|xie_xie_xie (xie_xie_xie) wrote in qaf_challenges,|
@ 2009-03-07 11:14:00
|Entry tags:||small things made large, small things phase 2|
19. Maybe (Drabble 14)
Drabble: 14 by fansee
Notes: Major angst IMO, but in short form, so quickly resolved. I have absolutely no idea why I wrote this. It just happened. It's so not me. Thank you to H for a quick beta and C for some medical advice.
Brian’s boot heels clicked on the bare hardwood floor as he walked past the fireplace where they had fucked…no, made love…their bodies hot in the cold house. He walked through the out-moded kitchen, never up-graded, and up the stairs to the second floor.
The second floor was as empty as the first. He paused a moment in the unfurnished master bedroom; there was nothing here to take away with him. He turned and went back downstairs.
Jennifer looked at him anxiously. “Brian, are you sure you want to do this?”
He rolled his lips inward. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
"We might be able to cancel the sale of the loft." She continued, worry in her voice.
They stepped outside and walked towards the 'vette. "I'm sure if we explained the situation to the buyer they'd be willing to let you out of the contract."
Brian turned, squinting in the bright light as he looked back at the house one last time. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sunshine, "A deal's a deal." He murmured.
He hit 2 on his speed dial.
"Talk fast I'm 2 blocks from the subway."
"I sold it."
"The house? It's about time."
"No. The loft."
Justin stopped in his tracks. "Brian..."
"So the next time you decide to drop in unannounced, you probably won't want to go to the loft. The new owner is fat, bald, and thankfully straight."
"You are going to let breeders fuck in your loft?"
"It's not mine anymore. And I really don't think even the mojo of my loft is going to score him any pussy."
"Ew, Brian. Still, I can't believe you did that. But since you did, I want the room in the southeast corner."
Brian laughed, "You've recovered from your shock rather fast. What are you going to do with it?
"Studio. Duh. The most amazing light in that room."
"Rather long commute from New York."
There was a long pause and when Justin responded his voice was soft, "I won't be here forever, Brian."
"You might be. But regardless. It's yours. You can use it when you are visiting and need a break from blowing me."
"Mmm hmm." Was all Justin said in response.
Jennifer approached him. Her hand hovered in the air. She wanted to touch him. Lessen his pain. But she couldn't. If she acknowledged his, she'd have to acknowledge her own. And three weeks was enough time to spend feeling buried alive. She had to try. If only for Molly. She had to try. And for Brian, she well knew she was the only one he wasn't completely avoiding these days. And it's what Justin would have wanted.
What he would have wanted. Yesterday was the first time it happened. What he would have wanted. It was time. They wouldn't stop looking. How could they? But they had to start trying to move on. Start adjusting. It's why she hadn't tried to change Brian's mind. Hadn't argued when he said he wanted to put the house up for sale. Maybe that was what he needed to do. Maybe now he could start to begin to think about moving on. He abruptly turned back to the car. "I'll need to free up the money to get a place in New York."
He didn't get a place in New York after all. He just moved into Justin's. He thought it would be good to stay there a few more weeks. What if Justin came back there? He settled in and quickly fell into a routine. It worked for him. As much as anything. There seemed to be no reason to find another place. At least not yet. He set up a desk in the corner, with everything he needed to keep up with Kinnetik. He spent most of his day there dealing with business from a distance, leaving most of the heavy lifting to Cynthia and Ted.
The rest of his day was spent combing the streets. Endlessly looking. Every blond head catching his eye and making him look twice. It was never the one he was looking for.
One day his search included a stop at the request of the police, it wasn't the first time. It wasn't him, Brian reassured himself as he vomited in the alley behind the morgue. Thankfully it was never him, he thought, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, straightened himself, and left the cool shade of the alley for the hot sun of the busy street.
Some nights he continued his search. Often into clubs and bars and back rooms, maybe he'd find Justin there. With a case of amnesia like in the movies. He doubted even amnesia would make you forget you were a fad. And once there drinking and drugs eventually made him forget. At least forget enough to get his dick sucked. Not enough to get it sucked by blonds though. No. That wouldn't work. That would just make him remember. Always tall and dark and muscular. Those were the types he could lose himself in. Maybe for a minute. A moment. Maybe just a second. He'd take what he could get.
Sometimes he couldn't lose himself. The anger was too overwhelming. He'd wind up back in Justin's tiny apartment on those nights. Screaming at canvases so brilliant they burned him. Showing him a thousand answers to the question of who. But never answering where. No matter how many times he begged or pleaded.
It was four weeks and 2 days since he'd last talked to Justin when he got the call from Jennifer. She was speaking fast. Giving him names and directions. Telling him to hurry and that she'd be on the next flight and to call as soon he got to the hospital. He was half listening. Trying to convince her to wait. No need to rush. It wouldn't be Justin. It never was.
"Jennifer, just wait till I get there. We can't get our hopes up," He protested, even as a tiny voice whispered "Maybe" inside his head. "You know the chances are..."
"Brian! It's not a John Doe. It's him. He gave them his name."
Brian couldn't remember how many hospitals he'd been to. How many morgues. This city had too many of them. It was never him.
"Brian," the scratchy voice whispered.
Too old. Too young. Too dark. Too tall. Never him.
It took less than 3 seconds for him to cross the distance. Less than 4 to feel whole again. Warm body in a cold sterile room. Living. Breathing. Speaking his name. Justin.
They stayed in New York 2 months, 5 days and 3 hours longer. That was how long it took for Justin to get the green light. There would be some continued physical therapy from home. But in all the ways that mattered...Bad as new.
Then they went home. It was big and empty. But there were contractors in the kitchen before they even got back to town and huge bed in the master bedroom. And soon enough it begin to fill and take shape. Hot bodies in a warm home.
A few weeks later Brian got home and did not find Justin in his usual spots. He tried to quell the panic swelling in his chest.
"Justin!" No answer.
He steadied his breathing, and took a second to think before heading to the upstairs room in the southeast corner. From down the hall he could hear the stereo blasting and he started to relax.
He leaned in the door frame and watched as Justin fought with his body to produce every single stroke of the brush. So different from the last time. The injuries were different for one, as was the effect of being in a coma for so long. Justin was different this time too. When the brush didn't move the way he wanted it to he didn't curse in frustration. He just tried again. And again. Until he got what he wanted. He didn't feel angry this time. He just felt lucky.
Justin turned to reach for a cloth from a nearby table and smiled when he saw Brian, "Hey."
"You should be doing that in New York," His voice was rough and cracked a bit when he said it.
"Maybe. And maybe some day I will. Maybe someday you'll be there with me."