JUSTIN AND BRIAN AND THE TERRIBLE HORRIBLE, VERY BAD DAY Title: Justin and Brian and the Terrible Horrible, Very Bad Day Written By: girloftheburbs Timeline: Post-513, 4 years later, a few weeks before Thanksgiving Rating: PG-13 Author's Notes: Thank you to sfscarlet and mactwck for the wonderful beta. Any mistakes are mine. I don’t claim ownership to the Queer As Folk characters; I’m just borrowing them for a while. The title refers to a children’s book with a similar title, and I made up the name of Peachton, PA, although it's based on a real town.
"Fuck!" Justin cursed as a dime-sized pellet of hail hit him in the face. He walked faster up Forrest Street toward his small, shitty apartment in Brooklyn. Thanksgiving was fast approaching, but he couldn’t make it back to Pittsburgh this year due to a big show coming up, and his time was limited. Brian was supposed to fly in this weekend to spend the nights with him while he wooed a multinational client during the days.
The wind kicked up dramatically, and thunder boomed, making him jump. The street started filling up with golf ball-sized pellets of ice, and cars were slipping on the road. Justin hurried across the street, but a taxi zooming by suddenly careened his way. He heard a blaring horn, and he ran to make it to the other side of the street, but he fell when the car clipped him on the right side of his leg.
A man walking by ran over and pulled Justin from the street and the approaching cars. He was grateful to escape major injury, but there was something wrong with his leg. The man helped Justin limp to a bench on the sidewalk, and noticed that blood was dripping down his pant leg. He insisted on waiting with Justin while he called 911.
Justin grimaced as he saw the ambulance approach after fifteen minutes. He didn’t like to be reminded of his stay in the hospital, although the medical staff was very kind to him. The EMTs exited the vehicle and smoothly guided him to a stretcher, and loaded him into the back of the vehicle.
One of the EMTs examined him for injuries and checked his vital signs, determining that a trip to the hospital was not needed. Justin had sustained superficial cuts on his thigh, which caused the minor blood seepage and bruising, and only required a bandage. Justin briefly mourned the loss of his favorite 7 For All Mankind jeans, a birthday gift from Brian, after the material was cut away from his leg; he thought maybe he could get them repaired. After the examination, the EMT taped together the material so he could get home wearing something.
A police officer spoke with him briefly and recorded his information. He was told that the accident was caused by the black ice and not an impairment of the driver. The driver was very apologetic and concerned, and he paid for Justin's taxi ride home.
Thunder, wind, and hail buffeted the taxi around, but he made it to his apartment without further mishaps. He limped up the walk and thanked all that was holy that the elevator was working today since he lived on the fifth floor of an apartment structure.
He was fortunate to be successful enough with his art and a part-time job at a gallery, to no longer require a roommate, even though his flat was tiny with a closet-sized kitchen. He unlocked the two bolts and the standard lock and almost fell in the door in his fatigue.
Unbeknown to Justin, Brian was also having a very shitty day. He missed his partner more than he wanted to admit at the holidays. Christ! It was a time of year he never favored. Meeting Justin, and the birth of Gus, changed so many things in his life; the holidays were one of those pesky reminders he'd rather not deal with. He was flying up on Friday, but he failed to secure a major account because he could only think of Justin. He decided on a whim to take an early weekend and drive the six hours from Pittsburgh to Brooklyn. Unfortunately, his day was about to go to complete shit.
A lashing rain and thunder started three hours in, but Brian resolutely kept driving. If he kept going, he could be with Justin tonight, fucking him into the mattress. The streets were slick and icy, and visibility was low; the windshield wipers were not very effective in the downpour. The car ahead of him swerved several times, and Brian started to regret his sudden impulse to drive over tonight without checking the weather report.
Brian attempted to pass a slow-moving gray sedan, but suddenly it skidded, clipping the Corvette's left front fender. The Corvette swerved to the right, and Brian fought to keep control of the steering wheel. His car scraped against a row of bushes and the wall with a horrendous screeching noise. Finally he was able to slow down the car and pull off the road.
Brian rested his head on the steering wheel, waiting for his heart to stop pounding in his ears. He was safe, although the same could not be said about the Corvette. He cursed his luck, as this was not quite the night he envisioned.
He removed the cell phone from his pocket and called AAA to tow his car to a garage. After waiting an hour in the downpour, a tow truck drove up. He cursed but the tow truck driver laughed and told him he understood. His hot night with a cutie from the airlines was shot to hell by the weather too because he was stuck rescuing stranded drivers instead.
The tow truck driver parked Brian's car in front of a car mechanic's garage, and dropped him off in front of a quaint little bed and breakfast inn. Brian looked at the little cottage in disgust, eying the frills and romantic figurines lining the windows. He couldn't be picky tonight since it was the only vacancy on such short notice.
Brian opened the cottage door and the strong scent of potpourri assaulted his nostrils. An older, fluffy woman stood at the desk, writing in a registrar, and she looked up and smiled. "Can I help you, dear?"
"I need a room for the night."
"Just one night, hon? We book in a set of three nights, not one."
He muttered "Fuck" under his breath, but said, "Fine." The woman smiled sweetly and filled out the paperwork while he removed a credit card from his wallet. "Is there a room with no overwhelming flowery scent?"
"Do you have allergies, dear? We do have one hypoallergenic room, but it prohibits smoking," she said, eying the unlit cigarette in his hand.
"May I smoke on the porch?" He inquired tartly, deigning not to answer the allergies question.
"Yes, the porch is fine, sweetie."
Brian thought if he had to hear one more endearment, he was going to stuff the jar of potpourri down her gullet. He steeled himself against the impulse, and waited impatiently at the counter while she slowly retrieved the key from the board behind her. She moved like she was swimming through molasses, but Brian was preoccupied and in a bitch of a mood from being delayed and forced to stay in a dollhouse for the night. Justin would get a kick out of this place, and would probably love it.
When Brian finally entered his room, he breathed with a sigh of relief at the absence of smelling salts and cheap perfumes. He locked the door and tossed his suitcase onto the floor, then threw himself onto the fluffy bed. Everything in this damned place was fluffy. He looked around, expecting to see a big, fluffy cat named, what else, Fluffy, but he relaxed when no furry creature appeared, mincing about in the shadows.
Brian dialed Justin on his cell phone and waited for him to pick up, but he heard Justin's voice mail message instead. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly midnight. He left a clipped message for Justin to call his cell phone, then tossed it down on the nightstand, washed up, and fell into a deep sleep on the soft bed.
Justin was so drained when he reached his apartment that he washed up, took several aspirins, and went straight to bed. He didn't hear his cell phone ring since it was buried inside the pocket of his ruined jeans on the floor.
Justin turned over in bed and wondered why the sun shone straight into his eyes. Then he remembered the car and his injured leg and groaned. He knew that Brian was supposed to call last night, so he gingerly rolled over so his feet would touch the floor, and bent down to pick up his jeans, and retrieved his cell phone.
The voice mail message light flashed on the device, so he returned to bed and pressed the button to listen to the message. "Justin, call my cell as soon as you get this message. Later." His voice sounded strained, and Justin stared at the phone. He checked the time and saw that it was 9:00 a.m.; Brian should be up and at work by now. He pressed speed dial 1 and waited, and was relieved when Brian picked up after several rings. "Brian, hi. Are you alright? What's up?"
"Good morning, Sunshine, I see you are calling at the crack of dawn, for you."
"Sorry I didn’t get your call last night, but I had the worst day yesterday..."
"No shit, so did I. What happened?"
"Don’t freak out, I'm fine, but I got hit by a car because there was a hailstorm yesterday in Brooklyn."
"Holy fuck! Tell me what happened and if you were injured. How is your head?" Brian's heart rate sped up as he listened to Justin describe the accident. He was reassured to hear that Justin's injury was very minor, and he made a mental note to send a thank you gift to the Good Samaritan who had probably saved Justin's life.
"So enough about me, what happened to you, Brian?" Justin was concerned since it took a lot to unnerve his partner.
"I decided to drive over to see you after work yesterday but..."
"Fuck! You didn’t check the weather report? If I had known, I would have told you to wait another day."
"Shit, I know. I fucked up. I wanted to start the weekend early; it seems some blond twink has messed up my lone wolf reputation."
Justin smiled faintly and laughed, knowing Brian was as happy as he was to finally acknowledge that they were in a loving relationship, even if they were a state apart. "Alright, wolf man, you'll see me soon, as soon as this shitty weather clears up. Where are you staying now?"
"At a little flowery bed and breakfast in Peachton, PA. You’d love it."
"Fuck off. You’re staying at a bed and breakfast?" Justin cracked up and lay back against the pillows, and rested his throbbing leg.
"I got a room without potpourri, which is quite a feat in this joint," Brian bitched. He thought about the wake up call this morning at 6:30 by the same fluffy woman named Beatrice or Betty, who reminded him that a continental breakfast would be served at 7:30 and 9:30. When Brian inquired about his usual selection, he was informed that black coffee and an egg white omelet was not breakfast; she told him firmly that he would feel better if he ate a heartier meal. He sighed and knew there would be no peace until he showed his face in the dining room.
"What is the weather like this fine morning?" Brian asked sardonically. To add insult to injury, there were no TVs or internet in this place, not even a radio to be found.
"Let me see." Brian could hear bed springs creak and a few moments later, Justin said, "Oh shit!"
"Now fucking what?" He was so over this fucking weather.
"It stopped hailing, but now there’s ice everywhere. Black ice. Shit."
Brian groaned in dissatisfaction. "There are no modern conveniences here; my fucking laptop is useless with no connection to the outside world. It's a wonder the place has electricity!"
"Okay Brian, look for a Starbucks with a wifi connection. Don’t you have to get your car fixed today?"
"Yeah, the car is at a garage nearby, I’ve got to call a taxi." He picked up a kissing cherubs figurine sitting on the side table and twirled it back and forth between his hands. "What are your plans for the day?"
"I can get some painting done, but I'll have to sit down and take it easy for a couple days, EMT’s orders."
"Do you have food in your shithole apartment?"
"Yes, I have cereal and Top Ramen, food for the gods… or some minor deity."
"Very minor. Later, Justin."
"Later, Brian."
They hung up, and Brian went to take a shower. He shuddered in horror when he saw the flowery shower curtain.
Justin mixed together cobalt blue with a touch of white for the right shade of sky, when a loud knock sounded at the door. He put the palette knife down and wiped his hands, then walked over to the door. He looked through the peephole in the door and saw a delivery man standing there. "Hi, what company are you with?"
"UrbanOrganic, here with some groceries for you, sent by a B. A. Kinney." The man checked his clipboard.
That shit, he thought, and grinned. "Okay." He unlocked the bolts and opened the door, and the man handed him five bags of food; there were oranges, grapes, apples, cheese, eggs, yogurt, and... "Rice milk?" What the fuck? "Hold on a minute, I'll get a you a tip."
"No need, it’s all taken care of. Have a good day." The delivery man nodded and left, taking the stairs. Looks like the elevator wasn't working again today. Justin took the groceries to his tiny refrigerator and wondered how he would fit it all inside.
Brian picked at his Eggs Benedict breakfast and took a hearty sip of the black coffee, fortified with a healthy quantity of sugar; at least he'd won that battle. He glared at the Hollandaise Sauce swimming in butter, and shoved the eggs around the plate with the fork. He'd eaten a slice of dry wheat toast and skipped any bite of the fattening dish set before him. Bea was worse than Debbie about food, and that was saying a lot.
Once he extricated himself from the smarmy dining room and the curious couples, he called a cab to take him to the garage. Hopefully the place would open up soon, and he could hit the road and be on his way to New York. This was a cozy little town which he thought Emmett would swoon over, but it was just not Brian's cup of tea. He snorted at the expression, wondering if the town was rotting his brain.
The cab arrived within twenty minutes, and Brian was on his way to his poor, banged up Corvette. He had not assessed the damage last night since visibility was low, so when he spotted the caved in car doors and crumpled hood, he knew the car was totaled. He sighed and asked the cab driver to take him to a car rental shop.
In the late morning, after working out the details for disposing his wrecked car, he was ready to take the rental on the road. Unfortunately, the news informed him that it would be advisable to stay off the main highways until the rain and hail eased up, but air travel was permitted. He cursed, but decided to heed their advice. He just hoped he wasn't in a bad remake of the movie, Groundhog Day. He and Justin had more than enough excitement for one day, much less for a lifetime.
"Justin," he said as soon as he was able to reach him by cell phone, "how do you feel about a plane ride to Pleasantville?"