QAF Fic: "The Twelve Years of Christmas" 12/12
I know some of you are petitioning to have the 30-50 Years of Christmas, but I'm afraid this is it. *g* It's been a challenge and a pleasure to write this series, and thanks so, so much to everyone who has been feedbacking and encouraging me. You're the best!
The alarm went off again for a few seconds before being silenced. As Brian put the final dab of shaving cream on his chin, he stuck his head out into the bedroom. “Time to get up, Sunshine.” Justin groaned in response, and Brian smiled to himself.
Lightweight.
He went back to the sink and finished shaving, carefully patting on just the right amount of designer aftershave when he was done. By the time he was dressed, Justin was still hidden under the covers.
“Justin.” He waited for a response, but only heard a mumble. “Justin, seriously. It’s Christmas Eve, you’ve got a lot of shit to do. Aren’t you supposed to go help your mom get ready for tonight?”
Justin mumbled again and Brian yanked the duvet down. Justin was curled up on his side, a pained expression on his face. Brian smirked and said, “Too much eggnog at the Kinnetik party last night?”
Justin moaned, “I feel sick.”
“Well, don’t puke on the bed.”
“My stomach...I think I need a bucket.”
“Oh, stop whimpering and be a man,” Brian said, rolling his eyes.
“Fuck you.”
He smiled. “There, that’s more like it!”
“Can you call my mom and tell her I can’t make it?”
He shook his head as he went to find the cordless and hit Jennifer’s number on the speed dial. “Hi, it’s Brian. Your precious little angel is feeling a bit under the weather this morning, and I’m afraid he won’t be gracing you with his presence until tonight.” He listened for a moment and then laughed. “I know, I don’t think he’s ever going to be able to handle his booze.”
As Jennifer bemoaned all the cooking she still had to do, he went back into the bedroom and pulled the duvet up over Justin. “Well, I’m sure Debbie and Emmett will help. Yeah, okay. See you tonight.” Brian sighed. “Yes, I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”
He hung up and looked down at Justin. “You’re off the hook. Now get some sleep and I’ll see you after work.”
Justin blinked up at him. “Do you really have to work? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“I just have some stuff to finish up. I’m closing the agency for a whole week, I need to make sure the clients are taken care of first. You know that.”
Justin nodded slightly and curled into an even tighter ball, shivering. Brian went to the kitchen and got a big glass of water and a large bowl. He placed the water on the nightstand along with some Advil. “Drink this and take these, you’ll feel better. And throw up in this,” he said, putting the bowl on the floor. He leaned down and kissed Justin’s head. “See you soon.”
As he closed the door behind him, Brian chuckled to himself. Justin really needed to learn how to handle his hangovers better.
****
The loft was still and dark when Brian returned. He’d been surprised to look up from the paperwork in his office and realize that it was just past five o’clock. The staff had gone home already to be with their families, and Brian firmly told himself that the Liberty Ale figures could wait until the new year.
“Justin?”
There was no answer, and Brian assumed that he’d already gone to his mother’s. Jennifer was hosting this year, with Mel and Lindz taking the reins for Christmas Day. Deb had said she was happy to get a break, but Brian knew she’d do just as much work as usual.
He hung his coat up and carefully removed his new Gucci shoes, lining them up neatly on the mat. As he walked to the darkened Christmas tree, he heard a noise from the bedroom.
“Justin?” Brian hopped up the stairs and laughed incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’ve been in bed all fucking day because of a hangover.”
“Brian…” Justin’s voice was hoarse and pained.
Brian’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?” He quickly moved to the side of the bed and turned the light on. Justin was flushed and sweaty, the bedclothes tangled around his legs.
“My stomach. It’s worse, Brian. It really hurts; I don’t think it was the eggnog.” He took a shuddering breath.
Brian put his hand on Justin’s forehead, his pulse starting to race when he felt the heat there. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I thought it would get better. I threw up a few times, but it hurts. Like, really hurts. I thought it was the hangover, but now it's just here.” He pointed to the side of his stomach.
Brian went to the dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and track pants. “Come on, we’re going to the hospital.” He helped Justin sit up and he dressed him quickly.
“I’m sorry,” Justin said, as he groaned in pain once more.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s not your fault.” Brian hurried to the front closet, cursing himself for not paying more attention that morning. He jammed his feet into his shoes as he found Justin’s sneakers and coat. He bundled Justin up and helped him to his feet.
Justin doubled over in pain, and Brian half-carried, half-dragged him out to the elevator. He slammed down the grate and held Justin tightly to him as they descended. In the car, his hand trembled as he put the key in the ignition.
****
Brian paced back and forth beside Justin’s bed, which was shoved in the corner of the busy ER.
“You’re making me dizzy,” Justin moaned.
Brian stopped and sat down. “Sorry.” He reached out and caressed Justin’s cheek.
“What do you think it is?” Justin looked at him with wide eyes.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just some virus that’s going around. Sure you haven’t been on a cruise ship lately?”
Justin tried to smile, and said, “I’m sure.”
Somewhere, someone started wailing. Brian cringed and looked around for the damn doctor, who was certainly taking his sweet-ass time with Justin’s test results. He had refused to even guess at what was wrong with Justin, insisting that they needed to do some quick tests first.
Brian knew enough from watching TV to figure out that it was probably appendicitis. He knew it, the doctor knew it, and Justin knew it. Justin groaned again and Brian considered going down to the lab himself and beating the results out of the technicians.
Brian saw Jennifer, Molly and Deb out of the corner of his eye, and they rushed over, faces pinched and hands fluttering. They gathered around Justin, bringing an air of nervous tension with them that made Brian want to make them wait outside. Justin told them he’d be fine, and didn’t moan or grimace once while they hovered over him.
He clenched Brian’s hand tightly, his fingernails making half-moon marks that Brian would still be able to see the next day.
****
The hall on the surgery floor was quiet except for a flickering light above the nurses’ station. Brian examined the linoleum and tried not to breathe the antiseptic smell in too deeply.
Memories stubbornly flashed through his mind anyway.
He reminded himself again that it was different this time. That it was just routine surgery. That Justin wasn’t going to die. That this time, he couldn’t taste blood on his lips.
“Brian?”
For a second when he looked up, he expected to see her in her gauzy prom dress, tears sliding down her cheeks, her lips still glossy with something that smelled like strawberries. Instead, Daphne wore a white lab coat with a stethoscope slung around her neck, sensible shoes on her feet. She reached out her hand and he took it as she sat down beside him.
For a minute they sat in silence, and she squeezed his palm steadily. She looked tired, and he wondered how many hours she’d been working, and if she’d seen anyone die tonight. He absurdly felt like hugging her.
“As soon as I found out I went to check on the surgery. Everything’s going fine,” she said. When she smiled, it was weary. “He’s going to be fine. It’s routine.”
“Everyone keeps saying that. Routine.” Brian tried not to think about how routines could change when you least expected it.
“He’ll be out soon. I promise.”
He didn’t want to think about promises, either. “Do you have to work tomorrow, too?”
“Yep. Unfortunately, the hospital doesn’t close. Damn sick people. They really should be more considerate.”
Brian smiled. “And they say the Christmas spirit is dead.”
Jennifer and Debbie returned with coffee and Daphne hugged them both. She told them she’d go check on Justin again, and then had to get back to her patients. Jennifer suddenly choked up and told Daphne how proud she was of her, and Daphne left blushing, looking seventeen again.
Brian had to look away, the memories taking over.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he flipped it open. “Hey, Lindz.”
“Dad?”
“Gus?” Brian walked a bit down the hall. “What are you doing up? It’s late.”
“Dad, I’m fifteen. I hate to break it to you, but I stay up past midnight on a regular basis.”
Brian huffed out a laugh. “Do your mothers know that?”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
The gang had gone home a couple of hours before, after crowding the waiting room and driving Brian insane with their concerned glances. He had finally told them all to go home and get some sleep and reminded them that it was just fucking routine.
“So what’s up, Gus?”
“Did you hear anything yet? He’s going to be okay, right?”
“He’s still in surgery. But he’s going to be fine. Getting your appendix out is no big deal.”
“It feels like a big deal.”
Brian had to agree. “I know.”
“I just…Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Justin knows I love him, right?”
Brian’s throat was suddenly thick and he swallowed hard. “Of course he does. And he loves you, too.”
“Because I know I can be an asshole and sometimes I treat him like…I’m just not nice to him sometimes.”
Brian frowned. Justin hadn’t mentioned anything. “Look, Gus-”
“Are you okay?”
“Of course. I’m fine. It’s no big deal, Gus. Now go to sleep, or Santa won’t bring you any presents,” he intoned, with mock seriousness.
Gus laughed softly. “Sure, Dad. ‘Night.” The dial tone hummed in Brian’s ear before he had a chance to answer.
“Brian?” Jennifer stood nearby. “Is everything okay?”
He snapped the phone shut. “Fine. Any news?”
“Daphne’s checking, but she says he should be out soon. I’m sure he’ll be in recovery before long.” She sounded like she was still trying to convince herself.
“He will be,” Brian said, firmly.
She smiled again, tears springing to her eyes. “I know he’ll be fine, I don’t know why I’m so worried. I guess it’s just…well, you know.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She looked at him and exhaled a long breath. She smiled again. “Brian, I-”
He shook his head and cut her off. “Now, now. No more getting over-sentimental, Mother Taylor.”
She laughed and hugged him close, and he let her.
****
Justin looked drained, the faded hospital sheets accentuating the pallor of his skin. The doctor said it had all gone as planned, that the surgery had been a complete success. He predicted a full recovery before rushing off to answer a page.
Brian still felt a weight on his chest, and standing beside Justin’s bed, he wished he could climb in so he'd be able to breathe again.
Instead he sat and held Justin’s limp hand, reminding himself again that it was not fifteen years ago, because he’d never come inside Justin’s room then. Had never touched him. Had been too afraid.
Fifteen years. He rolled the number around in his head and tried to imagine all that time without Justin. His stomach clenched and he focused on watching Justin’s chest rise and fall steadily.
After a while, Justin shifted and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked up at Brian dozily. “Hey.” His throat was dry and the word was little more than a sigh. Brian got him some water and held his head up while he drank.
“Well, you certainly know how to make for a memorable holiday.”
“I always was a drama princess,” Justin whispered.
“Queen. You graduated a long time ago,” Brian said, stroking Justin’s hair.
“Mmm. That’s true.” Justin’s eyes slid shut.
“Justin.”
“Hmm?” He opened his eyes again.
“I love you.”
Justin smiled softly. “Tell me something I don’t already know.” He reached up and touched Brian’s cheek before his hand dropped back down and his eyes closed again. Soon he snored lightly.
Three days later, Justin was home. By New Year’s Eve, Brian complained that he was milking his condition for all it was worth, and that if Justin wanted an indentured servant, he should look elsewhere.
At the stroke of midnight, the ball dropped in Times Square and in the Pitts, fireworks were lit from the Seventh Street Bridge as revelers cheered. The bass thumped in Babylon, where the men were sweaty and naked and the confetti rained down.
The humidifier droned softly in the corner of the loft. Brian murmured in his sleep, and Justin pressed a kiss to his chin before drifting off again.
The alarm went off again for a few seconds before being silenced. As Brian put the final dab of shaving cream on his chin, he stuck his head out into the bedroom. “Time to get up, Sunshine.” Justin groaned in response, and Brian smiled to himself.
Lightweight.
He went back to the sink and finished shaving, carefully patting on just the right amount of designer aftershave when he was done. By the time he was dressed, Justin was still hidden under the covers.
“Justin.” He waited for a response, but only heard a mumble. “Justin, seriously. It’s Christmas Eve, you’ve got a lot of shit to do. Aren’t you supposed to go help your mom get ready for tonight?”
Justin mumbled again and Brian yanked the duvet down. Justin was curled up on his side, a pained expression on his face. Brian smirked and said, “Too much eggnog at the Kinnetik party last night?”
Justin moaned, “I feel sick.”
“Well, don’t puke on the bed.”
“My stomach...I think I need a bucket.”
“Oh, stop whimpering and be a man,” Brian said, rolling his eyes.
“Fuck you.”
He smiled. “There, that’s more like it!”
“Can you call my mom and tell her I can’t make it?”
He shook his head as he went to find the cordless and hit Jennifer’s number on the speed dial. “Hi, it’s Brian. Your precious little angel is feeling a bit under the weather this morning, and I’m afraid he won’t be gracing you with his presence until tonight.” He listened for a moment and then laughed. “I know, I don’t think he’s ever going to be able to handle his booze.”
As Jennifer bemoaned all the cooking she still had to do, he went back into the bedroom and pulled the duvet up over Justin. “Well, I’m sure Debbie and Emmett will help. Yeah, okay. See you tonight.” Brian sighed. “Yes, I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”
He hung up and looked down at Justin. “You’re off the hook. Now get some sleep and I’ll see you after work.”
Justin blinked up at him. “Do you really have to work? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“I just have some stuff to finish up. I’m closing the agency for a whole week, I need to make sure the clients are taken care of first. You know that.”
Justin nodded slightly and curled into an even tighter ball, shivering. Brian went to the kitchen and got a big glass of water and a large bowl. He placed the water on the nightstand along with some Advil. “Drink this and take these, you’ll feel better. And throw up in this,” he said, putting the bowl on the floor. He leaned down and kissed Justin’s head. “See you soon.”
As he closed the door behind him, Brian chuckled to himself. Justin really needed to learn how to handle his hangovers better.
****
The loft was still and dark when Brian returned. He’d been surprised to look up from the paperwork in his office and realize that it was just past five o’clock. The staff had gone home already to be with their families, and Brian firmly told himself that the Liberty Ale figures could wait until the new year.
“Justin?”
There was no answer, and Brian assumed that he’d already gone to his mother’s. Jennifer was hosting this year, with Mel and Lindz taking the reins for Christmas Day. Deb had said she was happy to get a break, but Brian knew she’d do just as much work as usual.
He hung his coat up and carefully removed his new Gucci shoes, lining them up neatly on the mat. As he walked to the darkened Christmas tree, he heard a noise from the bedroom.
“Justin?” Brian hopped up the stairs and laughed incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’ve been in bed all fucking day because of a hangover.”
“Brian…” Justin’s voice was hoarse and pained.
Brian’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?” He quickly moved to the side of the bed and turned the light on. Justin was flushed and sweaty, the bedclothes tangled around his legs.
“My stomach. It’s worse, Brian. It really hurts; I don’t think it was the eggnog.” He took a shuddering breath.
Brian put his hand on Justin’s forehead, his pulse starting to race when he felt the heat there. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I thought it would get better. I threw up a few times, but it hurts. Like, really hurts. I thought it was the hangover, but now it's just here.” He pointed to the side of his stomach.
Brian went to the dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and track pants. “Come on, we’re going to the hospital.” He helped Justin sit up and he dressed him quickly.
“I’m sorry,” Justin said, as he groaned in pain once more.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s not your fault.” Brian hurried to the front closet, cursing himself for not paying more attention that morning. He jammed his feet into his shoes as he found Justin’s sneakers and coat. He bundled Justin up and helped him to his feet.
Justin doubled over in pain, and Brian half-carried, half-dragged him out to the elevator. He slammed down the grate and held Justin tightly to him as they descended. In the car, his hand trembled as he put the key in the ignition.
****
Brian paced back and forth beside Justin’s bed, which was shoved in the corner of the busy ER.
“You’re making me dizzy,” Justin moaned.
Brian stopped and sat down. “Sorry.” He reached out and caressed Justin’s cheek.
“What do you think it is?” Justin looked at him with wide eyes.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just some virus that’s going around. Sure you haven’t been on a cruise ship lately?”
Justin tried to smile, and said, “I’m sure.”
Somewhere, someone started wailing. Brian cringed and looked around for the damn doctor, who was certainly taking his sweet-ass time with Justin’s test results. He had refused to even guess at what was wrong with Justin, insisting that they needed to do some quick tests first.
Brian knew enough from watching TV to figure out that it was probably appendicitis. He knew it, the doctor knew it, and Justin knew it. Justin groaned again and Brian considered going down to the lab himself and beating the results out of the technicians.
Brian saw Jennifer, Molly and Deb out of the corner of his eye, and they rushed over, faces pinched and hands fluttering. They gathered around Justin, bringing an air of nervous tension with them that made Brian want to make them wait outside. Justin told them he’d be fine, and didn’t moan or grimace once while they hovered over him.
He clenched Brian’s hand tightly, his fingernails making half-moon marks that Brian would still be able to see the next day.
****
The hall on the surgery floor was quiet except for a flickering light above the nurses’ station. Brian examined the linoleum and tried not to breathe the antiseptic smell in too deeply.
Memories stubbornly flashed through his mind anyway.
He reminded himself again that it was different this time. That it was just routine surgery. That Justin wasn’t going to die. That this time, he couldn’t taste blood on his lips.
“Brian?”
For a second when he looked up, he expected to see her in her gauzy prom dress, tears sliding down her cheeks, her lips still glossy with something that smelled like strawberries. Instead, Daphne wore a white lab coat with a stethoscope slung around her neck, sensible shoes on her feet. She reached out her hand and he took it as she sat down beside him.
For a minute they sat in silence, and she squeezed his palm steadily. She looked tired, and he wondered how many hours she’d been working, and if she’d seen anyone die tonight. He absurdly felt like hugging her.
“As soon as I found out I went to check on the surgery. Everything’s going fine,” she said. When she smiled, it was weary. “He’s going to be fine. It’s routine.”
“Everyone keeps saying that. Routine.” Brian tried not to think about how routines could change when you least expected it.
“He’ll be out soon. I promise.”
He didn’t want to think about promises, either. “Do you have to work tomorrow, too?”
“Yep. Unfortunately, the hospital doesn’t close. Damn sick people. They really should be more considerate.”
Brian smiled. “And they say the Christmas spirit is dead.”
Jennifer and Debbie returned with coffee and Daphne hugged them both. She told them she’d go check on Justin again, and then had to get back to her patients. Jennifer suddenly choked up and told Daphne how proud she was of her, and Daphne left blushing, looking seventeen again.
Brian had to look away, the memories taking over.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he flipped it open. “Hey, Lindz.”
“Dad?”
“Gus?” Brian walked a bit down the hall. “What are you doing up? It’s late.”
“Dad, I’m fifteen. I hate to break it to you, but I stay up past midnight on a regular basis.”
Brian huffed out a laugh. “Do your mothers know that?”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
The gang had gone home a couple of hours before, after crowding the waiting room and driving Brian insane with their concerned glances. He had finally told them all to go home and get some sleep and reminded them that it was just fucking routine.
“So what’s up, Gus?”
“Did you hear anything yet? He’s going to be okay, right?”
“He’s still in surgery. But he’s going to be fine. Getting your appendix out is no big deal.”
“It feels like a big deal.”
Brian had to agree. “I know.”
“I just…Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Justin knows I love him, right?”
Brian’s throat was suddenly thick and he swallowed hard. “Of course he does. And he loves you, too.”
“Because I know I can be an asshole and sometimes I treat him like…I’m just not nice to him sometimes.”
Brian frowned. Justin hadn’t mentioned anything. “Look, Gus-”
“Are you okay?”
“Of course. I’m fine. It’s no big deal, Gus. Now go to sleep, or Santa won’t bring you any presents,” he intoned, with mock seriousness.
Gus laughed softly. “Sure, Dad. ‘Night.” The dial tone hummed in Brian’s ear before he had a chance to answer.
“Brian?” Jennifer stood nearby. “Is everything okay?”
He snapped the phone shut. “Fine. Any news?”
“Daphne’s checking, but she says he should be out soon. I’m sure he’ll be in recovery before long.” She sounded like she was still trying to convince herself.
“He will be,” Brian said, firmly.
She smiled again, tears springing to her eyes. “I know he’ll be fine, I don’t know why I’m so worried. I guess it’s just…well, you know.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She looked at him and exhaled a long breath. She smiled again. “Brian, I-”
He shook his head and cut her off. “Now, now. No more getting over-sentimental, Mother Taylor.”
She laughed and hugged him close, and he let her.
****
Justin looked drained, the faded hospital sheets accentuating the pallor of his skin. The doctor said it had all gone as planned, that the surgery had been a complete success. He predicted a full recovery before rushing off to answer a page.
Brian still felt a weight on his chest, and standing beside Justin’s bed, he wished he could climb in so he'd be able to breathe again.
Instead he sat and held Justin’s limp hand, reminding himself again that it was not fifteen years ago, because he’d never come inside Justin’s room then. Had never touched him. Had been too afraid.
Fifteen years. He rolled the number around in his head and tried to imagine all that time without Justin. His stomach clenched and he focused on watching Justin’s chest rise and fall steadily.
After a while, Justin shifted and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked up at Brian dozily. “Hey.” His throat was dry and the word was little more than a sigh. Brian got him some water and held his head up while he drank.
“Well, you certainly know how to make for a memorable holiday.”
“I always was a drama princess,” Justin whispered.
“Queen. You graduated a long time ago,” Brian said, stroking Justin’s hair.
“Mmm. That’s true.” Justin’s eyes slid shut.
“Justin.”
“Hmm?” He opened his eyes again.
“I love you.”
Justin smiled softly. “Tell me something I don’t already know.” He reached up and touched Brian’s cheek before his hand dropped back down and his eyes closed again. Soon he snored lightly.
Three days later, Justin was home. By New Year’s Eve, Brian complained that he was milking his condition for all it was worth, and that if Justin wanted an indentured servant, he should look elsewhere.
At the stroke of midnight, the ball dropped in Times Square and in the Pitts, fireworks were lit from the Seventh Street Bridge as revelers cheered. The bass thumped in Babylon, where the men were sweaty and naked and the confetti rained down.
The humidifier droned softly in the corner of the loft. Brian murmured in his sleep, and Justin pressed a kiss to his chin before drifting off again.