InsaneJournal

Graphic Number 15: "The Difference"
Title: The Difference
Author: xie_xie_xie
Timeline: post-513
Rating: PG-13
Warnings, if any: None
Author's notes: Fathers and sons, and love. Thank you to the artist and my wondeful beta!
Graphic: 15 by badbapixie




"Your son got sent home from school today." Lindsay's voice was a mixture of pride, laughter, and dismay.

I sighed. Dyke drama. "I've long noted that the phrase 'your son' generally precedes some account of wrongdoing on the part of young Gus."

"Well, he didn't inherit it from me. I didn't start destroying public property as a form of political protest until I was in college. According to Michael, you started much younger."

I shifted the phone to the other ear, and took a stack of papers from one of Cynthia's assistants. "Well, what did he do?"

I only half-listened, my eyes scanning the proposal while she recounted some kind of magic marker graffiti incident involving Gus and two other kids in his kindergarten class.

"Brian! Are you even listening?" She sounded exasperated.

"Do I ever listen?" Ted had stuck his head in my door, and I gestured him over.

She sighed. "When it's important, you do. But otherwise, no."

"Well, then…"

I signed whatever critical document Ted had placed in front of me, and told Lindsay I had to go. I glanced at the screensaver as I set the phone down next to my computer.

I'm not the kind of guy who keeps photos of the spouse and kids on his desk. I knew what Gus looked like, and Justin; I could see either one of them any time I wanted to, and Justin had a very disconcerting habit of programming screensavers of himself into my cell phone when I wasn't paying attention. I didn't mind, because usually they were pornographic.

But the last time he was here, he'd taken a picture of me with Gus, and when he'd left for New York, the photo he'd left behind was that one. Father and son.

The day he'd taken the picture, Gus had been babbling away in my lap while he played with some electronic game and told me a long, incomprehensible story about adventures in kindergarten, and I thought Justin was going to hurt his face from excessive smiling.

I was still staring at the screensaver when the phone rang. Apparently all blonds found it irresistible to call me at work today. "Hey."

"Did you like that one?" I heard laughter in his voice.

"I prefer the ones rated NC-17." I closed the laptop cover.

"It won't hurt you for a week."

I raised an eyebrow. He'd just left. "Are you coming back in a week?" It was news to me if he was.

"I thought maybe you could come here." There was something in his voice, a little huskiness.

I opened my laptop and looked at my calendar. "I could. Any reason, or didn't I fuck you enough on your last visit?" I hoped that wasn't it; hard as it was to admit, there wasn't a whole lot more where that last weekend's worth of fucking had come from.

"Someone once told me there's no such thing as enough."

"A very wise observation, no doubt made by someone not trying to keep up with a horny lover ten years younger than he is." I shut my laptop down.

"Twelve."

"Whatever. So, what's the occasion for my pending visit to New York City? Did you get a last minute show?"

Silence. Which from Justin was always an ominous sign.

"Justin?"

"My father wants to see me." His voice sounded tight.

"In New York?" I didn't even know he knew Justin was living in New York. Molly must have told him. Or maybe Jennifer. I supposed they must talk, even though she never had anything good to say about him.

"He emailed me and said he was going to be in town."

Fuck. "Did he say why he wanted to see you?"

Justin laughed, and it sounded bitter. "No. Maybe he wants to apologize for deciding I was no longer his son and having me fucking arrested, but since I can't rule out he's going to kidnap me and put me in an ex-gay conversion program in some survivalist compound in Idaho, I thought I should have you along for moral support."

I snorted. "Having me there isn't moral support, Sunshine. It's an all-out assault."

"I'm okay with that."

I didn't say anything for a minute.

"Brian?"

"I'll come. I'm just wondering if it's a good idea for you to talk to him at all. Can't he write you a letter or something?"

"I guess that depends on what he wants."

I thought about that. "Just be clear in your head what you want. Before he tells you what he wants." Not that I had any doubt what Justin wanted

I told him I'd come, and then I got off the phone and sat at my desk a little longer. I wasn't looking at the screensaver anymore. I was thinking about Craig.

I wondered if he'd ever sat shivering on a hard bench, watching Justin in a too-big football jersey and a shiny blue helmet. If he'd held Justin in his lap, amazed when he started speaking in complete sentences. I wondered what he thought the first time he saw one of Justin's drawings, if he told Justin they were amazing.

Because there's some reason Justin still falls for it, for me buying Gus a Christmas present, for Gus racing up to me when we run into each other in public, Gus calling on the phone and asking to talk to "Daddy." He gets that big sloppy smile, and I silently swear at his sentimentality while I'm waiting for Gus to get to the point of the call – if there is one – but when I finally hang up, I never say anything about it.

Whatever Craig wanted, whatever Justin hoped for, I'd go to New York. Because I knew I wasn't there to prevent Craig from dragging Justin off for genital electro-shock.

I was there to remind him he could walk away, and tell him if it was time.