're just reaching that sharp corner by the tree.

The ‘vette swerves sharply to the right, thumping wildly over a small patch of grass before veering just as sharply back into the road, slightly too far over into the other lane, until Brian regains control and the car slows down to a standstill. Justin is hanging on to the panic handle for dear life, his body stretched rigidly as he instinctively tries to brace himself against impact with his feet. A short scream escapes him, more like a shout and then he stares at Brian.

“What the fuck, Brian!” he shouts, more scared than angry. He's never before felt frightened when driving with Brian, no matter what level of intoxication Brian had reached and tonight Brian is stone-cold sober for the very reason that he knew he'd be driving out here. Justin can feel his own heart beating wildly from the adrenalin rush.

“Fuck, Justin,” Brian says, not quite shouting but loud enough. “Did you have to?” He bangs the steering wheel with both hands a couple of times and he’s shaking a little, Justin can just see it in the near darkness. The car is still idling in the middle of the lane, but there’s no traffic about, so they’re fine for the moment.

“What’d I do?” Justin asks, trying to keep his voice steady. “I was just pointing out that that’s a really dangerous corner.” He takes a deep breath and tries a smile. “Which, I suppose, you’ve just proved.”

Brian huffs out a mirthless laugh, then puts the car back into gear to take them the rest of the way home. “Yeah,” is his only reply.

They stay in the car after Brian’s parked it in the double garage and Brian lights a cigarette with still shaking fingers.

Justin watches him smoke, wondering what the hell just happened. His inebriated brain takes a while to get to the bottom of it and asking Brian is out of the question - naturally. Brian is looking studiously through the windshield at the bare wall of the garage. But Justin gets there in the end.

“I was never in any danger,” he says quietly, putting his hand on Brian’s thigh and getting no reaction. “Please, don’t make this into something it’s not. I’m just saying that it’s a tricky corner and it’s one of the reasons I don’t want to live here. It’s just too far out of town.”

Brian stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and when he draws back, he takes Justin’s hand and interlaces their fingers in an uncharacteristically possessive gesture. “You don’t have to live here,” is all he says.

In the past, Justin would have taken that for a you’re free to go, what do I care? But not now. Now it’s a concession to abide by Justin’s wishes. “We’ll talk about it later,” Brian says and looks at him for the first time.

“Yeah, later,” Justin agrees.

*

On Sunday morning Brian insists on going to the diner for breakfast. Justin really doesn’t have a good argument against that, other than that it’s a long way to go for mediocre food. But he’s willing to indulge Brian and he can always hope that Debbie won’t be there.

But she is and the knowing look she gives them, when they come in, tells Justin that Michael's already passed on all the information he gathered the day before. It’s not much, but it’s doubtful anyway whether either Debbie or Michael care much beyond the basic ‘Brian and Justin are back together again’.

Debbie hugs both of them and then stops to sit with them while they’re eating. Justin barely looks at her, hoping against hope that she’ll keep her mouth shut about their little conspiracy and Debbie does, although the smirk she favors Justin with seems like a giant neon sign to him. Maybe he’s just paranoid.

“So when are you off again?” Debbie asks, glaring at one of the customers, who’s loudly wondering what happened to the service in the place.

“Tuesday,” Brian says, stirring his coffee. “We’re off to New York.”

“We? Are?” Justin asks. It’s news to him, but not unwelcome. Of course, he’s aware that Brian is New York bound, but they haven’t spoken about it yet and Justin sure as hell didn’t know that he was going along. But he feels strangely compliant at the moment, mainly because Brian’s been in a weird mood since he came to the house on Thursday. Or maybe that’s Brian’s normal mood nowadays and Justin just doesn’t know it.

“I’ll get Cynthia to get you a ticket tomorrow.”

“Uhm, okay.”

Debbie just grins at them, no doubt having fond memories of the past when Brian was always springing surprises on Justin - not all of them pleasant. She has no idea how much Justin hates surprises.

He’s struck by how different Debbie is around Brian, not just different from how she used to be around him but also different from how she talks to Justin. There’s the same gentle tone but also something else - she is… careful. There’s no word about her granddaughter or even Melanie, just Michael and Ben and Carl.

Eventually, she gets up and serves a few customers, ruffling Brian’s hair as she walks past him. Brian pulls away and runs his hand through it to put it back the way it was. Smiling, Justin reaches out and puts a few stray strands back into place and Brian just lets him. It seems like a melancholy silence has settled over them and Justin regrets agreeing to come here.

When they’re finished, Brian wedges a large amount of money under his plate, excessive even for him, and Debbie comes over to give both of them a hug again, Brian’s noticeably longer than Justin’s.

“Come to our next dinner,” she says quietly.

“Can’t,” Brian answers. “Take care of yourself, Deb.”

“You too, Honey.”

Coming out into the fresh air seems like more of a relief than it ought to be.

As they walk towards the car, Brian lights a cigarette. “So who else have you roped into your little conspiracy?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Justin. I know Debbie and I know you. You two have been scheming. Who else? Cynthia? Ted? Michael?”

“Michael would never do such a thing,” Justin says indignantly.

“But the rest of them?” Brian’s voice is neutral and Justin can’t quite work out if he’s annoyed or amused. He hopes it’s the latter. Surely Brian won’t mind, not now.

“If anybody was scheming, it was for you, not against you, Brian. It’s been three years. Maybe they thought you were ready, or maybe they just want to see you happy. Everybody knows that’s not gonna happen without me.”

Brian stares at him, dumbstruck, and Justin grins impishly. Then Brian barks out a laugh and for the first time, Justin thinks of him as unguarded. “Twat,” Brian says in a fond voice, pulling him close and kissing his temple.

Justin thinks it’s one of the more romantic things Brian’s ever said to him.

A/N: Justin is referring to the Kübler-Ross model of the stages of grief. It sets out five stages that people go through to cope with catastrophic loss or terminal illness. They are: denial (“This can’t be happening to me.”), anger (“Why me? Who’s to blame?”), bargaining (“I give anything if...”), depression (”What’s the point?”) and acceptance (“It’s going to be all right.”)

PART EIGHT:  http://kachelofen.livejournal.com/21356.html#cutid1