Dirty Sexy Money ficlet: The Believer
The Believer [Dirty Sexy Money, Brian, Nick, PG-13, 606 words. A quick little yuletide treat for littledrop - written based on watching a couple of episodes and googling like crazy! Thanks to dafnagreer for the last minute beta. Can be read on the archive here.]
Jesus irritates him. The way he just hangs there, wooden and mournful. And judgmental. Brian could swear Jesus' eyes follow him around the church with their painted accusing stare. Like he's doing anything useful, hanging there. Like he never enjoyed the pleasures in life too.
Brian is tempted to title his next sermon Jesus Judges You. Probably not good for business though - Jesus Takes Your Yoke or God Sent His Son For You are the crowd pleasers. Everyone wants to know how much the Lord cares for them; no one wants to hear about the sacrifices they have to make, the bargains and the under-the-table deals.
Brian stuffs a large note in the donation box and lights a candle. He looks up.
"Are you satisfied now, God? You know, I can't help wondering just how much has been your doing. Did you give Andrea cancer? Because I have to say, that was some mighty fine manipulation if you did. Worthy of my father, and you have to know that's high praise. So," he adds, spreading his arms out wide and raising his voice, "here I am. You've got your prized cash cow back."
Once the echo of his own voice fades, the church is silent. It feels empty. Brian doesn't think the house of God should feel so deserted, but he's not allowed to doubt, not now he's had his miracle.
He believes. Doesn't mean he has to like it.
*
"I was always jealous of you, you know," Brian says. He doesn't really intend to be so honest - maybe it's wearing the dog collar again. Or maybe it's the free-flowing drinks. His mother knows how to throw a party.
Nick raises an eyebrow and sips his wine. He looks as though he'd rather be talking to anyone else. "Of me?"
"I know, crazy, right? I mean, look at you," Brian sneers. "But I always thought it would be nice to be an only child. No brothers and sisters to steal the limelight. Because, you know, you could always guarantee that if I achieved anything, anything at all, Patrick would do something better, or Jeremy would be sick, or Juliet would throw a tantrum, and no one would even notice what I'd done."
He's probably had too much to drink.
"I think you've had too much to drink," Nick says, and reaches out for his glass. Brian hates it when Nick agrees with him, almost as much as he hates it when Nick judges him. He downs the Scotch before Nick can take it and puts his glass down.
"You had it so easy," he says, poking a finger in Nick's chest.
"Really? You do remember that my mother left when I was a child and my father spent far more time looking after your family than me?" Nick sounds more resigned than annoyed.
Brian huffs. Petty details. He grabs another drink from a passing waitress and ignores Nick's comment. "And it turns out you're my brother and now you're one-upping me instead. And being like Jesus," he adds.
"I'm like Jesus?"
Brian doesn't know why Nick looks so confused. It's obvious. "Everyone loves you, and thinks you're so perfect, but underneath you're all judgy. You stand there looking smug and thankful you're not like everyone else, but you're no better than the rest of us really."
"Brian-" Nick starts, uncomfortably. He's looking at Brian the way Jesus does, like he can see under the surface, like he knows exactly who Brian is beneath. Brian hates that look.
At least here he can walk away. He doesn't have that option with Jesus any more.
//
Jesus irritates him. The way he just hangs there, wooden and mournful. And judgmental. Brian could swear Jesus' eyes follow him around the church with their painted accusing stare. Like he's doing anything useful, hanging there. Like he never enjoyed the pleasures in life too.
Brian is tempted to title his next sermon Jesus Judges You. Probably not good for business though - Jesus Takes Your Yoke or God Sent His Son For You are the crowd pleasers. Everyone wants to know how much the Lord cares for them; no one wants to hear about the sacrifices they have to make, the bargains and the under-the-table deals.
Brian stuffs a large note in the donation box and lights a candle. He looks up.
"Are you satisfied now, God? You know, I can't help wondering just how much has been your doing. Did you give Andrea cancer? Because I have to say, that was some mighty fine manipulation if you did. Worthy of my father, and you have to know that's high praise. So," he adds, spreading his arms out wide and raising his voice, "here I am. You've got your prized cash cow back."
Once the echo of his own voice fades, the church is silent. It feels empty. Brian doesn't think the house of God should feel so deserted, but he's not allowed to doubt, not now he's had his miracle.
He believes. Doesn't mean he has to like it.
*
"I was always jealous of you, you know," Brian says. He doesn't really intend to be so honest - maybe it's wearing the dog collar again. Or maybe it's the free-flowing drinks. His mother knows how to throw a party.
Nick raises an eyebrow and sips his wine. He looks as though he'd rather be talking to anyone else. "Of me?"
"I know, crazy, right? I mean, look at you," Brian sneers. "But I always thought it would be nice to be an only child. No brothers and sisters to steal the limelight. Because, you know, you could always guarantee that if I achieved anything, anything at all, Patrick would do something better, or Jeremy would be sick, or Juliet would throw a tantrum, and no one would even notice what I'd done."
He's probably had too much to drink.
"I think you've had too much to drink," Nick says, and reaches out for his glass. Brian hates it when Nick agrees with him, almost as much as he hates it when Nick judges him. He downs the Scotch before Nick can take it and puts his glass down.
"You had it so easy," he says, poking a finger in Nick's chest.
"Really? You do remember that my mother left when I was a child and my father spent far more time looking after your family than me?" Nick sounds more resigned than annoyed.
Brian huffs. Petty details. He grabs another drink from a passing waitress and ignores Nick's comment. "And it turns out you're my brother and now you're one-upping me instead. And being like Jesus," he adds.
"I'm like Jesus?"
Brian doesn't know why Nick looks so confused. It's obvious. "Everyone loves you, and thinks you're so perfect, but underneath you're all judgy. You stand there looking smug and thankful you're not like everyone else, but you're no better than the rest of us really."
"Brian-" Nick starts, uncomfortably. He's looking at Brian the way Jesus does, like he can see under the surface, like he knows exactly who Brian is beneath. Brian hates that look.
At least here he can walk away. He doesn't have that option with Jesus any more.
//