Mart Miracles (PG-13; Claire-POV, Brian/Justin, Gus)
Title: Mart Miracles
Author: Etharei
Fandom: Queer as Folk (US)
Characters: Justin/Brian, Gus, Claire-POV
Prompt: #5 (“Holiday”)
Word Count: 3, 617
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual references
Beloved Beta: Much love and heaps of thanks to beathen and shadownyc! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Summary: “ The first thing she has to struggle to make her brain accept is the sight of Brian Kinney amongst factory-produced consumer products...”
Author's Notes: 3rd-party POV, somewhat introspective and schmoopy, and utterly smutless, so I understand that this may not be everyone’s cup of tea. Set in the happy days of post-314, a little spoilery for S3.
“Excuse me, would you be so kind as to move your cart? It’s blocking the aisle.”
“Mom, can we please get some brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts?”
Claire momentarily abandons her crumpled shopping list to look at a blonde middle-aged woman gazing at her expectantly from behind a filled shopping cart, a young girl tugging impatiently on one arm. From the well-made clothes and designer handbag, she automatically categorizes the woman as WASP. No wedding ring, but she didn’t looked the sort to have a kid out of wedlock. Feeling sympathetic towards a fellow divorced mother- she is still not sure how she managed to convince her own mother to lay off the wine for a day and look after the boys- Claire moves her cart to one side.
“Thanks,” the woman says, moving past her. “All right, Molly, but just two boxes, okay? And no complaining when we go to get your teeth cleaned next month.”
“Mom!”
Tuning out the girl’s whining, Claire returns her attention to her shopping list, wondering if John would really remember each and every piece of junk food he’d told her to buy for him. Very likely. The boy barely scraped a pass at Math, but when numbers involved unhealthy foods or PlayStation games, he turns into a fucking genius. And he hadn’t even asked her, but yelled out his order in the middle of machine-gunning a digital dinosaur. She decides that she feels some resentment for the WASP mother after all, because at least her daughter knows how to use words like 'please'. Claire didn’t know where she went wrong with her boys, but she feels that they should at least have some respect for the woman who’d endured hours of intense pain to bring them into the world. And her own mother was no help; Joan Kinney had always spoiled her grandsons, but her level of devotion and mindless adoration had tripled since she found out (finally) that they were the only ones she’s going to have, what with Brian being a fag and all. Unfortunately the presence of Joan in their lives brought with it repeated attempts to introduce Scripture into their household and Claire being constantly nagged about becoming a better parent.
Well, fuck that, at least her sons aren’t going to end up being homos. Fuck Mom and fuck Brian, both of them always being fucking condescending and judgmental, when Claire’s the one who’s got a normal family, who’s not living alone like a pathetic-
“Brian? Brian, where are you?” Her head snaps around so fast that she wouldn’t have been surprised to feel whiplash. A blond, young man carrying a toddler with one arm and pushing a cart in front of him with the other trundles past her aisle on the opposite end. “If you’ve abandoned me to go f- play around, there’ll be hell to pay when we get home!”
Now, Claire knows that there’s probably dozens of guys in Pittsburgh sharing her brother’s name, and considering how he lives she doubts he even knows what a Walmart is, but something makes her push her cart after the young man. About two aisles down, in the Baked Goods section, she hears a familiar voice and automatically freezes. Taking cover behind a tall cardboard parrot, she cautiously peers down Aisle 5.
Shit, it really is her brother, wearing a brown leather jacket and tight jeans that together probably cost more than her whole month’s salary. He is staring quizzically at the rows of well-stocked shelves stretched in front of him, as if unsure about what he’s supposed to do next. Out of some residual fear from the last time she saw him (barely-controlled rage blazing into her house), Claire is very careful to stay out of sight.
The first thing she has to struggle to make her brain accept is the sight of Brian Kinney amongst factory-produced consumer products; she remembers hearing that he’d lost his job, something about getting caught fucking a student intern by the CEO of his company and that police chief who had been running for Mayor (weird, she should remember his name, since she’d voted for him). She’d laughed long and hard when she first heard it, glad that there was some justice in the world after all. How the mighty have fallen- the thought makes her smile now. At last her brother can find out how the rest of the measly proletariat lived. (She’s always hated him for his lifestyle, for being a fag, for knowing better than to burden himself with family and responsibilities and kids, for being able to afford Gucci and Prada whilst she was stuck rummaging through sales bins.) A moment is dedicated to imagining the cocky Brian Kinney trying to do his own laundry, going to collect unemployment, figuring out the bus routes because he’d rather commute than drive a secondhand car.
“Ow, ow, ow- Gus, stop that!” The guy she’d followed stops mid-way between the end of the aisle and her brother because the little kid in his arms has gotten a good fistful of his hair. (Claire thinks he deserves it, for having such beautiful golden hair, with a glossy sheen that doesn’t even let her hope that it’s the result of chemicals) “Brian, a bit of help here, please? I think Gus is trying to rip me out a bald patch.”
Brian turns, and through the back of his head she can see his characteristic smirk. “Looks like I’m not the only one who appreciates your hair as a great handhold.” The young man makes a face at him, and Brian grins (he’s turned a bit towards her again, so she can see half his face); the expression is startlingly real and heartfelt and completely devoid of the thinly veiled scorn he always wore around Mom and herself. His hand reaches out, slender manicured fingers curling and submerging beneath light golden locks, and Claire realizes that there’s something strangely familiar about the so far unnamed guy, though she can’t imagine where she could have met him before, especially if he’s one of Brian’s ‘acquaintances’.
She expects them to kiss, braces herself for a public display of lust with indecent tonguing and scandalized passersby. (She’ll be properly disgusted, vindicated in her view that her brother is no more than a filthy oversexed fag who will burn in hell; she might even attempt to rescue the toddler. She sees herself handing the little kid back to his outraged mother, at the same time outing his gay older brother, who’d probably agreed to baby-sit just so he could come out and meet Brian.) But they pause, simply looking and smiling at each other; Brian appears perfectly content to just stand there and feel up the young man’s hair. When they finally do kiss, it’s slow and gentle and sweet, as if the two of them could stand there and do it all day.
(Claire files another entry on her ‘Why I Hate My Brother’ list, because no one’s ever stopped time just to kiss her.)
The little kid tolerates being ignored for approximately thirty seconds before he starts shifting about and flailing his little limbs. Brian and Blondie part, still smiling; Brian then slips his hands under the toddler’s arms and gently lifts the kid into his arms. Claire’s breath catches in her throat, because at that moment she gets a good look at the kid -
Fuck
- and he’s like something straight out of her memories. A miniature Brian gazing longingly up at a cookie jar Claire had evilly placed out of his reach in the kitchen cabinet. Only this version, wearing several layers of soft cotton bearing labels Jack and Joan Kinney would never have heard of, points at his object of interest and mumbles something into Brian’s ear. The next moment, her brother’s reaching up and grabbing a bright blue bag of Oreos off the shelf.
“Here you go, Sonny Boy,” Brian says, handing the cookies to the kid. Claire loses another breath, as the voice of Jack Kinney echoed through her head. (Brian always answered to Sonny Boy, because Pops only called him that when he was in a good mood.)
“Brian,” Blondie admonishes. “Do you know how hyper all the sugar in that is gonna make him?”
Double fuck. Claire doesn’t hear her brother’s next words, because her brain’s finally placed Blondie’s face. The guy had come to her house with the detective and Brian’s best friend’s mother. (Claire remembers liking Debbie until a girl in her class had called the woman weird, after which Claire had stayed away in case 'weird’ was contagious.) She recalls how the young man had described the bracelet; now she knows for sure why he was familiar with it.
A new wave of disgust swells up; she’s getting short-sighted, and at this distance details are a bit blurry so she couldn’t be sure before, but she recalls Blondie’s face from the brief time he’d been in her house, and shit, he must be at least ten years younger than her brother! She’d thought nothing of it when he had been standing next to Debbie, because Debbie usually equates to ‘friends of Brian’, and she has a vague memory of Brian saying he’d never fuck his friends. Plus, she’d figured that if her brother ever settled for anyone- as ludicrous as the idea of Brian settling down is- it would be Michael. But one careful look at these two and there’s no doubt that Blondie’s both a Mikey and a pretty trick and something else entirely. Shit, he doesn’t even look 20!
(A vague memory surfaces, of Mom drunkenly rambling on about finding Brian committing sin with a young blond boy; she wonders if this is the same one, and what the fuck it was he did that made Brian want to keep him around.)
“Ouch!”
“Now, now, Sonny Boy, you can play with Justin’s pretty sunshine hair later.” Brian chuckles and puts some distance between himself and his… companion? Lover? (The term ‘boyfriend’ is not even up for consideration, because he may be broke enough to shop at a Walmart, but this is still Brian Kinney. She notes that the Oreos are now lying in the cart between a box of Captain Crunch and a pack of peach yoghurt, and a dim thought trundles through her mind about how the cart contains more food than she’d ever seen in her brother’s fridge.) “You know, Sunshine, you make a lousy housewife.”
The words “Fuck you” form in Blondie’s eyes and on his lips, but Brian quirks an eyebrow and glances at the toddler in his arms, so Blondie settles for flipping him off when the kid isn’t looking.
The kid- fuck, Brian has a fucking son? Claire tries to remember the name that Blondie had called him, but her mind finds it difficult to get past the ‘her brother has a son’ part. For some reason she feels that Brian should have told the family, or they should’ve somehow known. Of course, she’s also pretty sure that Brian would never have willingly told them, would have kept his son’s existence a secret from the family for as long as he could.
“I’ve got a nephew,” she whispers, because she needs to verbalize it in order for it to start sinking in. A movement catches her eye, and she sees the WASP woman and her daughter emerge from the next aisle. Claire feigns interest in the cardboard stand-up, which turns out to be advertising a new brand of baby food, as the woman rounds the corner and turns down Brian’s aisle.
“Justin!” The woman and her daughter call out simultaneously, heading towards the strange trio in Aisle 5. Justin smiles and waves at them; Brian rolls his eyes and retreats behind their cart.
“Well, I never expected to see the both of you here,” says the woman, leaning over to give Blondie a kiss on the cheek. “Hello Brian.”
“Hi Jennifer,” Brian greets her, looking ready to turn tail and run if she tried to kiss him too. “Hey Molly,” he adds, looking down at the woman’s daughter.
“Brian, Gus!” the little girl squeals, tugging on Brian’s leather jacket. “Can I play with Gus?”
“Mom,” Blondie says in a plaintive tone.
Claire thinks she’s starting to feel a little numb from all the shocks she’s gotten today, because she has never in her life imagined that one day she would see her brother in a supermarket shopping for groceries with a guy he’s fucking and carrying his fucking son. The addition of said guy’s mother and probable little sister- neither of whom, by the way, appear remotely put off by the fact that the two guys must be a generation apart- tips the whole scenario well into the Twilight Zone.
“Not today, honey,” the woman intercedes, casting a sheepish smile at Brian. “Your play date starts in half an hour, remember?”
The little girl pouts, then cocks her head. “Why are you here? Mom always complains that you never go shopping for food.”
“Debbie threatened to move into the loft if the fridge is still empty the next time she visits,” Blondie explains with a grin. “Lindsey’s at Lamaze class with Melanie, so she dropped Gus off at the loft. And since Gus wanted to go out, we figured we might as well do this now.”
Claire sees that Brian’s looking uneasy about this whole thing, which is a relieving touch of normalcy, but he doesn’t look out of place either. He actually lowers his son- fuck, there’s just something unbelievable about Brian Kinney having a son, especially because the kid looks like he’s at least two years old- so that the girl could hold his little hands for a minute and make faces at him.
After a few minutes of idle chatting, the woman announces that they really must go, and has to practically drag her daughter away from Brian. The two men watch them leave, waving just before they disappear down the corner, then Blondie looks at Brian with a pleased but slightly suspicious expression.
“That was nice,” he says, quietly enough Claire didn’t so much hear it as read his lips.
Brian shrugs, and carefully readjusts the toddler in his arms. “You’re lucky to have a mother and sister like that.”
For a moment, Claire freezes, convinced that Brian must know that she is watching them, to make such a comment. But no eyes turn her way, and she identifies the alien note in her brother’s voice as sadness.
“If you’re not careful, they’ll end up being yours, too.” Blondie’s tone is teasing, but the Brian Claire has known in her head all these years would still have bristled at the implication. This one just raises an eyebrow.
They finally move from their spot, walking in Claire’s direction. Brian’s free arm is slung over Blondie’s shoulders as the younger man pushes the cart. (Even Claire has to concede, in the privacy of her own mind, that they make a nice picture, possibly the nicest and most tranquil image involving her brother in a lifetime’s collection of images)
A woman Claire’s age with hair that looked like it had dyed a chemical death does a double-take as she passes them in Aisle 5, and goes up to tap Brian on the back.
“Brian Kinney? From the Vanguard Advertising Agency?”
Brian looks a little startled, but seems to recognize the woman after a moment. “Formerly of Vanguard, I’m afraid. You’re Marissa Lesley, from Poultry Plus?”
“That’s right.” The woman beams, clearly pleased to be remembered, and holds out a French-manicured hand. Even from a distance Claire feels like stepping back from the sound of her voice- high pitched and every note ringing with enthusiasm to rival John and Peter in a video store.
Brian lets go of Blondie to shake the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Lesley, I’d like you to meet my partner, Justin Taylor, and my son Gus.” (Claire doesn’t feel anything this time at hearing her brother actually give voice to the word ‘partner’.) “Justin, this is Marissa Lesley. She works for Poultry Plus, a family-owned chicken farm based in Arizona. We met at a business trip last year.”
Blondie and the woman exchange pleasantries. “So what brings you back to Pittsburgh, Mrs. Lesley?”
“Marissa, please.” She gestures at her shopping cart, and it’s only now that Claire notices that the bundle of clothing inside is actually a sleeping girl. “Michelle and I are visiting a cousin of mine who moved here just last month. But Brian, I never pegged you as a family man! You have a gorgeous child. How old is he?”
“Two and a half.” It’s Justin who answers.
“And how long have you two been together, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Brian raises an eyebrow at Blondie, who replies, “Almost the same amount of time, actually.”
“Ah, knew it was meant to be right from the start, eh?” The woman giggles. “Please, forgive my curiosity, I just recalled glimpsing a picture of you, Mr. Taylor, in Mr. Kinney’s briefcase at the conference, so I knew it must be over a year.”
Justin casts Brian an amused look. “Well, I knew it right from the start. This one-“ he gives Brian a jab with his elbow. “-needed a bit of convincing.”
“It looks like you did a pretty good job, young man.” A teeny melody rang out, barely audible over the noise of the bustling supermarket. “Oh, that’s me! It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Kinney. You two make a beautiful couple, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Blondie watches her move on (chattering now into a cell phone pressed against one ear) with a slightly overwhelmed expression, which shifts into one of puzzled wariness when he turns back to her brother. “Not that I’m complaining, Brian, but what’s going on? Did you binge on the Valium before we left the loft?”
Brian looks amused by the younger man’s bewilderment. “Whatever came out of my mouth, she would’ve heard what she wanted to hear, like all the romance-loving heteros of the world,” he drawls, though his voice isn’t as edged as her memories have recorded (nevertheless Claire feels herself relax a little, and revises her plan of calling the police and filing a report for someone having abducted and replaced her brother). “Besides,” he adds breezily, returning his arm to Blondie’s shoulders. “I’m taking a holiday from being Brian Kinney.”
Obviously understanding that statement better than Claire can, Blondie- shit, she has heard his name enough to know it- Justin makes a small smile, and leans in to rest his head on Brian’s unoccupied shoulder. Brian lays a hand on Justin’s back, burying his nose in golden hair and taking a deep breath of whatever magic he found there. They stay like that for a long while- she realizes that the toddler, Gus, had dozed off at some point, his face nestled cozily into the crook of Brian’s neck- and Claire wonders if love really has the power to stop the world, stop time, like it does for them.
Love. She’d grown to loathe that word over the years, understanding Brian’s view on it too late, and maybe part of the reason why she resents him so much is because he had figured it out before getting landed with all the shit that she has. She’s not sure why the notion chose now to turn up in her consciousness, how the word managed to insert itself at that point in her thoughts, but the moment she formulated it, no other word would do, even if neither her nor Brian would ever admit it.
Brian Kinney. Jobless, a father, and in love.
She backs into Aisle 6 feeling like the world around her is too normal. There should be some weird change, like a psychedelic glow around stuff, or fucking angels dancing an apocalyptic declaration- but no, everything is exactly the way they were before life decided to throw her the three biggest impossibilities involving her brother that she could ever have come up with.
She thinks about Justin the Blondie, who’d been the one to save her brother’s ass when his own family sent him to the cops. That had already earned him her badge of dislike, baring John’s lie under her own roof like anyone gives a fuck what a fag thinks. Two and a half years, like her first marriage. (But of course they could never get married, being gay and all.) Fuck, how young must Justin have been when he met Brian? (No doubt there that Brian’s the one who seduced him, sucked him into a world of debauchery and sin, turned him queer when he could have enjoyed a normal life.) Yet his mother and sister had given him a hug and a kiss, and had greeted Brian like he was family. Which basically proves how fucked-up crazy they must be.
(So she figures that it makes sense for her to hate Justin, too, for being able to understand the brother who’d always eluded her, for voluntarily tolerating Brian for two and a half years, for showing him that a mother and a sister could be better than the ones God had given him.)
With a surly sigh Claire goes back to a crumpled shopping list and screwed-up sons and three-for-one family bargains. Inside, an old tension winds and tightens, a leaden vice around a soul only her mother really believes in, because of all the sins that she hates Brian Kinney for, the very worst is a quietly growing conviction that he’s the one who’s gotten it right.
Look at the Prompt Table of Fluff.
Author: Etharei
Fandom: Queer as Folk (US)
Characters: Justin/Brian, Gus, Claire-POV
Prompt: #5 (“Holiday”)
Word Count: 3, 617
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual references
Beloved Beta: Much love and heaps of thanks to beathen and shadownyc! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Summary: “ The first thing she has to struggle to make her brain accept is the sight of Brian Kinney amongst factory-produced consumer products...”
Author's Notes: 3rd-party POV, somewhat introspective and schmoopy, and utterly smutless, so I understand that this may not be everyone’s cup of tea. Set in the happy days of post-314, a little spoilery for S3.
“Excuse me, would you be so kind as to move your cart? It’s blocking the aisle.”
“Mom, can we please get some brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts?”
Claire momentarily abandons her crumpled shopping list to look at a blonde middle-aged woman gazing at her expectantly from behind a filled shopping cart, a young girl tugging impatiently on one arm. From the well-made clothes and designer handbag, she automatically categorizes the woman as WASP. No wedding ring, but she didn’t looked the sort to have a kid out of wedlock. Feeling sympathetic towards a fellow divorced mother- she is still not sure how she managed to convince her own mother to lay off the wine for a day and look after the boys- Claire moves her cart to one side.
“Thanks,” the woman says, moving past her. “All right, Molly, but just two boxes, okay? And no complaining when we go to get your teeth cleaned next month.”
“Mom!”
Tuning out the girl’s whining, Claire returns her attention to her shopping list, wondering if John would really remember each and every piece of junk food he’d told her to buy for him. Very likely. The boy barely scraped a pass at Math, but when numbers involved unhealthy foods or PlayStation games, he turns into a fucking genius. And he hadn’t even asked her, but yelled out his order in the middle of machine-gunning a digital dinosaur. She decides that she feels some resentment for the WASP mother after all, because at least her daughter knows how to use words like 'please'. Claire didn’t know where she went wrong with her boys, but she feels that they should at least have some respect for the woman who’d endured hours of intense pain to bring them into the world. And her own mother was no help; Joan Kinney had always spoiled her grandsons, but her level of devotion and mindless adoration had tripled since she found out (finally) that they were the only ones she’s going to have, what with Brian being a fag and all. Unfortunately the presence of Joan in their lives brought with it repeated attempts to introduce Scripture into their household and Claire being constantly nagged about becoming a better parent.
Well, fuck that, at least her sons aren’t going to end up being homos. Fuck Mom and fuck Brian, both of them always being fucking condescending and judgmental, when Claire’s the one who’s got a normal family, who’s not living alone like a pathetic-
“Brian? Brian, where are you?” Her head snaps around so fast that she wouldn’t have been surprised to feel whiplash. A blond, young man carrying a toddler with one arm and pushing a cart in front of him with the other trundles past her aisle on the opposite end. “If you’ve abandoned me to go f- play around, there’ll be hell to pay when we get home!”
Now, Claire knows that there’s probably dozens of guys in Pittsburgh sharing her brother’s name, and considering how he lives she doubts he even knows what a Walmart is, but something makes her push her cart after the young man. About two aisles down, in the Baked Goods section, she hears a familiar voice and automatically freezes. Taking cover behind a tall cardboard parrot, she cautiously peers down Aisle 5.
Shit, it really is her brother, wearing a brown leather jacket and tight jeans that together probably cost more than her whole month’s salary. He is staring quizzically at the rows of well-stocked shelves stretched in front of him, as if unsure about what he’s supposed to do next. Out of some residual fear from the last time she saw him (barely-controlled rage blazing into her house), Claire is very careful to stay out of sight.
The first thing she has to struggle to make her brain accept is the sight of Brian Kinney amongst factory-produced consumer products; she remembers hearing that he’d lost his job, something about getting caught fucking a student intern by the CEO of his company and that police chief who had been running for Mayor (weird, she should remember his name, since she’d voted for him). She’d laughed long and hard when she first heard it, glad that there was some justice in the world after all. How the mighty have fallen- the thought makes her smile now. At last her brother can find out how the rest of the measly proletariat lived. (She’s always hated him for his lifestyle, for being a fag, for knowing better than to burden himself with family and responsibilities and kids, for being able to afford Gucci and Prada whilst she was stuck rummaging through sales bins.) A moment is dedicated to imagining the cocky Brian Kinney trying to do his own laundry, going to collect unemployment, figuring out the bus routes because he’d rather commute than drive a secondhand car.
“Ow, ow, ow- Gus, stop that!” The guy she’d followed stops mid-way between the end of the aisle and her brother because the little kid in his arms has gotten a good fistful of his hair. (Claire thinks he deserves it, for having such beautiful golden hair, with a glossy sheen that doesn’t even let her hope that it’s the result of chemicals) “Brian, a bit of help here, please? I think Gus is trying to rip me out a bald patch.”
Brian turns, and through the back of his head she can see his characteristic smirk. “Looks like I’m not the only one who appreciates your hair as a great handhold.” The young man makes a face at him, and Brian grins (he’s turned a bit towards her again, so she can see half his face); the expression is startlingly real and heartfelt and completely devoid of the thinly veiled scorn he always wore around Mom and herself. His hand reaches out, slender manicured fingers curling and submerging beneath light golden locks, and Claire realizes that there’s something strangely familiar about the so far unnamed guy, though she can’t imagine where she could have met him before, especially if he’s one of Brian’s ‘acquaintances’.
She expects them to kiss, braces herself for a public display of lust with indecent tonguing and scandalized passersby. (She’ll be properly disgusted, vindicated in her view that her brother is no more than a filthy oversexed fag who will burn in hell; she might even attempt to rescue the toddler. She sees herself handing the little kid back to his outraged mother, at the same time outing his gay older brother, who’d probably agreed to baby-sit just so he could come out and meet Brian.) But they pause, simply looking and smiling at each other; Brian appears perfectly content to just stand there and feel up the young man’s hair. When they finally do kiss, it’s slow and gentle and sweet, as if the two of them could stand there and do it all day.
(Claire files another entry on her ‘Why I Hate My Brother’ list, because no one’s ever stopped time just to kiss her.)
The little kid tolerates being ignored for approximately thirty seconds before he starts shifting about and flailing his little limbs. Brian and Blondie part, still smiling; Brian then slips his hands under the toddler’s arms and gently lifts the kid into his arms. Claire’s breath catches in her throat, because at that moment she gets a good look at the kid -
Fuck
- and he’s like something straight out of her memories. A miniature Brian gazing longingly up at a cookie jar Claire had evilly placed out of his reach in the kitchen cabinet. Only this version, wearing several layers of soft cotton bearing labels Jack and Joan Kinney would never have heard of, points at his object of interest and mumbles something into Brian’s ear. The next moment, her brother’s reaching up and grabbing a bright blue bag of Oreos off the shelf.
“Here you go, Sonny Boy,” Brian says, handing the cookies to the kid. Claire loses another breath, as the voice of Jack Kinney echoed through her head. (Brian always answered to Sonny Boy, because Pops only called him that when he was in a good mood.)
“Brian,” Blondie admonishes. “Do you know how hyper all the sugar in that is gonna make him?”
Double fuck. Claire doesn’t hear her brother’s next words, because her brain’s finally placed Blondie’s face. The guy had come to her house with the detective and Brian’s best friend’s mother. (Claire remembers liking Debbie until a girl in her class had called the woman weird, after which Claire had stayed away in case 'weird’ was contagious.) She recalls how the young man had described the bracelet; now she knows for sure why he was familiar with it.
A new wave of disgust swells up; she’s getting short-sighted, and at this distance details are a bit blurry so she couldn’t be sure before, but she recalls Blondie’s face from the brief time he’d been in her house, and shit, he must be at least ten years younger than her brother! She’d thought nothing of it when he had been standing next to Debbie, because Debbie usually equates to ‘friends of Brian’, and she has a vague memory of Brian saying he’d never fuck his friends. Plus, she’d figured that if her brother ever settled for anyone- as ludicrous as the idea of Brian settling down is- it would be Michael. But one careful look at these two and there’s no doubt that Blondie’s both a Mikey and a pretty trick and something else entirely. Shit, he doesn’t even look 20!
(A vague memory surfaces, of Mom drunkenly rambling on about finding Brian committing sin with a young blond boy; she wonders if this is the same one, and what the fuck it was he did that made Brian want to keep him around.)
“Ouch!”
“Now, now, Sonny Boy, you can play with Justin’s pretty sunshine hair later.” Brian chuckles and puts some distance between himself and his… companion? Lover? (The term ‘boyfriend’ is not even up for consideration, because he may be broke enough to shop at a Walmart, but this is still Brian Kinney. She notes that the Oreos are now lying in the cart between a box of Captain Crunch and a pack of peach yoghurt, and a dim thought trundles through her mind about how the cart contains more food than she’d ever seen in her brother’s fridge.) “You know, Sunshine, you make a lousy housewife.”
The words “Fuck you” form in Blondie’s eyes and on his lips, but Brian quirks an eyebrow and glances at the toddler in his arms, so Blondie settles for flipping him off when the kid isn’t looking.
The kid- fuck, Brian has a fucking son? Claire tries to remember the name that Blondie had called him, but her mind finds it difficult to get past the ‘her brother has a son’ part. For some reason she feels that Brian should have told the family, or they should’ve somehow known. Of course, she’s also pretty sure that Brian would never have willingly told them, would have kept his son’s existence a secret from the family for as long as he could.
“I’ve got a nephew,” she whispers, because she needs to verbalize it in order for it to start sinking in. A movement catches her eye, and she sees the WASP woman and her daughter emerge from the next aisle. Claire feigns interest in the cardboard stand-up, which turns out to be advertising a new brand of baby food, as the woman rounds the corner and turns down Brian’s aisle.
“Justin!” The woman and her daughter call out simultaneously, heading towards the strange trio in Aisle 5. Justin smiles and waves at them; Brian rolls his eyes and retreats behind their cart.
“Well, I never expected to see the both of you here,” says the woman, leaning over to give Blondie a kiss on the cheek. “Hello Brian.”
“Hi Jennifer,” Brian greets her, looking ready to turn tail and run if she tried to kiss him too. “Hey Molly,” he adds, looking down at the woman’s daughter.
“Brian, Gus!” the little girl squeals, tugging on Brian’s leather jacket. “Can I play with Gus?”
“Mom,” Blondie says in a plaintive tone.
Claire thinks she’s starting to feel a little numb from all the shocks she’s gotten today, because she has never in her life imagined that one day she would see her brother in a supermarket shopping for groceries with a guy he’s fucking and carrying his fucking son. The addition of said guy’s mother and probable little sister- neither of whom, by the way, appear remotely put off by the fact that the two guys must be a generation apart- tips the whole scenario well into the Twilight Zone.
“Not today, honey,” the woman intercedes, casting a sheepish smile at Brian. “Your play date starts in half an hour, remember?”
The little girl pouts, then cocks her head. “Why are you here? Mom always complains that you never go shopping for food.”
“Debbie threatened to move into the loft if the fridge is still empty the next time she visits,” Blondie explains with a grin. “Lindsey’s at Lamaze class with Melanie, so she dropped Gus off at the loft. And since Gus wanted to go out, we figured we might as well do this now.”
Claire sees that Brian’s looking uneasy about this whole thing, which is a relieving touch of normalcy, but he doesn’t look out of place either. He actually lowers his son- fuck, there’s just something unbelievable about Brian Kinney having a son, especially because the kid looks like he’s at least two years old- so that the girl could hold his little hands for a minute and make faces at him.
After a few minutes of idle chatting, the woman announces that they really must go, and has to practically drag her daughter away from Brian. The two men watch them leave, waving just before they disappear down the corner, then Blondie looks at Brian with a pleased but slightly suspicious expression.
“That was nice,” he says, quietly enough Claire didn’t so much hear it as read his lips.
Brian shrugs, and carefully readjusts the toddler in his arms. “You’re lucky to have a mother and sister like that.”
For a moment, Claire freezes, convinced that Brian must know that she is watching them, to make such a comment. But no eyes turn her way, and she identifies the alien note in her brother’s voice as sadness.
“If you’re not careful, they’ll end up being yours, too.” Blondie’s tone is teasing, but the Brian Claire has known in her head all these years would still have bristled at the implication. This one just raises an eyebrow.
They finally move from their spot, walking in Claire’s direction. Brian’s free arm is slung over Blondie’s shoulders as the younger man pushes the cart. (Even Claire has to concede, in the privacy of her own mind, that they make a nice picture, possibly the nicest and most tranquil image involving her brother in a lifetime’s collection of images)
A woman Claire’s age with hair that looked like it had dyed a chemical death does a double-take as she passes them in Aisle 5, and goes up to tap Brian on the back.
“Brian Kinney? From the Vanguard Advertising Agency?”
Brian looks a little startled, but seems to recognize the woman after a moment. “Formerly of Vanguard, I’m afraid. You’re Marissa Lesley, from Poultry Plus?”
“That’s right.” The woman beams, clearly pleased to be remembered, and holds out a French-manicured hand. Even from a distance Claire feels like stepping back from the sound of her voice- high pitched and every note ringing with enthusiasm to rival John and Peter in a video store.
Brian lets go of Blondie to shake the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Lesley, I’d like you to meet my partner, Justin Taylor, and my son Gus.” (Claire doesn’t feel anything this time at hearing her brother actually give voice to the word ‘partner’.) “Justin, this is Marissa Lesley. She works for Poultry Plus, a family-owned chicken farm based in Arizona. We met at a business trip last year.”
Blondie and the woman exchange pleasantries. “So what brings you back to Pittsburgh, Mrs. Lesley?”
“Marissa, please.” She gestures at her shopping cart, and it’s only now that Claire notices that the bundle of clothing inside is actually a sleeping girl. “Michelle and I are visiting a cousin of mine who moved here just last month. But Brian, I never pegged you as a family man! You have a gorgeous child. How old is he?”
“Two and a half.” It’s Justin who answers.
“And how long have you two been together, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Brian raises an eyebrow at Blondie, who replies, “Almost the same amount of time, actually.”
“Ah, knew it was meant to be right from the start, eh?” The woman giggles. “Please, forgive my curiosity, I just recalled glimpsing a picture of you, Mr. Taylor, in Mr. Kinney’s briefcase at the conference, so I knew it must be over a year.”
Justin casts Brian an amused look. “Well, I knew it right from the start. This one-“ he gives Brian a jab with his elbow. “-needed a bit of convincing.”
“It looks like you did a pretty good job, young man.” A teeny melody rang out, barely audible over the noise of the bustling supermarket. “Oh, that’s me! It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Kinney. You two make a beautiful couple, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Blondie watches her move on (chattering now into a cell phone pressed against one ear) with a slightly overwhelmed expression, which shifts into one of puzzled wariness when he turns back to her brother. “Not that I’m complaining, Brian, but what’s going on? Did you binge on the Valium before we left the loft?”
Brian looks amused by the younger man’s bewilderment. “Whatever came out of my mouth, she would’ve heard what she wanted to hear, like all the romance-loving heteros of the world,” he drawls, though his voice isn’t as edged as her memories have recorded (nevertheless Claire feels herself relax a little, and revises her plan of calling the police and filing a report for someone having abducted and replaced her brother). “Besides,” he adds breezily, returning his arm to Blondie’s shoulders. “I’m taking a holiday from being Brian Kinney.”
Obviously understanding that statement better than Claire can, Blondie- shit, she has heard his name enough to know it- Justin makes a small smile, and leans in to rest his head on Brian’s unoccupied shoulder. Brian lays a hand on Justin’s back, burying his nose in golden hair and taking a deep breath of whatever magic he found there. They stay like that for a long while- she realizes that the toddler, Gus, had dozed off at some point, his face nestled cozily into the crook of Brian’s neck- and Claire wonders if love really has the power to stop the world, stop time, like it does for them.
Love. She’d grown to loathe that word over the years, understanding Brian’s view on it too late, and maybe part of the reason why she resents him so much is because he had figured it out before getting landed with all the shit that she has. She’s not sure why the notion chose now to turn up in her consciousness, how the word managed to insert itself at that point in her thoughts, but the moment she formulated it, no other word would do, even if neither her nor Brian would ever admit it.
Brian Kinney. Jobless, a father, and in love.
She backs into Aisle 6 feeling like the world around her is too normal. There should be some weird change, like a psychedelic glow around stuff, or fucking angels dancing an apocalyptic declaration- but no, everything is exactly the way they were before life decided to throw her the three biggest impossibilities involving her brother that she could ever have come up with.
She thinks about Justin the Blondie, who’d been the one to save her brother’s ass when his own family sent him to the cops. That had already earned him her badge of dislike, baring John’s lie under her own roof like anyone gives a fuck what a fag thinks. Two and a half years, like her first marriage. (But of course they could never get married, being gay and all.) Fuck, how young must Justin have been when he met Brian? (No doubt there that Brian’s the one who seduced him, sucked him into a world of debauchery and sin, turned him queer when he could have enjoyed a normal life.) Yet his mother and sister had given him a hug and a kiss, and had greeted Brian like he was family. Which basically proves how fucked-up crazy they must be.
(So she figures that it makes sense for her to hate Justin, too, for being able to understand the brother who’d always eluded her, for voluntarily tolerating Brian for two and a half years, for showing him that a mother and a sister could be better than the ones God had given him.)
With a surly sigh Claire goes back to a crumpled shopping list and screwed-up sons and three-for-one family bargains. Inside, an old tension winds and tightens, a leaden vice around a soul only her mother really believes in, because of all the sins that she hates Brian Kinney for, the very worst is a quietly growing conviction that he’s the one who’s gotten it right.
Look at the Prompt Table of Fluff.