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qaf_giftxchngeTO: TrueIllusion
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asm614 (LJ) PrettyTheWorld (AO3)
TITLE: The Grief That Does Not Speak
GIFT REQUEST: angst, canon-compliant, hurt/comfort, Brian/Justin - I really love hurt/comfort. And I love a good vulnerable Brian fic.
NOTE: I hope it’s okay, but this fic actually ended up becoming a continuation for something I wrote for the 2014 Gift Exchange called “Family Ties”, but can also be read as a standalone. I might just suggest reading that one first for a little more backstory. In short, Brian tries to come to terms with his feelings in the aftermath of his mother’s untimely passing. The gang rallies around him, and two, in particular, help him realize that he doesn’t have to face anything alone.
“To you, O Lord, we commend the soul of Joan, your servant….”
“Miserable bitch never caught a break,” Brian muttered to Justin as the funeral service continued. “Servant to Jack, servant to her ungrateful children, servant to God. Is there no rest for the weary?”
“Behave,” Justin whispered back, his lips quirking against a smirk before winding his arm around Brian’s. They were standing close enough that it was barely noticeable, not that either would have cared otherwise. As far as Brian was concerned, it was enough that they had shown up. If he wanted to attend physically attached to another man, Joan’s pious friends would just have to deal with it.
“…We ask this through Christ our Lord,” the priest finished, and the small crowd murmured, “Amen,” in response.
“We don’t need to go to the reception…” Justin said afterward, as they made their way back through the cemetery, toward the car. He eyed Brian carefully, trying to gauge his current state.
Brian hesitated, shielding his eyes against the gentle snow that had started to fall. “We should stop at least,” he decided finally, as he unlocked the car. “After all, I’m paying for most of it.” Justin just nodded, ducking into the passenger seat.
They didn’t talk much during the drive to Claire’s house, Justin mostly unsure of what to say. He and Brian could converse pretty easily on just about any topic anymore, but Joan, and Brian’s family in general, was always a bit of an anomaly, especially given the delicate state of the current situation.
Brian’s nephew Peter answered the door when they arrived, and offered a tentative smile. Justin attempted to reciprocate and Brian gave him a perfunctory nod. Claire’s boys were another uncertain factor. Brian hadn’t had contact with them much over the years, especially considering the incident that had transpired between him and John a decade or so prior, and the older boy continued to show no interest, if not open hostility. However, at times, it almost seemed like Peter was interested in getting to know his uncle, and just didn’t want to face the wrath of his unstable mother.
“How are you holding up?” Justin asked the teenager. He was tall, slender, and looked a lot like Justin imagined Brian might have around his age.
Peter shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Just a shock.” He paused, glancing cautiously toward Brian. “It’s cool that you guys came. I guess I didn’t think you would. I heard… like, that my mom just showed up at your place, and… I mean. I don’t really blame you for how you reacted.”
Brian nodded again,this time more slowly, his tongue anchored firmly in his cheek, before speaking. “Yeah, well here we are.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably, looking like he wanted to say more, but chose to stick with, “Thanks. Um, there’s food and stuff in the dining room if you want. Help yourselves.”
Justin offered Peter a final nod of gratitude, trying to soften Brian’s curtness before leading Brian out of the foyer so that Peter could greet the next arriving guest.
There were only a few others grazing from the Costco deli platters on the dining room table. Claire was engaged in tearful conversation with another woman around her age who Justin presumed was a friend there for moral support, as the other guests appeared to be more within Joan’s circle. Fortunately, it didn’t seem that there were any other family members in attendance so far. Overall, it was surprisingly sparse.
“Hungry?” Brian asked quietly, gesturing at the small stack of plates at the head of the table. Justin shook his head. Nothing about the environment was particularly appealing, and he was pretty sure he had noticed at least one guest give him and Brian a wary glance, no doubt questioning their moral integrity.
Justin snagged them each a bottle of water and they were just about to make their way into the living room when someone called out Brian’s name. They both turned around to face an older woman who had a soft smile on her face.
“I’m so sorry about your mother’s untimely passing,” the woman began, placing a hand on Brian’s arm. Brian eyed her carefully, and to his surprise, found no sign of malice or judgment.
“Thank you very much, Mrs…” he hesitated.
“Please, dear, my name is Rose,” the woman replied. “I didn’t meet Joan until after you left Pittsburgh, but she has said quite a bit about her successful son in New York. She mentioned you weren’t back in the area often, so I suppose that’s why we’ve never been introduced.”
Brian didn’t show it, but Justin could feel his posture stiffen as he forced a grin. There were a lot of things surprising about her statement, but one in particular was glaringly inaccurate: they were back in the Pitts at least once a month at minimum, sometimes nearly splitting their time between the two cities, though to be fair, Joan was none the wiser, nor had she ever cared to inquire.
“Is that right? I can’t imagine what else she might’ve told you.” Brian’s demeanor was nothing short of charming, and Justin immediately recognized it as one he used when he was trying to win over a client he otherwise felt was full of shit. His caution made sense; Rose seemed genuine, if nothing else, but there was no telling what Joan had tried to spin.
“Yes, she told me all about your advertising agency. She said you started it from scratch and moved it from Pittsburgh to New York all by yourself. I think I’ve seen some of your work in my magazines, in fact. It’s no wonder she seemed so proud!”
Brian gave a believable chuckle, but Justin saw the slight twitch in his jaw. “Well that’s very kind, Rose. I hardly did any of that by myself, though. I’ve been very fortunate to have the support of those closest to me, especially my partner, Justin. Forgive me for not introducing you.”
Rose appeared mildly taken aback by the revelation, but smiled and offered her hand to Justin, who shook it. “Somehow, I don’t think Joan never mentioned you, Justin, but you make a very handsome couple.”
“Thank you,” Justin said, feeling it safe to wrap his unoccupied arm around Brian’s waist. He could feel Brian shaking, albeit imperceptibly, as he tried to maintain his composure.
“What do you do, Justin?” she asked, shifting her attention to the younger man. “Do you work in the same field?”
Justin shook his head. “No, not exactly. I’m an artist. I mainly work independently, but have contracted with a number of galleries both here and in New York.”
Rose’s eyes widened again, but this time with admiration. “That’s wonderful. What’s your preferred medium?”
“I paint, mostly. My latest projects have been oil on canvas, but I’m a fan of a variety of techniques.”
“Very impressive! Have you two been together very long?” she continued. Justin pressed his lips together, deferring to Brian for this answer.
“Almost fifteen years,” Brian supplied, unable to prevent the smug note from creeping into his voice. Justin squeezed him tighter.
“My goodness! I had no idea! Joan had only mentioned your professional accomplishments, Brian, but that’s certainly another one to note.”
Brian shifted, trying to contain his fresh discomfort. “Well, I’m not surprised in the slightest, but it was very nice meeting you, Rose. I’m sure you were a wonderful friend to my mother.”
It was clear that Rose recognized her subtle dismissal, but she simply smiled again, giving both men a sympathetic gaze. Justin wondered if she somehow understood now that she’d unintentionally opened Pandora’s Box.
“It was my pleasure, Brian. And Justin. Any mother would be proud to have sons like you. Joan should have considered herself very lucky. My best to you both.”
“Thank you,” Justin said again, releasing Brian’s waist to accept the small hug he was offered. Brian followed suit, and they excused themselves to the living room, which was blessedly empty for the moment.
“I’m ready to go,” Brian muttered, uncapping his water and taking a long pull.
Justin stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Brian’s middle in a gesture of comfort. “She--” he began, but was cut off by Claire’s voice. They quickly separated and looked up to see her in the room’s entryway, a tight expression on her face.
“Sorry, but do you two mind? We have a house full of company from Mother’s church, and I really don’t want--”
“Mom, shut up,” a third unexpected voice joined the conversation.
“Peter,” Claire snapped, making an obvious effort to restrain her volume. She glared at her youngest son, who stood in the opposite entrance to the room, adjacent to the front hallway. “I do not appreciate-”
“Fuck that, Mother. I don’t appreciate you treating two people who are the whole freaking reason you were able to pull this off, who are our family, like they’re doing something wrong when the only person doing anything wrong right now is you.” Peter’s voice was a low hiss, but there was no question that Claire had heard every word.
“Um, we should probably go,” Justin said quickly, not wanting to get in the crossfire of what was likely going to transpire.
“Gladly,” Brian added, giving his sister a venomous look. “Enjoy the cold cuts. It’s the least the fruits of my rampant success could do for dear old departed Mom.”
Claire’s breathing grew heavy and she started to tear up, appearing on the verge of a tantrum as she faced off with the three men, briefly holding each of them in her gaze as she contemplated her next move. Perhaps wisely, she eventually decided that she should not attempt to take on Brian or Justin directly, leaving her son as the remaining target. “Peter James, you do not dare to stand in my home and speak to me like that, especially not on the day of your grandmother’s funeral!”
Peter shrugged. “Fine. Then I won’t.”
Before Claire could open her mouth to respond, Brian spoke instead. “Well, I’m fucking done. For good. Claire, enjoy your miserable life. Let’s go.”
Claire didn’t protest immediately, so Brian and Justin grabbed their coats, and made their swift exit. Peter followed.
“She’s going to come scream for me to come back inside in about thirty seconds,” he said, nervously shifting from foot to foot as he stood in the cold.
“That’s probably about how long it’ll take for hypothermia to set in, so you should go back, but if she tries to kick you out, or you need somewhere to get away, call me.” Brian reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, procuring a pen and card that he scribbled on. “That’s my personal phone number. Please don’t give it to your mother, but use it if you want to.”
“Thanks, Uncle Brian. I just… everything about this sucks.”
Justin nodded, “I get it, and so does Brian. And we’re here if you need anything.”
Peter hesitated. “I’m not… like… gay. I mean, even if I were, it’s not… I just mean that Grandma, and my mom and brother… they have these hateful views that are total shit, and….”
Brian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “They don’t define you. They never defined me.”
“And look how he turned out,” Justin teased, nudging his shoulder into Brian, who responded with his first genuine smile of the afternoon.
Peter laughed lightly, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing his biceps for warmth. “Look. I get that you don’t ever want to see my mom again, but I hope that, like…”
Brian nodded, understanding the implied request. “Justin and I still own two properties here, so we’re in town pretty often, and when we’re not, New York is a bus ride away. We’ll figure it out.”
“Now get back in the house before you freeze to death,” Justin said, pointing.
“Before your mother tries to swindle me for your frostbite treatment,” Brian couldn’t resist adding.
Peter hesitated briefly, but then stepped forward and hugged Brian. It took Brian a moment to react, but he wrapped his arms around Peter as well. Justin took his turn next, and the men exchanged their goodbyes.
“Don’t forget what I said,” were Brian’s parting words. “All of it.”
***
“Are you sure you want to go out tonight?” Justin asked, watching Brian rifle through shirts in the closet. They were staying at the loft for the night, not wanting to risk potential heavy snow on the drive back to West Virginia.
“I think we should stay in the city for the holidays next year,” was Brian’s response, indicating his complete disregard for Justin’s question.
“Really? Why?” Justin raised an eyebrow, not that he was opposed to the idea. Their place in New York was his favorite, architecturally, with the stark juxtaposition of their modern finishes set in the gorgeously ornate pre-war building on Lexington Avenue. Plus, from their corner unit, they could see both the famous lights of midtown, and into Central Park. For all intents and purposes, it was a dream come true, and the idea of decking it out for the holidays was one Justin relished. But, Britin had a lot of meaning to them too, and they had spent almost all of their Christmases there, in the nearly ten years since Brian had gifted it to Justin for their engagement.
Brian turned to him, a designer chambray button-down in his hands. “Think about it, Sunshine: the Christmas tree and ice skating at Rockefeller, hot cocoa and disturbingly overpriced carriage rides in Central Park, watching Ryan Seacrest pretend he’s straight, live and in person on New Year’s Eve….”
Justin laughed. “We can still do almost all of that before we come down here. Besides, the girls always bring Gus and Jenny here for Christmas, we couldn’t miss that.”
“We could just have everyone come to us, then,” Brian shrugged, as if making New York City accommodations for over a dozen people during Christmas was no big deal. Then again, maybe it wasn’t for Brian. Despite how little Joan Kinney had actually known of her son’s finances, she was right about one thing: Brian was wildly successful. Sometimes it amazed Justin to realize that now, even some of their crazier ideas were not entirely outside the realm of possibility.
“It’s something to consider,” Justin relented, watching as Brian dropped his selected outfit onto the bed and then wandered into the bathroom. The sound of the water spray started a few seconds later.
Normally, Justin didn’t pass up an opportunity to join Brian in the loft shower; truthfully, it was one of his very favorite sex spots. He’d lost count of how many times they’d done it there over the years, but he’d never forgotten that the first time had been the one that had cemented his exclusive position as “the guy Brian fucks more than once.” It didn’t feel right tonight, though. Something about Brian had been “off” all day. Really, Brian had been slightly “off” since first learning the news of Joan’s death on Christmas Eve, but her funeral services had taken it to a new level, and as much as Justin wanted to do what he could to make things better, he didn’t think that sex was enough of a bandage for the gaping wound Brian was currently nursing.
Apparently, Brian had not had similar thoughts, walking out a few minutes later with a towel draped over his shoulder, but not covering much else. “Thought you’d come in,” he threw out casually. “I was waiting.”
A perfunctory glance down at Brian’s exposed nether regions didn’t provide any evidence to support that claim, despite his attempts to sound seductive, but Justin bit anyway, knowing Brian needed to maintain some modicum of normalcy to their evening.
“Sorry,” he said, trying to sound apologetic. “I started googling things to do in New York for Christmas, in case we did plan something next year.” He held up his phone screen to show a still image of the Rockettes’ Holiday Spectacular as evidence.
Brian shook his head and smiled fondly, allowing Justin a pass. “Gonna go to Babylon,” he said finally, pulling on the chosen shirt and black jeans. “Coming?”
“Uh, sure,” Justin said, glancing down at his own clothing. He’d switched into a soft gray sweater and jeans once they’d returned from Claire’s, and he figured it was good enough for the club. Brian nodded his approval.
Brian seemed pensive as they drove, turning the music louder than normal, effectively eliminating the opportunity for any standard form of interpersonal communication, so Justin took the opportunity to text Michael, who had been worried about Brian in his own right, since he hadn’t been able to attend the funeral. He agreed to round up the guys and meet them within the hour.
Justin hoped the night wouldn’t be as long as it was starting to feel.
***
Four beers and a half-dozen dances later, Brian was hanging off of Michael, and by the look on the former’s face, Justin was fairly certain he was attempting to deliver something profound--and failing, if the look on Michael’s face was anything to go by.
“He doesn’t seem okay,” Emmett said nervously, standing by Justin’s side at the bar as they watched the scene before them. “Is he okay?”
Justin shrugged, unable to contain his worried frown. “You know how Brian is. He deals in his own way. I’m just not sure what that way will be this time. I don’t really know what he needs.”
“Aw, baby. He knows you’re there for him. I’m sure he’ll take advantage if he needs to,” Emmett soothed, giving Justin a gentle squeeze and an understanding smile. Seeing Brian out of sorts was unfamiliar for all of them, even knowing him for as long as they had.
Three additional beers later, Brian had moved on to debating Ironmen defensive strategies with Drew, which was entirely amusing, considering his utter lack of knowledge on the topic. Justin shot Drew a helpless grin, grateful that he seemed more entertained than annoyed with his conversation partner.
“Anybody up for the diner?” Michael asked, getting the attention of their group. “Ben said he’ll meet us for dessert.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Done already? You lame-asses realize that twenty years ago, we wouldn’t even be leaving to go out yet.”
Drew smiled ruefully. “I, for one, am completely okay with being a lame-ass.” Emmett laughed and patted him on the arm, seemingly in agreement.
“Fine, you old fucking geezers. Go drink your prune juice before bedtime!” Brian slurred teasingly, waving them away. “My spring chicken and I will just have to continue without you!” He wrapped an arm around Justin and pulled him into his side.
“One more drink and we’ll meet you,” Justin told Michael, who nodded and, after goodbyes, led the others out.
Brian pouted when Justin turned back to him. “You want to leave too? Thought our night was just getting started.” His expression grew more serious when Justin’s only reaction was a knowing smile.
“You’re not drunk,” he accused quietly. “You just wanted them to think you are.”
A challenging gleam flashed across Brian’s face. “What makes you so sure?”
“One, you’re not arguing with me about how you’re actually perfectly sober. Two, I’ve been buying you light beers, and you know it, and three,” Justin continued smugly, “your hands have been nowhere in the vicinity of my dick or my ass in the past hour and a half.”
Brian looked down at the bartop and smirked. “Can’t get anything past you, can I, Sunshine?”
Justin pressed a kiss to Brian’s lips. “You’re about as effective as that piss water you’ve been drinking all night.”
“Mikey’s a lightweight, he didn’t know any better,” Brian admitted, then sighed. “Look, you should go to the diner with them if you want, but I’m gonna stay here for a bit. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Justin searched Brian’s face, trying to read between the lines, but Brian didn’t give away much this time. “You should be hungry too. We haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“I’ll get something later,” Brian promised. “I should actually review a couple things in the office while I’m here. Come back when you’re done.”
As much as he didn’t want to leave Brian alone, Justin hoped that the distraction of work would keep his mind occupied for the time being. Reluctantly, he let Brian walk him to the door and gave him another kiss before he left, with a promised, “Later.”
***
When Justin arrived at Liberty Diner, the guys were at their usual booth, and Debbie was closing out for the night, still insisting on keeping three shifts per week. “Sunshine!” she greeted him, waving happily. She stepped around the counter to wrap him in a hug. “It’s so good to see you in here. Just like old times! Hey, want an apron?”
Justin laughed, glancing around. Though it had been over a decade since he’d served his last table, not much had changed about the diner. The place was full of a lot of memories. He could place something significant in nearly every square inch of the room, most of which somehow involved Brian.
“How’s that boy of ours?” Debbie asked, quietly enough so the others wouldn’t overhear.
Justin sighed, feeling the heavy weight of tears in his eyes. “I don’t know. He needs something, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not really sure what it is. I don’t really think it’s space, though. I just feel so helpless after everything today.”
Debbie asked for clarification, so Justin explained more about the day in detail, including their encounters with Rose, Claire, and Peter. By the time he finished, Debbie had a determined look in her eyes. “Where is he?” she asked.
“Babylon.”
“I’m off in ten. Mind if I take a crack at it?” She snapped her gum for emphasis.
Justin shook his head gratefully. “Definitely not.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys, removing one from the ring and handing it to her. “This will open the back office from the private entrance. He told me to come back when I’m done, so, I’ll text?”
Debbie nodded, pocketing the key herself.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Justin added. “Could you take him a turkey sandwich? Maybe a lemon bar? Just have them put it on my tab.”
Debbie’s eyes sparkled with fondness. “Sure thing, Sunshine. And it’s on the house.”
***
“Back so soon?” Brian called out when he heard the lock turning on his office door. He looked up from his desk, waiting for Justin to enter the room, and jiggled the mouse to wake up his computer display so it at least appeared that he’d been trying to work.
“Nope, Meals on Wheels. Special delivery,” Debbie joked, walking in and depositing a to-go bag from the diner on Brian’s desk. He eyed it suspiciously.
“Please tell me that’s not a pink plate special. I’ve only felt like I’m going to vomit all day, I don’t actually want for it to happen,” Brian intoned.
Debbie rolled her eyes. “Relax, it’s turkey on whole wheat, hold the mayo, and the drama. The same damn boring thing you’ve ordered for fifteen years.”
“Thanks.” Brian managed a genuinely grateful smile. “Afraid I’m not too hungry right now, though.”
Debbie nodded. “I thought that might be the case,” she reached into her pocket, “so I brought something that might help jog your appetite.” She held up a huge joint for him to see. “Gotta light?”
“Holy shit,” Brian snorted out a laugh. “This is fucking deja vu. Are you sure that’s not tuna casserole in the bag?”
“Not this time, and today, you’re gonna smoke most of it, because I haven’t used this shit since probably the last time with you. Besides that, I think you need it more. Sounds like you had a rough day, huh?”
Brian got up from behind his desk and walked over to the sofa, gesturing for Debbie to join him. “Justin has a big fucking mouth.”
“Well, Mr. Kinney, as it stands, the person attached to that big fucking mouth loves you more than life itself, and wants more than anything in the world to help you, but doesn’t seem to think he’s what you need, so….”
Brian blanched a little at Debbie’s words, but wasn’t ready to back down. “So he sent you instead, my Ghost of Christmas past, to remind me of what used to be?” He lit the joint and took a deep drag, coughing a little from the strength. “Who the fuck is your weed dealer? Jesus Christ.”
“It’s from my ‘Kinney in Crisis’ stash,” she replied, her lips quirking. “Give it here.” Brian passed the joint to Debbie, who took a small puff, letting the smoke roll around in her mouth before blowing it back out.
“Gotta inhale if you actually wanna get high,” Brian said, taking the joint back and demonstrating.
Debbie scoffed. “D’you really think I need you to educate me on how to smoke grass? I grew up in the sixties, kiddo, and don’t you forget it.”
Brian held his hands up in surrender, and nodded in deference. “As you do.”
“So, you finally told your sister to fuck off for good?” Debbie continued conversationally, after taking a genuine drag and passing it back.
Brian choked on his next hit. “Fuck, you didn’t even attempt to segue.”
Debbie smiled gently. “Sunshine might think he needs to be careful around this topic, but you and I, we know better, don’t we?”
“So we’re doing this, huh?” Brian’s voice grew noticeably weaker. He pulled an ashtray over from the end table and stubbed out the joint. Debbie looked at him questioningly. “I think I’m going to wish I had that later,” he offered, by way of explanation, then cleared his throat and looked at Debbie expectantly.
She tilted her head toward the liquor cart across from them. “Maybe start there for now?” Brian bit his lip and nodded, so she stood. “Allow me. I don’t get to serve you much these days. What’s your poison?”
“Bourbon. Neat.” Brian leaned back against the sofa and shut his eyes, not opening them again until a glass was being pressed into his hand. When he looked back at Debbie, she had re-joined him, holding up what Brian presumed to be Hendricks on the rocks, if he had to guess. The ice clinked in her glass as she moved it toward him.
“Cheers.” They both sipped their drinks. Brian tried to focus on the burn as it traveled down his throat, rather than the one lingering behind his eyes. He knew where this conversation was headed.
“I’ve known you for a long time, Brian,” Debbie started, looking over at him thoughtfully. “Long before any of you had to worry about this dying parent nonsense. In fact, back in the beginning, you couldn’t wait to get away from yours, and shit, more often than not, I couldn’t blame you.”
Brian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily, his gaze trained on the light reflecting off of the whiskey decanter several feet away.
Debbie patted his knee. “Well, now it’s permanent, and you don’t have to worry about either one of them again. How does it feel?”
Silence.
“Maybe it’s harder than you thought after all? Especially hearing about the pride your mother felt, bragging to her friend Rose about her talented son’s successes. That must’ve been a tough pill to swallow.”
“Fuck, Deb,” Brian growled, still not looking over at her. “You know that’s not what it was.”
“You sure? You don’t think there was even a fraction of Joan Kinney that was proud of you? Her son who was able to create such an impressive company in spite of everything she felt you had working against you? Your sinful life? And don’t you think Jack had the same gleam in his eye when he told his drinking pals about his good ‘ol Sonny Boy?”
Brian gave Debbie a sharp glare before redirecting his stare to its previous location. “Can you leave my fucking father out of this?”
Debbie watched Brian carefully, noticed the clench of his jaw and the slight tremble of his chin. “Alright,” her tone remained delicate. “Your mother, then. Rose seemed certain she’d been very proud.”
“My mother,” Brian began, his voice low, “didn’t know the first fucking thing about what I did, other than I made a name for myself, I got myself the hell out of this city, and I made an assload of money. And, as my dear sister will tell you, I didn’t spare a red cent for any of them.”
“I see,” Debbie nodded. “But you don’t agree.”
Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if praying for patience. It was rare that he didn’t feel in control of himself, and the sensation was unnerving, at best. “You know all of this already, Deb. Why the fuck are we doing this?” he pleaded, silently praying for a last-minute reprieve.
Debbie shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “There are at least three doors to leave this room. You don’t see me stopping you from using any of them. You’re a 43-year-old grown-ass man. So why are you still here? You walked out on your sister earlier with no problem. You’ve kicked your own mother out of a room for less.”
For the next few seconds, the only sounds in the room were the clock ticking and the ice settling in Debbie’s glass. Brian scowled down at his lap, chewing roughly at the inside of his lips. Finally, after several heavy breaths, he spoke.
“She didn’t know shit about anything that mattered to me. She didn’t accept the man I love, that we have an amazing life together--she fucking hated that I like men at all. She cared more about her church than she cared about her own family. She never met my only son. Her grandson. Her fucking flesh and blood who will carry on this godforsaken family name.” He was on his feet yelling now. “Nothing that meant anything to me mattered to her, no matter how hard I tried. I gave them everything they asked for! Everything except for myself, my very essence. It was never enough! Instead, I got motherfucking cancer, and she told me I fucking deserved it! Joan Kinney was nothing to me. She was No One!” he roared, then violently threw his drink at the wall behind his desk, not even blinking as it shattered, spraying bourbon and glass across the top of the credenza.
Debbie watched the scene unfold before she calmly said, “No, of course not. She was just your mother.”
Brian finally looked at Debbie directly, and it broke her heart to see his eyes filled with tears, his complete loss of will, as he whispered, “You were more of a mother to me than she ever was.”
And then he fell to his knees and cried.
Debbie wasted no time, wrapping her arms around him, rubbing his back. His hid his face, his top half falling forward into her lap, as huge gulping sobs took over, wracking his whole body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she soothed. “You just let it out.”
It was a good six or seven minutes before Brian was able to pull himself together enough to lift his head away from his arms and look up. Debbie gave him a watery but loving smile and gently cupped his cheek. .
“Fuck you,” Brian managed through a soggy, snot-filled laugh as pulled back to wipe some of the moisture away from his eyes.
“Do you feel any better?” Debbie prodded gently. She snagged a tissue box from a nearby table and handed it to him.
Brian cleared his throat and blew his nose a few times before responding. “I feel… some clarity.”
Debbie beamed. “Then I accept.”
Brian smirked and slowly unfolded himself off of the floor, stretching as the sound of popping joints filled the room. Debbie opened her mouth to comment, but he shushed her, warning, “Don’t even start.”
Once they were sitting side by side again, she took his lighter and relit the joint. “The rest of this is all yours, kid. You earned it,” she said, blowing out a small wisp of smoke before passing it over. Brian accepted it glady, as Debbie stood up and made quick work of the shattered glass and spilled liquor on the credenza. Fortunately, it didn’t look like anything else had been damaged or broken.
“Sorry,” Brian said, a little meekly as he watched, a fresh smoke ring hovering just above his head.
Debbie shook her head, depositing the last few shards into the trash. “Sweetie, you don’t need to apologize for shit. No one die-- okay, that was a fucking horrible choice of words,” she berated herself, but Brian actually laughed, and Debbie just shook her head again. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He paused thoughtfully, examining the roach smoldering between his fingertips. “I meant what I said.”
Debbie returned to her seat on the sofa and patted Brian on his free hand. “I know you did, and I don’t blame you for feeling a single bit of it.”
“No, no,” Brian said, putting the finished ashtray back on the end table. “I mean, I meant all of that too, but I was referring to what I said about you.”
“Aw shit,” Debbie said, her eyes welling up a little again. “You know you’ve always been like one of my own, and you always will be.”
Brian wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him for a hug. “Thanks, Ma.”
Debbie finally broke the silence, pulling back from Brian enough to look at his face. “You should talk to Justin.”
“I do talk to Justin. Every day, in fact. We live together.” Brian’s intentionally obtuse response was greeted with a hard swat to the stomach. “Ow!” he barked, retracting.
Debbie made an unimpressed face. “Smartass. You know what I mean. It’s like the poet Harry Wordsmith Longfellow--”
“He any relation to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow?” Brian teased innocently, unable to contain his grin.
“Oh fuck off, you trying to kill the little buzz I have left?” Debbie scolded. “Anyway,” she continued, “It’s like he once said… somewhere, ’There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.’” She nudged Brian. “I think he means you don’t have to go through grief alone. Justin loves you, and he wants to be there. Don’t refuse him just because you think it’s for his benefit, because that won’t help either of you. You need him now, whether you admit it or not.”
Brian appeared to be taking Debbie’s words seriously, but he couldn’t help his smirk. “You know, Shakespeare also wrote, ‘Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.’”
Debbie rolled her eyes. “Well good for you, quoting Hamlet or whatever the fuck--”
“Much Ado About Nothing,” Brian supplied helpfully.
“Well that’s exactly what it is. I’m just saying, don’t feel like you need to be so closed off.”
Brian chuckled lightly. “And I’m just saying, it’s easier to say that when you’re not the one having to change that.” They stared at each other for a few seconds, and finally Brian acquiesced. “I’ll try.”
“Good boy.” Debbie patted his thigh, satisfied. She was starting to ask him about what had transpired with Claire and Peter when the office door opened and Justin cautiously poked his head in.
“Hello?” he called out, looking around until he spotted Brian and Debbie on the sofa. As he registered Brian’s flushed cheeks and still-wet eyelashes, he let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”
“Hey Sunshine,” Debbie greeted him. “I didn’t check my phone, sorry if you texted.”
Justin shrugged. “It’s okay. I sent a message to both of you, and I didn’t want to interrupt, but I just…” he gave Brian a meaningful look, trying not to look concerned, but failing miserably.
“C’mere, twat,” Brian said fondly, gesturing for Justin to join them.
Debbie stood as Justin approached and wrapped him in a hug before picking up her coat and pocketbook. “I’m going to leave you two to the rest of your evening and get home to Carl. You both know where to find me if you need me.” She paused, looking at Brian. “Especially you, young man.”
Brian stood next and wrapped his arms around Debbie, kissing her on the cheek. He didn’t say anything, for fear of choking up again, but they both knew he didn’t need to.
When they pulled apart, Debbie patted the side of his face. “Eat your damn sandwich. I’ll let myself out.”
Once she was gone, Justin looked up at Brian questioningly. “Did you want to stay?”
Brian shook his head. “No, let’s go home.”
Justin sniffed the air lightly, noting the faint smell of alcohol and the unmistakable remnants of weed. “You okay to drive?”
Brian shrugged on his jacket and picked up the takeout bag. “Probably, but why don’t you?” When Justin raised an eyebrow, Brian simply tossed him the keys and said, “I’ve got a fucking sandwich to eat.”
***
The trip back to the loft was quiet as Justin drove and Brian ate most of his sandwich, only briefly grumbling about how a lemon bar would go straight to his ass. Justin didn’t mention noticing that the entire thing was gone by the time he parked.
Inside, Brian walked straight into the bathroom and stripped, stepping into the shower as soon as steam started to escape. This time, Justin didn’t hesitate to join him, but there was no intention assigned other than wanting to be as close as possible without physically touching, and taking as little time as possible before they could curl up together in bed. Brian was practically dripping with fatigue, his movements sluggish and deliberate as he took care of his nightly routine.
“You’re watching me like I’m going to break,” Brian accused a few minutes later, once they were lying under the duvet, facing each other in the dim glow cast by the headboard light.
“Are you?” Justin asked lightly. In a different scenario, Brian might have given a snippy comeback, but tonight, with the weight of his emotional day still heavy around him, he just sighed.
“I think I already did earlier.”
If Justin was surprised by the honest admission, he didn’t show it, instead nodding slowly and gently trailing his fingers down the length of Brian’s right arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Brian snorted. “No, not really.”
“Okay,” Justin replied, his voice completely absent of judgment. He pulled Brian’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then laced their fingers together.
Brian sighed again, though this time, there was an edge of amusement to his breath. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Justin furrowed his brow. “I’m not trying to--”
“No,” Brian cut him off. “It’s not that.” He paused, closing his eyes as he searched for what he wanted to say. “I appreciate that you’re willing to let me off the hook so easily. But it’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I do. I… I should. I just....”
“Hey,” Justin said softly, moving closer to Brian and pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “We can talk later. Tomorrow. Whenever you want--whenever you’re ready.”
Brian nodded, tilting his head down. Justin recognized what he wanted and leaned up to kiss him, his fingers drumming a steady, almost meditative rhythm against Brian’s bicep, helping to center him as their lips met.
“Thank you,” Brian whispered when they separated. “Thank you for being there today.”
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else,” Justin told him truthfully. “And I’ll be here for anything else you need.”
Brian was quiet for a long moment, his teeth worrying his lips as he contemplated his next words. Eventually, he settled on, “I’m-- I’m just so fucking angry.”
Justin nodded, waiting patiently. His hand settled back into stroking Brian’s arm. He could feel Brian’s muscles trembling as he tried to suppress a wave of emotion.
When Brian spoke again, his voice was thick with resignation. “But I’m tired of being angry.” A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, almost immediately soaking into the pillow. “I don’t think I ever really knew how to label it; it was so much easier to act like I didn’t give a fuck. And some of the time, I think I succeeded.” He paused, clearing his throat. “But tonight, with Deb… She brought up the conversation with Rose and I just, I just lost it, and I realized, I’m so fucking mad at Joan.”
“You have every right to be,” Justin reasoned. “I’m angry for how she treated you, how she hurt you.” It was hard for Justin to understand, because even at their worst, his mother had always attempted to support him in the best way she knew how.
Brian laughed derisively. “I never wanted to believe she hurt me. She never harmed me physically. To admit to anything more would’ve been allowing her too much power over me.”
“When did it start?” Justin asked.
Brian considered this. “She’s always been obscenely sanctimonious. Her Lord and Savior before anything else, even my dad, which I’m sure was a huge source of their marital discord. I always resented her, especially seeing how Deb was with Mikey, so loving and, well, over-involved. I always used to tell him how lucky he was that his mom gave a shit, even when he wanted her to back the fuck off.”
Justin laughed. “Seems not much has changed there.”
Brian smiled gently. “Debbie is a handful sometimes, but she’s a treasure. I--” his voice broke, “--I’ll never be able to repay her for everything she’s done for me over the years. She saved me in so many ways.”
“She’s saved us all at some point,” Justin agreed. “I mean, you know what she did for me when she barely even knew me, and I certainly didn’t deserve her hospitality or patience.”
Brian snorted. “Are you fucking kidding me? You were right up her alley.” He grew serious again. “And even if you hadn’t deserved it back then, it allowed you to become who you are now--”
Justin nodded, but noticed that Brian’s eyes had filled again, so he remained quiet.
“--and the only person who’s ever saved me more than Deb is you.” The final words fell out Brian’s mouth in a whisper as fresh tears found their way to his cheeks. This time, Justin couldn’t hold back his own.
“The feeling’s mutual,” he affirmed wetly, squeezing Brian’s hand.
“When we met, I was damaged, at best. But you know that now. Hell, you pretty much figured it out back then,” Brian admitted, regaining some of his composure. “But after Jack died and my mom learned I was gay… I think that’s when it really started to change for me. I’m not sure I realized how much it affected me until today, as obtuse as that sounds.”
“Because she didn’t want to be involved with anything that mattered to you,” Justin surmised.
“Basically. Rose hit the nail on the head today. I was a glorified check writer to my mother, not to mention a bragging point to feed her own ego. She didn’t care that I had a son, or that I had a group of friends who supported me when she wouldn’t, who celebrated my victories when she didn’t care about anything more than how she might capitalize off of me. She couldn’t offer more than a religious snub when I had the most major health scare of my life. And she was mortified when she finally figured out that I’d fallen in love with you, because god forbid it validate my grotesque homosexuality,” Brian spat, his brow furrowed with disgust. “She was my mother, and she couldn’t give half a shit about anything that truly made me whole.” His voice started to tremble again. “And I never realized until today how much that fucking hurt.”
Justin nodded sympathetically. “She broke your heart in a lot of ways. I know, because when my dad rejected me and refused to accept you, it felt a lot like that too. But you know… our hearts,” he placed his hand over Brian’s for emphasis, feeling it strong and steady beneath his palm. Brian followed suit, his long fingers gently splaying across the left side of Justin’s chest. “They’re still beating. We keep getting past their bullshit, and for better or for worse, we’re holding on.”
“Barely,” Brian choked out a laugh through his tears.
Justin leaned and kissed him softly. “We’re holding onto each other.”
For the first time that night, Brian’s smile reached his eyes. “Yeah. We are.”
***
Their conversation continued long into the night, ultimately culminating with Justin preparing hot toddys that they sipped at the kitchen counter.
“You ready to get some sleep?” Brian asked as he drained the rest of his drink, then stifled his third yawn in five minutes.
“Yeah,” Justin nodded, collecting their mugs and putting them in the sink. They walked back into the bedroom and slipped under the covers, Justin tucking snugly against Brian’s chest, and winding their legs together.
“Final thoughts?” Brian asked.
“Tell me one good thing from today. Not from tonight, but earlier.”
Brian hummed, eventually arriving at an answer. “Today was the first time my nephew has ever hugged me.”
Justin’s eyebrows shot up. “Never before?”
“Not that I can remember,” Brian admitted. “They were young when Claire found out I was gay, and then she wouldn’t let them touch me. Didn’t want to catch it,” he sneered.
Justin sighed, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He’d never understand people who thought or behaved like Claire or Brian’s mother. Fortunately, in the case of the two women, he didn’t have to any longer, and he was determined to end the night, or, early morning, as it were, on a positive note. “Maybe we can invite Peter up to the city sometime in the spring,” he suggested. “Have him stay a couple days and show him around?”
“That would probably piss Claire off sufficiently,” Brian snickered. “But, he’s over 18, so… I think I’d like that.”
Justin smiled. “I think he would too. Maybe invite Gus and let the cousins get to know each other.”
“You’re a fucking genius,” Brian said, and Justin could hear his grin in the dark. He leaned up to Brian for one final kiss.
“You’ll be okay?”
Brian nodded, voice solemn and sincere. “I will be. I told you the other night--regardless of all this shit, I have everything I need and far more than I deserve.”
“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Kinney,” Justin whispered sleepily.
“Oh?” Brian quirked an eyebrow.
Justin’s words were muffled as he drifted off, but Brian heard him clearly:
“You deserve all of it and more.”
FROM:
asm614 (LJ) PrettyTheWorld (AO3)TITLE: The Grief That Does Not Speak
GIFT REQUEST: angst, canon-compliant, hurt/comfort, Brian/Justin - I really love hurt/comfort. And I love a good vulnerable Brian fic.
NOTE: I hope it’s okay, but this fic actually ended up becoming a continuation for something I wrote for the 2014 Gift Exchange called “Family Ties”, but can also be read as a standalone. I might just suggest reading that one first for a little more backstory. In short, Brian tries to come to terms with his feelings in the aftermath of his mother’s untimely passing. The gang rallies around him, and two, in particular, help him realize that he doesn’t have to face anything alone.
“To you, O Lord, we commend the soul of Joan, your servant….”
“Miserable bitch never caught a break,” Brian muttered to Justin as the funeral service continued. “Servant to Jack, servant to her ungrateful children, servant to God. Is there no rest for the weary?”
“Behave,” Justin whispered back, his lips quirking against a smirk before winding his arm around Brian’s. They were standing close enough that it was barely noticeable, not that either would have cared otherwise. As far as Brian was concerned, it was enough that they had shown up. If he wanted to attend physically attached to another man, Joan’s pious friends would just have to deal with it.
“…We ask this through Christ our Lord,” the priest finished, and the small crowd murmured, “Amen,” in response.
“We don’t need to go to the reception…” Justin said afterward, as they made their way back through the cemetery, toward the car. He eyed Brian carefully, trying to gauge his current state.
Brian hesitated, shielding his eyes against the gentle snow that had started to fall. “We should stop at least,” he decided finally, as he unlocked the car. “After all, I’m paying for most of it.” Justin just nodded, ducking into the passenger seat.
They didn’t talk much during the drive to Claire’s house, Justin mostly unsure of what to say. He and Brian could converse pretty easily on just about any topic anymore, but Joan, and Brian’s family in general, was always a bit of an anomaly, especially given the delicate state of the current situation.
Brian’s nephew Peter answered the door when they arrived, and offered a tentative smile. Justin attempted to reciprocate and Brian gave him a perfunctory nod. Claire’s boys were another uncertain factor. Brian hadn’t had contact with them much over the years, especially considering the incident that had transpired between him and John a decade or so prior, and the older boy continued to show no interest, if not open hostility. However, at times, it almost seemed like Peter was interested in getting to know his uncle, and just didn’t want to face the wrath of his unstable mother.
“How are you holding up?” Justin asked the teenager. He was tall, slender, and looked a lot like Justin imagined Brian might have around his age.
Peter shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Just a shock.” He paused, glancing cautiously toward Brian. “It’s cool that you guys came. I guess I didn’t think you would. I heard… like, that my mom just showed up at your place, and… I mean. I don’t really blame you for how you reacted.”
Brian nodded again,this time more slowly, his tongue anchored firmly in his cheek, before speaking. “Yeah, well here we are.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably, looking like he wanted to say more, but chose to stick with, “Thanks. Um, there’s food and stuff in the dining room if you want. Help yourselves.”
Justin offered Peter a final nod of gratitude, trying to soften Brian’s curtness before leading Brian out of the foyer so that Peter could greet the next arriving guest.
There were only a few others grazing from the Costco deli platters on the dining room table. Claire was engaged in tearful conversation with another woman around her age who Justin presumed was a friend there for moral support, as the other guests appeared to be more within Joan’s circle. Fortunately, it didn’t seem that there were any other family members in attendance so far. Overall, it was surprisingly sparse.
“Hungry?” Brian asked quietly, gesturing at the small stack of plates at the head of the table. Justin shook his head. Nothing about the environment was particularly appealing, and he was pretty sure he had noticed at least one guest give him and Brian a wary glance, no doubt questioning their moral integrity.
Justin snagged them each a bottle of water and they were just about to make their way into the living room when someone called out Brian’s name. They both turned around to face an older woman who had a soft smile on her face.
“I’m so sorry about your mother’s untimely passing,” the woman began, placing a hand on Brian’s arm. Brian eyed her carefully, and to his surprise, found no sign of malice or judgment.
“Thank you very much, Mrs…” he hesitated.
“Please, dear, my name is Rose,” the woman replied. “I didn’t meet Joan until after you left Pittsburgh, but she has said quite a bit about her successful son in New York. She mentioned you weren’t back in the area often, so I suppose that’s why we’ve never been introduced.”
Brian didn’t show it, but Justin could feel his posture stiffen as he forced a grin. There were a lot of things surprising about her statement, but one in particular was glaringly inaccurate: they were back in the Pitts at least once a month at minimum, sometimes nearly splitting their time between the two cities, though to be fair, Joan was none the wiser, nor had she ever cared to inquire.
“Is that right? I can’t imagine what else she might’ve told you.” Brian’s demeanor was nothing short of charming, and Justin immediately recognized it as one he used when he was trying to win over a client he otherwise felt was full of shit. His caution made sense; Rose seemed genuine, if nothing else, but there was no telling what Joan had tried to spin.
“Yes, she told me all about your advertising agency. She said you started it from scratch and moved it from Pittsburgh to New York all by yourself. I think I’ve seen some of your work in my magazines, in fact. It’s no wonder she seemed so proud!”
Brian gave a believable chuckle, but Justin saw the slight twitch in his jaw. “Well that’s very kind, Rose. I hardly did any of that by myself, though. I’ve been very fortunate to have the support of those closest to me, especially my partner, Justin. Forgive me for not introducing you.”
Rose appeared mildly taken aback by the revelation, but smiled and offered her hand to Justin, who shook it. “Somehow, I don’t think Joan never mentioned you, Justin, but you make a very handsome couple.”
“Thank you,” Justin said, feeling it safe to wrap his unoccupied arm around Brian’s waist. He could feel Brian shaking, albeit imperceptibly, as he tried to maintain his composure.
“What do you do, Justin?” she asked, shifting her attention to the younger man. “Do you work in the same field?”
Justin shook his head. “No, not exactly. I’m an artist. I mainly work independently, but have contracted with a number of galleries both here and in New York.”
Rose’s eyes widened again, but this time with admiration. “That’s wonderful. What’s your preferred medium?”
“I paint, mostly. My latest projects have been oil on canvas, but I’m a fan of a variety of techniques.”
“Very impressive! Have you two been together very long?” she continued. Justin pressed his lips together, deferring to Brian for this answer.
“Almost fifteen years,” Brian supplied, unable to prevent the smug note from creeping into his voice. Justin squeezed him tighter.
“My goodness! I had no idea! Joan had only mentioned your professional accomplishments, Brian, but that’s certainly another one to note.”
Brian shifted, trying to contain his fresh discomfort. “Well, I’m not surprised in the slightest, but it was very nice meeting you, Rose. I’m sure you were a wonderful friend to my mother.”
It was clear that Rose recognized her subtle dismissal, but she simply smiled again, giving both men a sympathetic gaze. Justin wondered if she somehow understood now that she’d unintentionally opened Pandora’s Box.
“It was my pleasure, Brian. And Justin. Any mother would be proud to have sons like you. Joan should have considered herself very lucky. My best to you both.”
“Thank you,” Justin said again, releasing Brian’s waist to accept the small hug he was offered. Brian followed suit, and they excused themselves to the living room, which was blessedly empty for the moment.
“I’m ready to go,” Brian muttered, uncapping his water and taking a long pull.
Justin stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Brian’s middle in a gesture of comfort. “She--” he began, but was cut off by Claire’s voice. They quickly separated and looked up to see her in the room’s entryway, a tight expression on her face.
“Sorry, but do you two mind? We have a house full of company from Mother’s church, and I really don’t want--”
“Mom, shut up,” a third unexpected voice joined the conversation.
“Peter,” Claire snapped, making an obvious effort to restrain her volume. She glared at her youngest son, who stood in the opposite entrance to the room, adjacent to the front hallway. “I do not appreciate-”
“Fuck that, Mother. I don’t appreciate you treating two people who are the whole freaking reason you were able to pull this off, who are our family, like they’re doing something wrong when the only person doing anything wrong right now is you.” Peter’s voice was a low hiss, but there was no question that Claire had heard every word.
“Um, we should probably go,” Justin said quickly, not wanting to get in the crossfire of what was likely going to transpire.
“Gladly,” Brian added, giving his sister a venomous look. “Enjoy the cold cuts. It’s the least the fruits of my rampant success could do for dear old departed Mom.”
Claire’s breathing grew heavy and she started to tear up, appearing on the verge of a tantrum as she faced off with the three men, briefly holding each of them in her gaze as she contemplated her next move. Perhaps wisely, she eventually decided that she should not attempt to take on Brian or Justin directly, leaving her son as the remaining target. “Peter James, you do not dare to stand in my home and speak to me like that, especially not on the day of your grandmother’s funeral!”
Peter shrugged. “Fine. Then I won’t.”
Before Claire could open her mouth to respond, Brian spoke instead. “Well, I’m fucking done. For good. Claire, enjoy your miserable life. Let’s go.”
Claire didn’t protest immediately, so Brian and Justin grabbed their coats, and made their swift exit. Peter followed.
“She’s going to come scream for me to come back inside in about thirty seconds,” he said, nervously shifting from foot to foot as he stood in the cold.
“That’s probably about how long it’ll take for hypothermia to set in, so you should go back, but if she tries to kick you out, or you need somewhere to get away, call me.” Brian reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, procuring a pen and card that he scribbled on. “That’s my personal phone number. Please don’t give it to your mother, but use it if you want to.”
“Thanks, Uncle Brian. I just… everything about this sucks.”
Justin nodded, “I get it, and so does Brian. And we’re here if you need anything.”
Peter hesitated. “I’m not… like… gay. I mean, even if I were, it’s not… I just mean that Grandma, and my mom and brother… they have these hateful views that are total shit, and….”
Brian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “They don’t define you. They never defined me.”
“And look how he turned out,” Justin teased, nudging his shoulder into Brian, who responded with his first genuine smile of the afternoon.
Peter laughed lightly, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing his biceps for warmth. “Look. I get that you don’t ever want to see my mom again, but I hope that, like…”
Brian nodded, understanding the implied request. “Justin and I still own two properties here, so we’re in town pretty often, and when we’re not, New York is a bus ride away. We’ll figure it out.”
“Now get back in the house before you freeze to death,” Justin said, pointing.
“Before your mother tries to swindle me for your frostbite treatment,” Brian couldn’t resist adding.
Peter hesitated briefly, but then stepped forward and hugged Brian. It took Brian a moment to react, but he wrapped his arms around Peter as well. Justin took his turn next, and the men exchanged their goodbyes.
“Don’t forget what I said,” were Brian’s parting words. “All of it.”
***
“Are you sure you want to go out tonight?” Justin asked, watching Brian rifle through shirts in the closet. They were staying at the loft for the night, not wanting to risk potential heavy snow on the drive back to West Virginia.
“I think we should stay in the city for the holidays next year,” was Brian’s response, indicating his complete disregard for Justin’s question.
“Really? Why?” Justin raised an eyebrow, not that he was opposed to the idea. Their place in New York was his favorite, architecturally, with the stark juxtaposition of their modern finishes set in the gorgeously ornate pre-war building on Lexington Avenue. Plus, from their corner unit, they could see both the famous lights of midtown, and into Central Park. For all intents and purposes, it was a dream come true, and the idea of decking it out for the holidays was one Justin relished. But, Britin had a lot of meaning to them too, and they had spent almost all of their Christmases there, in the nearly ten years since Brian had gifted it to Justin for their engagement.
Brian turned to him, a designer chambray button-down in his hands. “Think about it, Sunshine: the Christmas tree and ice skating at Rockefeller, hot cocoa and disturbingly overpriced carriage rides in Central Park, watching Ryan Seacrest pretend he’s straight, live and in person on New Year’s Eve….”
Justin laughed. “We can still do almost all of that before we come down here. Besides, the girls always bring Gus and Jenny here for Christmas, we couldn’t miss that.”
“We could just have everyone come to us, then,” Brian shrugged, as if making New York City accommodations for over a dozen people during Christmas was no big deal. Then again, maybe it wasn’t for Brian. Despite how little Joan Kinney had actually known of her son’s finances, she was right about one thing: Brian was wildly successful. Sometimes it amazed Justin to realize that now, even some of their crazier ideas were not entirely outside the realm of possibility.
“It’s something to consider,” Justin relented, watching as Brian dropped his selected outfit onto the bed and then wandered into the bathroom. The sound of the water spray started a few seconds later.
Normally, Justin didn’t pass up an opportunity to join Brian in the loft shower; truthfully, it was one of his very favorite sex spots. He’d lost count of how many times they’d done it there over the years, but he’d never forgotten that the first time had been the one that had cemented his exclusive position as “the guy Brian fucks more than once.” It didn’t feel right tonight, though. Something about Brian had been “off” all day. Really, Brian had been slightly “off” since first learning the news of Joan’s death on Christmas Eve, but her funeral services had taken it to a new level, and as much as Justin wanted to do what he could to make things better, he didn’t think that sex was enough of a bandage for the gaping wound Brian was currently nursing.
Apparently, Brian had not had similar thoughts, walking out a few minutes later with a towel draped over his shoulder, but not covering much else. “Thought you’d come in,” he threw out casually. “I was waiting.”
A perfunctory glance down at Brian’s exposed nether regions didn’t provide any evidence to support that claim, despite his attempts to sound seductive, but Justin bit anyway, knowing Brian needed to maintain some modicum of normalcy to their evening.
“Sorry,” he said, trying to sound apologetic. “I started googling things to do in New York for Christmas, in case we did plan something next year.” He held up his phone screen to show a still image of the Rockettes’ Holiday Spectacular as evidence.
Brian shook his head and smiled fondly, allowing Justin a pass. “Gonna go to Babylon,” he said finally, pulling on the chosen shirt and black jeans. “Coming?”
“Uh, sure,” Justin said, glancing down at his own clothing. He’d switched into a soft gray sweater and jeans once they’d returned from Claire’s, and he figured it was good enough for the club. Brian nodded his approval.
Brian seemed pensive as they drove, turning the music louder than normal, effectively eliminating the opportunity for any standard form of interpersonal communication, so Justin took the opportunity to text Michael, who had been worried about Brian in his own right, since he hadn’t been able to attend the funeral. He agreed to round up the guys and meet them within the hour.
Justin hoped the night wouldn’t be as long as it was starting to feel.
***
Four beers and a half-dozen dances later, Brian was hanging off of Michael, and by the look on the former’s face, Justin was fairly certain he was attempting to deliver something profound--and failing, if the look on Michael’s face was anything to go by.
“He doesn’t seem okay,” Emmett said nervously, standing by Justin’s side at the bar as they watched the scene before them. “Is he okay?”
Justin shrugged, unable to contain his worried frown. “You know how Brian is. He deals in his own way. I’m just not sure what that way will be this time. I don’t really know what he needs.”
“Aw, baby. He knows you’re there for him. I’m sure he’ll take advantage if he needs to,” Emmett soothed, giving Justin a gentle squeeze and an understanding smile. Seeing Brian out of sorts was unfamiliar for all of them, even knowing him for as long as they had.
Three additional beers later, Brian had moved on to debating Ironmen defensive strategies with Drew, which was entirely amusing, considering his utter lack of knowledge on the topic. Justin shot Drew a helpless grin, grateful that he seemed more entertained than annoyed with his conversation partner.
“Anybody up for the diner?” Michael asked, getting the attention of their group. “Ben said he’ll meet us for dessert.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Done already? You lame-asses realize that twenty years ago, we wouldn’t even be leaving to go out yet.”
Drew smiled ruefully. “I, for one, am completely okay with being a lame-ass.” Emmett laughed and patted him on the arm, seemingly in agreement.
“Fine, you old fucking geezers. Go drink your prune juice before bedtime!” Brian slurred teasingly, waving them away. “My spring chicken and I will just have to continue without you!” He wrapped an arm around Justin and pulled him into his side.
“One more drink and we’ll meet you,” Justin told Michael, who nodded and, after goodbyes, led the others out.
Brian pouted when Justin turned back to him. “You want to leave too? Thought our night was just getting started.” His expression grew more serious when Justin’s only reaction was a knowing smile.
“You’re not drunk,” he accused quietly. “You just wanted them to think you are.”
A challenging gleam flashed across Brian’s face. “What makes you so sure?”
“One, you’re not arguing with me about how you’re actually perfectly sober. Two, I’ve been buying you light beers, and you know it, and three,” Justin continued smugly, “your hands have been nowhere in the vicinity of my dick or my ass in the past hour and a half.”
Brian looked down at the bartop and smirked. “Can’t get anything past you, can I, Sunshine?”
Justin pressed a kiss to Brian’s lips. “You’re about as effective as that piss water you’ve been drinking all night.”
“Mikey’s a lightweight, he didn’t know any better,” Brian admitted, then sighed. “Look, you should go to the diner with them if you want, but I’m gonna stay here for a bit. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Justin searched Brian’s face, trying to read between the lines, but Brian didn’t give away much this time. “You should be hungry too. We haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“I’ll get something later,” Brian promised. “I should actually review a couple things in the office while I’m here. Come back when you’re done.”
As much as he didn’t want to leave Brian alone, Justin hoped that the distraction of work would keep his mind occupied for the time being. Reluctantly, he let Brian walk him to the door and gave him another kiss before he left, with a promised, “Later.”
***
When Justin arrived at Liberty Diner, the guys were at their usual booth, and Debbie was closing out for the night, still insisting on keeping three shifts per week. “Sunshine!” she greeted him, waving happily. She stepped around the counter to wrap him in a hug. “It’s so good to see you in here. Just like old times! Hey, want an apron?”
Justin laughed, glancing around. Though it had been over a decade since he’d served his last table, not much had changed about the diner. The place was full of a lot of memories. He could place something significant in nearly every square inch of the room, most of which somehow involved Brian.
“How’s that boy of ours?” Debbie asked, quietly enough so the others wouldn’t overhear.
Justin sighed, feeling the heavy weight of tears in his eyes. “I don’t know. He needs something, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not really sure what it is. I don’t really think it’s space, though. I just feel so helpless after everything today.”
Debbie asked for clarification, so Justin explained more about the day in detail, including their encounters with Rose, Claire, and Peter. By the time he finished, Debbie had a determined look in her eyes. “Where is he?” she asked.
“Babylon.”
“I’m off in ten. Mind if I take a crack at it?” She snapped her gum for emphasis.
Justin shook his head gratefully. “Definitely not.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys, removing one from the ring and handing it to her. “This will open the back office from the private entrance. He told me to come back when I’m done, so, I’ll text?”
Debbie nodded, pocketing the key herself.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Justin added. “Could you take him a turkey sandwich? Maybe a lemon bar? Just have them put it on my tab.”
Debbie’s eyes sparkled with fondness. “Sure thing, Sunshine. And it’s on the house.”
***
“Back so soon?” Brian called out when he heard the lock turning on his office door. He looked up from his desk, waiting for Justin to enter the room, and jiggled the mouse to wake up his computer display so it at least appeared that he’d been trying to work.
“Nope, Meals on Wheels. Special delivery,” Debbie joked, walking in and depositing a to-go bag from the diner on Brian’s desk. He eyed it suspiciously.
“Please tell me that’s not a pink plate special. I’ve only felt like I’m going to vomit all day, I don’t actually want for it to happen,” Brian intoned.
Debbie rolled her eyes. “Relax, it’s turkey on whole wheat, hold the mayo, and the drama. The same damn boring thing you’ve ordered for fifteen years.”
“Thanks.” Brian managed a genuinely grateful smile. “Afraid I’m not too hungry right now, though.”
Debbie nodded. “I thought that might be the case,” she reached into her pocket, “so I brought something that might help jog your appetite.” She held up a huge joint for him to see. “Gotta light?”
“Holy shit,” Brian snorted out a laugh. “This is fucking deja vu. Are you sure that’s not tuna casserole in the bag?”
“Not this time, and today, you’re gonna smoke most of it, because I haven’t used this shit since probably the last time with you. Besides that, I think you need it more. Sounds like you had a rough day, huh?”
Brian got up from behind his desk and walked over to the sofa, gesturing for Debbie to join him. “Justin has a big fucking mouth.”
“Well, Mr. Kinney, as it stands, the person attached to that big fucking mouth loves you more than life itself, and wants more than anything in the world to help you, but doesn’t seem to think he’s what you need, so….”
Brian blanched a little at Debbie’s words, but wasn’t ready to back down. “So he sent you instead, my Ghost of Christmas past, to remind me of what used to be?” He lit the joint and took a deep drag, coughing a little from the strength. “Who the fuck is your weed dealer? Jesus Christ.”
“It’s from my ‘Kinney in Crisis’ stash,” she replied, her lips quirking. “Give it here.” Brian passed the joint to Debbie, who took a small puff, letting the smoke roll around in her mouth before blowing it back out.
“Gotta inhale if you actually wanna get high,” Brian said, taking the joint back and demonstrating.
Debbie scoffed. “D’you really think I need you to educate me on how to smoke grass? I grew up in the sixties, kiddo, and don’t you forget it.”
Brian held his hands up in surrender, and nodded in deference. “As you do.”
“So, you finally told your sister to fuck off for good?” Debbie continued conversationally, after taking a genuine drag and passing it back.
Brian choked on his next hit. “Fuck, you didn’t even attempt to segue.”
Debbie smiled gently. “Sunshine might think he needs to be careful around this topic, but you and I, we know better, don’t we?”
“So we’re doing this, huh?” Brian’s voice grew noticeably weaker. He pulled an ashtray over from the end table and stubbed out the joint. Debbie looked at him questioningly. “I think I’m going to wish I had that later,” he offered, by way of explanation, then cleared his throat and looked at Debbie expectantly.
She tilted her head toward the liquor cart across from them. “Maybe start there for now?” Brian bit his lip and nodded, so she stood. “Allow me. I don’t get to serve you much these days. What’s your poison?”
“Bourbon. Neat.” Brian leaned back against the sofa and shut his eyes, not opening them again until a glass was being pressed into his hand. When he looked back at Debbie, she had re-joined him, holding up what Brian presumed to be Hendricks on the rocks, if he had to guess. The ice clinked in her glass as she moved it toward him.
“Cheers.” They both sipped their drinks. Brian tried to focus on the burn as it traveled down his throat, rather than the one lingering behind his eyes. He knew where this conversation was headed.
“I’ve known you for a long time, Brian,” Debbie started, looking over at him thoughtfully. “Long before any of you had to worry about this dying parent nonsense. In fact, back in the beginning, you couldn’t wait to get away from yours, and shit, more often than not, I couldn’t blame you.”
Brian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily, his gaze trained on the light reflecting off of the whiskey decanter several feet away.
Debbie patted his knee. “Well, now it’s permanent, and you don’t have to worry about either one of them again. How does it feel?”
Silence.
“Maybe it’s harder than you thought after all? Especially hearing about the pride your mother felt, bragging to her friend Rose about her talented son’s successes. That must’ve been a tough pill to swallow.”
“Fuck, Deb,” Brian growled, still not looking over at her. “You know that’s not what it was.”
“You sure? You don’t think there was even a fraction of Joan Kinney that was proud of you? Her son who was able to create such an impressive company in spite of everything she felt you had working against you? Your sinful life? And don’t you think Jack had the same gleam in his eye when he told his drinking pals about his good ‘ol Sonny Boy?”
Brian gave Debbie a sharp glare before redirecting his stare to its previous location. “Can you leave my fucking father out of this?”
Debbie watched Brian carefully, noticed the clench of his jaw and the slight tremble of his chin. “Alright,” her tone remained delicate. “Your mother, then. Rose seemed certain she’d been very proud.”
“My mother,” Brian began, his voice low, “didn’t know the first fucking thing about what I did, other than I made a name for myself, I got myself the hell out of this city, and I made an assload of money. And, as my dear sister will tell you, I didn’t spare a red cent for any of them.”
“I see,” Debbie nodded. “But you don’t agree.”
Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if praying for patience. It was rare that he didn’t feel in control of himself, and the sensation was unnerving, at best. “You know all of this already, Deb. Why the fuck are we doing this?” he pleaded, silently praying for a last-minute reprieve.
Debbie shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “There are at least three doors to leave this room. You don’t see me stopping you from using any of them. You’re a 43-year-old grown-ass man. So why are you still here? You walked out on your sister earlier with no problem. You’ve kicked your own mother out of a room for less.”
For the next few seconds, the only sounds in the room were the clock ticking and the ice settling in Debbie’s glass. Brian scowled down at his lap, chewing roughly at the inside of his lips. Finally, after several heavy breaths, he spoke.
“She didn’t know shit about anything that mattered to me. She didn’t accept the man I love, that we have an amazing life together--she fucking hated that I like men at all. She cared more about her church than she cared about her own family. She never met my only son. Her grandson. Her fucking flesh and blood who will carry on this godforsaken family name.” He was on his feet yelling now. “Nothing that meant anything to me mattered to her, no matter how hard I tried. I gave them everything they asked for! Everything except for myself, my very essence. It was never enough! Instead, I got motherfucking cancer, and she told me I fucking deserved it! Joan Kinney was nothing to me. She was No One!” he roared, then violently threw his drink at the wall behind his desk, not even blinking as it shattered, spraying bourbon and glass across the top of the credenza.
Debbie watched the scene unfold before she calmly said, “No, of course not. She was just your mother.”
Brian finally looked at Debbie directly, and it broke her heart to see his eyes filled with tears, his complete loss of will, as he whispered, “You were more of a mother to me than she ever was.”
And then he fell to his knees and cried.
Debbie wasted no time, wrapping her arms around him, rubbing his back. His hid his face, his top half falling forward into her lap, as huge gulping sobs took over, wracking his whole body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she soothed. “You just let it out.”
It was a good six or seven minutes before Brian was able to pull himself together enough to lift his head away from his arms and look up. Debbie gave him a watery but loving smile and gently cupped his cheek. .
“Fuck you,” Brian managed through a soggy, snot-filled laugh as pulled back to wipe some of the moisture away from his eyes.
“Do you feel any better?” Debbie prodded gently. She snagged a tissue box from a nearby table and handed it to him.
Brian cleared his throat and blew his nose a few times before responding. “I feel… some clarity.”
Debbie beamed. “Then I accept.”
Brian smirked and slowly unfolded himself off of the floor, stretching as the sound of popping joints filled the room. Debbie opened her mouth to comment, but he shushed her, warning, “Don’t even start.”
Once they were sitting side by side again, she took his lighter and relit the joint. “The rest of this is all yours, kid. You earned it,” she said, blowing out a small wisp of smoke before passing it over. Brian accepted it glady, as Debbie stood up and made quick work of the shattered glass and spilled liquor on the credenza. Fortunately, it didn’t look like anything else had been damaged or broken.
“Sorry,” Brian said, a little meekly as he watched, a fresh smoke ring hovering just above his head.
Debbie shook her head, depositing the last few shards into the trash. “Sweetie, you don’t need to apologize for shit. No one die-- okay, that was a fucking horrible choice of words,” she berated herself, but Brian actually laughed, and Debbie just shook her head again. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He paused thoughtfully, examining the roach smoldering between his fingertips. “I meant what I said.”
Debbie returned to her seat on the sofa and patted Brian on his free hand. “I know you did, and I don’t blame you for feeling a single bit of it.”
“No, no,” Brian said, putting the finished ashtray back on the end table. “I mean, I meant all of that too, but I was referring to what I said about you.”
“Aw shit,” Debbie said, her eyes welling up a little again. “You know you’ve always been like one of my own, and you always will be.”
Brian wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him for a hug. “Thanks, Ma.”
Debbie finally broke the silence, pulling back from Brian enough to look at his face. “You should talk to Justin.”
“I do talk to Justin. Every day, in fact. We live together.” Brian’s intentionally obtuse response was greeted with a hard swat to the stomach. “Ow!” he barked, retracting.
Debbie made an unimpressed face. “Smartass. You know what I mean. It’s like the poet Harry Wordsmith Longfellow--”
“He any relation to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow?” Brian teased innocently, unable to contain his grin.
“Oh fuck off, you trying to kill the little buzz I have left?” Debbie scolded. “Anyway,” she continued, “It’s like he once said… somewhere, ’There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.’” She nudged Brian. “I think he means you don’t have to go through grief alone. Justin loves you, and he wants to be there. Don’t refuse him just because you think it’s for his benefit, because that won’t help either of you. You need him now, whether you admit it or not.”
Brian appeared to be taking Debbie’s words seriously, but he couldn’t help his smirk. “You know, Shakespeare also wrote, ‘Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.’”
Debbie rolled her eyes. “Well good for you, quoting Hamlet or whatever the fuck--”
“Much Ado About Nothing,” Brian supplied helpfully.
“Well that’s exactly what it is. I’m just saying, don’t feel like you need to be so closed off.”
Brian chuckled lightly. “And I’m just saying, it’s easier to say that when you’re not the one having to change that.” They stared at each other for a few seconds, and finally Brian acquiesced. “I’ll try.”
“Good boy.” Debbie patted his thigh, satisfied. She was starting to ask him about what had transpired with Claire and Peter when the office door opened and Justin cautiously poked his head in.
“Hello?” he called out, looking around until he spotted Brian and Debbie on the sofa. As he registered Brian’s flushed cheeks and still-wet eyelashes, he let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”
“Hey Sunshine,” Debbie greeted him. “I didn’t check my phone, sorry if you texted.”
Justin shrugged. “It’s okay. I sent a message to both of you, and I didn’t want to interrupt, but I just…” he gave Brian a meaningful look, trying not to look concerned, but failing miserably.
“C’mere, twat,” Brian said fondly, gesturing for Justin to join them.
Debbie stood as Justin approached and wrapped him in a hug before picking up her coat and pocketbook. “I’m going to leave you two to the rest of your evening and get home to Carl. You both know where to find me if you need me.” She paused, looking at Brian. “Especially you, young man.”
Brian stood next and wrapped his arms around Debbie, kissing her on the cheek. He didn’t say anything, for fear of choking up again, but they both knew he didn’t need to.
When they pulled apart, Debbie patted the side of his face. “Eat your damn sandwich. I’ll let myself out.”
Once she was gone, Justin looked up at Brian questioningly. “Did you want to stay?”
Brian shook his head. “No, let’s go home.”
Justin sniffed the air lightly, noting the faint smell of alcohol and the unmistakable remnants of weed. “You okay to drive?”
Brian shrugged on his jacket and picked up the takeout bag. “Probably, but why don’t you?” When Justin raised an eyebrow, Brian simply tossed him the keys and said, “I’ve got a fucking sandwich to eat.”
***
The trip back to the loft was quiet as Justin drove and Brian ate most of his sandwich, only briefly grumbling about how a lemon bar would go straight to his ass. Justin didn’t mention noticing that the entire thing was gone by the time he parked.
Inside, Brian walked straight into the bathroom and stripped, stepping into the shower as soon as steam started to escape. This time, Justin didn’t hesitate to join him, but there was no intention assigned other than wanting to be as close as possible without physically touching, and taking as little time as possible before they could curl up together in bed. Brian was practically dripping with fatigue, his movements sluggish and deliberate as he took care of his nightly routine.
“You’re watching me like I’m going to break,” Brian accused a few minutes later, once they were lying under the duvet, facing each other in the dim glow cast by the headboard light.
“Are you?” Justin asked lightly. In a different scenario, Brian might have given a snippy comeback, but tonight, with the weight of his emotional day still heavy around him, he just sighed.
“I think I already did earlier.”
If Justin was surprised by the honest admission, he didn’t show it, instead nodding slowly and gently trailing his fingers down the length of Brian’s right arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Brian snorted. “No, not really.”
“Okay,” Justin replied, his voice completely absent of judgment. He pulled Brian’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then laced their fingers together.
Brian sighed again, though this time, there was an edge of amusement to his breath. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Justin furrowed his brow. “I’m not trying to--”
“No,” Brian cut him off. “It’s not that.” He paused, closing his eyes as he searched for what he wanted to say. “I appreciate that you’re willing to let me off the hook so easily. But it’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I do. I… I should. I just....”
“Hey,” Justin said softly, moving closer to Brian and pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “We can talk later. Tomorrow. Whenever you want--whenever you’re ready.”
Brian nodded, tilting his head down. Justin recognized what he wanted and leaned up to kiss him, his fingers drumming a steady, almost meditative rhythm against Brian’s bicep, helping to center him as their lips met.
“Thank you,” Brian whispered when they separated. “Thank you for being there today.”
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else,” Justin told him truthfully. “And I’ll be here for anything else you need.”
Brian was quiet for a long moment, his teeth worrying his lips as he contemplated his next words. Eventually, he settled on, “I’m-- I’m just so fucking angry.”
Justin nodded, waiting patiently. His hand settled back into stroking Brian’s arm. He could feel Brian’s muscles trembling as he tried to suppress a wave of emotion.
When Brian spoke again, his voice was thick with resignation. “But I’m tired of being angry.” A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, almost immediately soaking into the pillow. “I don’t think I ever really knew how to label it; it was so much easier to act like I didn’t give a fuck. And some of the time, I think I succeeded.” He paused, clearing his throat. “But tonight, with Deb… She brought up the conversation with Rose and I just, I just lost it, and I realized, I’m so fucking mad at Joan.”
“You have every right to be,” Justin reasoned. “I’m angry for how she treated you, how she hurt you.” It was hard for Justin to understand, because even at their worst, his mother had always attempted to support him in the best way she knew how.
Brian laughed derisively. “I never wanted to believe she hurt me. She never harmed me physically. To admit to anything more would’ve been allowing her too much power over me.”
“When did it start?” Justin asked.
Brian considered this. “She’s always been obscenely sanctimonious. Her Lord and Savior before anything else, even my dad, which I’m sure was a huge source of their marital discord. I always resented her, especially seeing how Deb was with Mikey, so loving and, well, over-involved. I always used to tell him how lucky he was that his mom gave a shit, even when he wanted her to back the fuck off.”
Justin laughed. “Seems not much has changed there.”
Brian smiled gently. “Debbie is a handful sometimes, but she’s a treasure. I--” his voice broke, “--I’ll never be able to repay her for everything she’s done for me over the years. She saved me in so many ways.”
“She’s saved us all at some point,” Justin agreed. “I mean, you know what she did for me when she barely even knew me, and I certainly didn’t deserve her hospitality or patience.”
Brian snorted. “Are you fucking kidding me? You were right up her alley.” He grew serious again. “And even if you hadn’t deserved it back then, it allowed you to become who you are now--”
Justin nodded, but noticed that Brian’s eyes had filled again, so he remained quiet.
“--and the only person who’s ever saved me more than Deb is you.” The final words fell out Brian’s mouth in a whisper as fresh tears found their way to his cheeks. This time, Justin couldn’t hold back his own.
“The feeling’s mutual,” he affirmed wetly, squeezing Brian’s hand.
“When we met, I was damaged, at best. But you know that now. Hell, you pretty much figured it out back then,” Brian admitted, regaining some of his composure. “But after Jack died and my mom learned I was gay… I think that’s when it really started to change for me. I’m not sure I realized how much it affected me until today, as obtuse as that sounds.”
“Because she didn’t want to be involved with anything that mattered to you,” Justin surmised.
“Basically. Rose hit the nail on the head today. I was a glorified check writer to my mother, not to mention a bragging point to feed her own ego. She didn’t care that I had a son, or that I had a group of friends who supported me when she wouldn’t, who celebrated my victories when she didn’t care about anything more than how she might capitalize off of me. She couldn’t offer more than a religious snub when I had the most major health scare of my life. And she was mortified when she finally figured out that I’d fallen in love with you, because god forbid it validate my grotesque homosexuality,” Brian spat, his brow furrowed with disgust. “She was my mother, and she couldn’t give half a shit about anything that truly made me whole.” His voice started to tremble again. “And I never realized until today how much that fucking hurt.”
Justin nodded sympathetically. “She broke your heart in a lot of ways. I know, because when my dad rejected me and refused to accept you, it felt a lot like that too. But you know… our hearts,” he placed his hand over Brian’s for emphasis, feeling it strong and steady beneath his palm. Brian followed suit, his long fingers gently splaying across the left side of Justin’s chest. “They’re still beating. We keep getting past their bullshit, and for better or for worse, we’re holding on.”
“Barely,” Brian choked out a laugh through his tears.
Justin leaned and kissed him softly. “We’re holding onto each other.”
For the first time that night, Brian’s smile reached his eyes. “Yeah. We are.”
***
Their conversation continued long into the night, ultimately culminating with Justin preparing hot toddys that they sipped at the kitchen counter.
“You ready to get some sleep?” Brian asked as he drained the rest of his drink, then stifled his third yawn in five minutes.
“Yeah,” Justin nodded, collecting their mugs and putting them in the sink. They walked back into the bedroom and slipped under the covers, Justin tucking snugly against Brian’s chest, and winding their legs together.
“Final thoughts?” Brian asked.
“Tell me one good thing from today. Not from tonight, but earlier.”
Brian hummed, eventually arriving at an answer. “Today was the first time my nephew has ever hugged me.”
Justin’s eyebrows shot up. “Never before?”
“Not that I can remember,” Brian admitted. “They were young when Claire found out I was gay, and then she wouldn’t let them touch me. Didn’t want to catch it,” he sneered.
Justin sighed, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He’d never understand people who thought or behaved like Claire or Brian’s mother. Fortunately, in the case of the two women, he didn’t have to any longer, and he was determined to end the night, or, early morning, as it were, on a positive note. “Maybe we can invite Peter up to the city sometime in the spring,” he suggested. “Have him stay a couple days and show him around?”
“That would probably piss Claire off sufficiently,” Brian snickered. “But, he’s over 18, so… I think I’d like that.”
Justin smiled. “I think he would too. Maybe invite Gus and let the cousins get to know each other.”
“You’re a fucking genius,” Brian said, and Justin could hear his grin in the dark. He leaned up to Brian for one final kiss.
“You’ll be okay?”
Brian nodded, voice solemn and sincere. “I will be. I told you the other night--regardless of all this shit, I have everything I need and far more than I deserve.”
“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Kinney,” Justin whispered sleepily.
“Oh?” Brian quirked an eyebrow.
Justin’s words were muffled as he drifted off, but Brian heard him clearly:
“You deserve all of it and more.”
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Date: 2019-01-01 04:27 am (UTC)Lovely story. Really powerful, and actually leaves me feeling hopeful that after this catharsis Brian can truly start to heal.
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Date: 2019-01-01 07:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-01 11:33 pm (UTC)I really appreciate your feelings toward his future. I struggled with his response after Deb asked if he was feeling better, because he really wasn't. I discussed it with a friend of mine and said, "Really, it was cathartic more than anything..." I think, for as much as Brian can usually push his family out of his mind, he needed to really look at how they made him feel and address it before he could put it behind him. I truly hope this did him justice!
TLDR lol; THANK YOU xo
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Date: 2019-01-01 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-01 11:45 pm (UTC)I appreciate your feedback! :)
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Date: 2019-01-01 02:32 pm (UTC)First of all, you get me, you really get me. This fic was absolutely perfect -- so many of my favorite elements all rolled up into one. I laughed, I cried...I didn't want the scrollbar to get to the bottom of the screen.
And a Brian/Debbie scene! With a joint! And her mothering him! I cried too.
And her mispronouncing the poet's name, and Brian quoting Shakespeare...a callback to one of my favorite things in the series.
Then Brian and Justin having a heart to heart and Brian being open with his partner... *sigh*
This is a perfect gift for me. I can't wait to add it to my bookmarks on AO3 once it's posted there and download it so I can keep it forever. <3
Love love love! Thank you, thank you, thank you! It's perfect and I could not have asked for more. Made my night.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-01 11:52 pm (UTC)Vulnerable Brian is such a struggle for me, not because I don't think he can be, but because he's got such an aversion to displaying how vulnerable he actually is, given the right catalyst (and his family certainly qualifies).
As I approached this story (I've had the first page or so, with the funeral dialogue, written for about 4 years with nowhere to go), there were 2 things I knew I wanted: 1) Brian to have some sort of breakdown and 2) Deb to be the one who prompted it. It didn't feel "accurate" that Justin would spark the initial outpouring of emotion -- or even Michael, who was there for Brian when Jack died. (Plus Debbie & Brian lends itself to all sorts of other opportunities). But I knew it was also important for Justin to play a role in the "new normal" of their relationship (as I see it), post-canon.
In short (lol), Thank You!! And I'd love to talk fic more with you. Let me know where to find you :)
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Date: 2019-01-02 12:03 am (UTC)Vulnerable Brian is really hard to keep in character, I agree. I read once that one of the hardest things in this fandom is getting Brian Kinney to do what you want him to do, while keeping him in character.
But, he's human. Personally, I think the reason he has all those walls is because he's a sensitive person and he did that to protect himself. We all have situations that get to us. He has people that he trusts when that happens. We saw it in the series, too. (i.e. when Brian comes to Michael's apartment drunk after seeing Jack at the bar, and Jack's funeral) The list of people he trusts is very short (probably Justin, Michael, and Debbie and that's it), but it exists. And we can only hold things inside for so long. In my eyes, that's what Justin saw and that's why he sent Debbie in...and Debbie was the perfect one to be there for it, because she's probably seen even more than Michael did when they were teenagers, just knowing what we know of Brian's past with his family.
I love writing scenes between Brian and Debbie...they're always fun because of their sort-of mother-son relationship. When I got to that part, I immediately sent Sandi a message because I was so excited. LOL
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Date: 2019-01-02 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-03 05:28 am (UTC)The Grief That Does Not Speak
Date: 2019-01-01 10:11 pm (UTC)Re: The Grief That Does Not Speak
Date: 2019-01-01 11:58 pm (UTC)I threw in the bit at the end on a whim, re: Gus being included, because it dawned on me that that could be something fun to explore, if I ever continued within this 'verse. Maybe Brian hasn't seen the last of Claire, lol... we'll see :P
Re: The Grief That Does Not Speak
Date: 2019-01-02 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-06 11:26 pm (UTC)Dee Dee
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Date: 2019-01-08 01:51 am (UTC)