MAYBE IT WENT LIKE THIS Title: Maybe It Went Like This Written By:etharei Timeline: future Rating: PG-13.. Theme: Icon Challenge with a Twist Inspired by Icons:
"Hung-over, Brian?" Emmett sings with loud vindictiveness after dropping down on the seat next to him.
"He managed to get in one more night of partying," explains Michael cheerfully over Brian's responding glare. "Today's the start of D-Day."
Emmett and Ben make various noises of exaggerated sympathy, echoed by Ted and Blake in the neighbouring booth. Debbie, with her inner radar for opportunities for vengeful mothering, hones in on Brian's weakened state and appears with notepad and coffee pot. Brian peers out from under his hand, and notices that her chewing gum is grey. He entertains an absurd notion of her chomping on a piece of his brain, amplified by the very loud snapping of her teeth.
After depositing the magazines and extra-black coffee on Mr. Kinney's desk, Mr. Kinney's Secretary quickly leaves the office to fetch the morning's batch of paperwork. Mr. Kinney doesn't touch the magazines until after she's left the room. He will scan through a couple of them for ten minutes, aided by the bookmarks Ms. Haynes had slipped in front of specific pages before handing the small stack over for delivery, and at fifteen minutes he will have put them in his briefcase when the Secretary comes in with the paper pile.
This is normal.
But today, half an hour into the morning, the relatively new Secretary can see that her boss is still on the first magazine, and appears to be reading it with care.
This isn't.
She knows that Mr. Kinney dislikes being seen reading the magazines. The logic of this when he has an office full of people who are aware that he is doing so escapes her, but it's just one of those things. (With the solid salary and reputedly fat year-end bonus, and total absence of wandering hands or eyes, a young woman is willing to put up with a lot of 'those things'.) But today has a heavy workload, and there's a staff meeting scheduled at ten, and Mr. Kinney has a call to make before nine…
The art director happens to pass by and notices her distressful hovering outside the door. Her explanation draws in a few more fellow employees, alerted by well-honed self-preservation instincts for potential Kinney-wrath.
"I think this calls for Ms. Haynes," says one.
"Ms. Haynes?" the Secretary repeats, glancing down the hallway to the other, slightly smaller office of Kinnetik's partner. The suggestion is met by nods.
"She's the Original," explains another.
"The Original?"
"The Original Kinney Secretary."
Ms. Haynes only inclines her head at the Secretary's hesitant explanations, glances through the glass at the still-reading CEO, and takes the paperwork inside herself.
At the sound of the door opening, Brian tenses and glances up as far as her feet, before relaxing back down into his brooding mien. She puts the morning's work down on his desk. No need to ask what he's reading; The publishing house is one of their clients, and she'd made sure they got copies of certain magazines even before the subscribers.
"Remember that you have to be at the airport before eight-thirty," she says. Hesitating, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of printed card, postcard size, that she places next to his coffee mug. His eyes flicker towards it, reading for a few seconds before returning to the magazine.
"Just in case," she says, though now she knows that she'll be getting a call some time during the week, because while Brian is getting better these days at remembering that she hasn't been his secretary for years, there arrangements that have to be made by her. They have, in a special way, lived with each other for a long time.
It's not like he’s lonely.
On his way out of the office, Brian double-checks all the new storyboards and stops by Ted's office. Ted sees him coming and quickly ends his call, and before Brian opens his mouth he's already saying, "I've got you covered for the weekend, Brian, and if there are any problems or the world ends, I will page you."
"Before the world ends, Theodore," Brian says darkly. Coffee and aspirin have padded the insides of his skull, but he can still feel the pressure behind his eyeballs.
"The second I hear the first locust." Ted's phone goes off again, and the light from the window catches on the gold around one finger as he reaches for the handset. "Go, Brian."
It's not like he misses him.
Leaving the office early means that Brian has time to do the quick grocery shopping he should have done the day before. Luckily, he doesn't need the list in his pocket; he does have very good memory when it comes to these kinds of details. He grabs a basket and heads for the cereal aisle first. His eyes are trained on the upper shelves, so he doesn't notice the woman next to him until she pointedly clears her throat and runs a trolley wheel over his foot.
"What the fu- oh. Jennifer."
She smiles warmly at him in greeting, and Brian obligingly makes a small smile back. With all the thoughts in his head, it does feel appropriate that he'd run into her, today. Her gaze lands on his basket (and there's no way he's contemplating that inadvertent double-entendre) and her smile grows wider. "Let me guess?"
He nods, a little sheepishly. "Picking him up in a couple of hours."
"That's great."
"How's Molly?"
Jennifer sighs heavily. "Still grounded. Thanks for picking her up from the soccer meet the other day."
"It wasn't a problem."
He's not sure when Jennifer changed from Jennifer, Justin's mom to Jennifer, mother of two, real estate agent, but one day she simply was. She refused to let all contact between them fade just because the common denominator went off to live in another state, and after going through one Taylor Brian knew better than to actively resist.
And, well, as he much as he adores Debbie as the mother he never had, it is nice to have an option of female company other than chicken parmesan and top-quality weed.
"Brian?"
"Hmm?" Maybe he should get another dose of caffeine.
"You need to get the shopping done if you want to be there on time. Stop worrying."
It's not like he's getting old.
Airports, Brian is convinced, are designed after one of the circles of hell.
He hears the air stewardess, or air hostess, whatever, plane lady's laughter a full minute before his son becomes visible among the stream of scruffy and impatient passengers. Brian doesn't quite agree with his son's tastes - thought the woman is blonde and of a rather respectable bra size, so it's not that bad - but he still smiles in fatherly pride. Though he needs to ask Linds if eleven is too young for chatting up older women.
Gus looks around and sees him, and it's funny how the way he beams at Brian does more for Brian's headache than the fifty cups of coffee he's had that day. "Hey, Pops!"
Brian misses the days when Gus would come running towards him to be picked up, but considering how tall Gus has gotten - early bloomer, like his father - he has a feeling he's being saved from having his backbone creak at the first lift.
Plane Lady's smile develops a predatory glint when she sees him, standing in Prada and Armani a good distance away from the reuniting couples and families. He resolves to ignore her, but Gus is quite perceptive and not unexperienced to this. "Forget about it, Megan," he says, tapping her arm. "My dad's gay." He walks the rest of the way to Brian, who pulls him in for a tight hug.
"Hey, sonny boy." Brian doesn't know how this happens, either, but every time he sees his son is the same, like summer is too short and Canada is too fucking far away. They're in a crowded airport, and for the first few seconds of first contact all Brian can hear is the sound of his own breathing.
By the end of the weekend, Sunday night, Gus sits down next to Brian on the couch with a bowl of freshly microwaved popcorn and says, "So, Pops. Spill."
"Hmm?" Brian ignores the clock blinking 10:15 PM at him and grabs a greasy handful.
"You're somewhere else sometimes," Gus explains around a full mouth. "I can tell when something's bothering you. So spill."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Tough." Gus throws some popcorn at him, which bounced off Brian and onto the imported leather couch. "I want to know."
"I'm thinking you're going to need your own room when you come here to stay. I'll sort something out for next year."
They go silent for a few minutes, distracted by a particularly explosive chase scene on the James Bond flick playing on the television.
"That would be cool. But liar," Gus says good-naturedly after the last car has finished flipping over. "You look like Mom-"
The sudden stop grabs Brian's interest. "Gus?"
Gus bites his lower lip. "You look like Mom whenever she's thinking about you. Usually after she sees that photo of us from two years ago on the mantle." He stuffs more popcorn into his mouth. "And I know you love me, but I don't think you'd look like that just from thinking about sleeping arrangements."
Brian ruffles his son's hair affectionately, and smirks at the glare he receives. "It does feel like only yesterday you came popping out of your Mom."
"Not from where I'm sitting." Gus punches him lightly on the shoulder. "Quit stalling, mister."
It's not like talking about the night Gus was born doesn't go down the same road. "I'm thinking about... New York."
"Oh." Gus frowns. "Justin?"
Brian looks down in surprise. "Your moms tell you about him?"
Gus rolls his eyes. "The story about how I got my name comes up at least once a year, Pops. And a lot of our photos from when we lived here have him in it. And then there's the big-ass painting on the landing that he gave Mom and Ma when they moved to Canada. Mom's art friends keep trying to buy it, but she says she'd rather part with a limb. Not to mention he always sends me something for my birthday."
"Oh." But why should Brian be surprised? Justin remembered the date far better than he does, even now.
"He calls Mom sometimes. She doesn't understand why you and Justin haven't spoken in four years."
Brian closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. He thinks, Why does anybody need to understand?
It just happened.
On Wednesday evening, Brian sticks his head into Ted's office and says, "I need you to cover for me this weekend again, maybe until Tuesday. Gus and I are going to New York." He closes the door and returns to his office before Ted has finished ending the call he's on.
A few minutes later, Ted appears and hovers uncertainly in front of his desk. "Brian."
Brian pauses in the middle of composing an email. "Theodore."
"I, um." Ted seems uncertain about what to do with his hands. "I noticed that you've been kind of distant lately, and I, er, I know that you just had your appointment with the, um, oncologist last week, and um, I just wanted you to know that if, um, you got any kind of bad news-"
"Ted." Brian cuts in. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. Gus and I are just going on a little trip."
"Oh." And it's kind of gratifying, how genuinely relieved Ted is. Then again, he'd borne the brunt of Brian on radiation treatments. "That's good, then."
"Can you cover for me?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course."
"Good. Thank you." As Ted opens the door to leave, Brian asks, "Can you get Cynthia?"
But Cynthia is already at the door, and Brian gets the weird feeling that she's been waiting around his office since he saw this month's issue of Art Forum. Without a word, she places two plane tickets on his desk.
"Gus, how do you feel like a little trip this weekend?"
"Good thing I haven't packed yet." Gus shifts position, and Brian can see the cover of what his son is reading. Especially the familiar face printed on it. "You still owe me that trip to Central Park Zoo."
Gus is surprisingly silent of complaints when they reach the gallery, even though he has frequently declared his distaste for art galleries and exhibitions, after accompanying his mom to so many of them. They are still well inside the time frame for 'fashionably late', and cars are still depositing expensive-looking people in front of the door. As probably the only person there under the age of fifteen, Gus gets a few curious looks, but superciliously ignores them like only a Kinney can.
For the first few seconds, Brian seriously doubts if coming here is a good idea at all. But he knows that at any sign of weakness on his part, Gus will be all "Pops, you did not drag me all the way to New York City to get cold feet at the door" in the obnoxiously loud voice he's clearly honing for adolescence. (Guaranteed, of course, to notify every person in the building to their presence, which effectively cuts off all dignified escape routes.) Strangely, thinking of this makes Brian feel better, because obviously he has no choice now but to find Justin and talk to him.
And there he is. The moment he spots the blond head in the sea of designer black, standing under the small crystal chandelier next to the central piece of the series, closing the distance feels as unstoppable as it had that first time outside Babylon. When Justin didn't have a faint scar on his head and Brian still had two balls.
"Oh look, a painting!" Gus exclaims a parting shot with full Kinney sarcasm before making a beeline for a small square acrylic piece that is, coincidentally, right next to the buffet table.
A man who identifies himself as the gallery manager intercepts Brian en route to Justin. “Good evening, sir-“
“Brian Kinney, CEO of Kinnetik Inc.” Brian hand whips out his business card. “I’m interested in buying a piece.”
"Justin, I'd like you to meet Brian Kinney."
Flash, and rewind. Justin looks the same as he did when he left, at least to Brian's eyes. Fast forward to this, now, when the time between never again and a second nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney falls to the cosmic cutting-room floor.
The gallery manager moves away, barely disturbing the too-still air caught in the locked gazes between the two men.
"What do you think about the series?" asks Justin, gesturing towards the giant central canvas in front of them without taking his eyes off Brian.
Brian inhales, and breaks the eye-lock to gaze at the painting like he hasn't been scrutinizing it the moment he entered the gallery. A tense moment filled with tinkling glasses and other people's mingling.
"The work of a genius," he finally says, words fitting in with the verbal tapestry of the evening.
Justin looks like he couldn't have heard him right, and there is a fallen look in his eyes. "Really?"
Nodding, Brian takes a sip of the wine, enjoying the sudden feeling of lightness and cheer. "Yeah." He gently moved his glass to indicate the circular room. "Every piece is eye-catching, innovative." Another sip. "And fucking meaningless."
He doesn't say it loudly, but he can feel the gazes gasping at him, from those near enough to hear. And Justin... shit, he'd forgotten how Justin looks like when he's happy, really happy and not just smiling for buyers and interviewers.
“Brian.”
“Justin.”
A charming pinkness has appeared on Justin’s pale face. He looks so alive, more than he had a minute ago, more than in the cover of Art Forum. Brian wants to touch him.
So he does. His hand reaches out, and Justin, like he’s been waiting for it, brings up his hand to meet Brian halfway. “You really hate them all?” he asks.
No. Because Justin still made them. “I think you can do better.”
Justin’s hand is warm and shockingly familiar even after the absence of the years. “I wasn’t sure you’d notice.”
Brian raises an eyebrow. “So this is all just a cry for help then? You created soulless shit just to get me to come here?”
“Some people like them.”
“You always were a drama queen.”
Justin stops mid-reply to stare behind Brian. Without looking, Brian smiles and says, “Gus, I don’t know if you remember Justin. He’s the one you’ve inherited your appetite from.”
“A little bit.” Gus steps closer and shyly waves. Brian notices that there’s a sausage roll in Gus’ hand. “Hey.”
“Hi Gus.” Justin’s eyes are wide, and his hand tightens around Brian’s. “Shit, you’ve grown.”
“Can’t say the same for you, I’m afraid,” Gus replies. Justin laughs, and Brian doesn’t think he can let go of Justin’s hand ever again. “What happened to your art, Justin?”
Justin smiles, and meets Brian’s eyes. “I think I’m just done with New York.”
“Good, ‘cause Pops here has been pining after you for- ow! Hey, what was that for…”