TO:yvonnereid FROM:sapphire_3 TITLE: To You and Your Kin GIFT REQUEST: Fic. Brian and Justin at christmas time. crack fic or fluffy/schmoop type. Anything really. NOTE: This story is written in the same verse as All That Glitters, although it can also be read as a standalone. In this verse, Justin left for New York at the end of ep. 513, but came back to Pittsburgh a year later to live with Brian in Britin. SUMMARY: Justin’s family is at Britin for a Christmas. Recently remarried, Jennifer asks Brian for advice about how to deal with her son’s dislike of his new stepfather. BETA: bigj52. Any remaining errors are my own. WORD COUNT: 5000
**
To You and Your Kin
**
By the time Mother Taylor and her entourage are preparing to leave, the smile on Justin’s face has become decidedly fixed. Well, ‘smile’ is perhaps a bit generous. Justin’s expression is more of a jaw-clenching grimace, a sure sign that the impressive show of tolerance he’s been exhibiting all day is finally wearing thin.
All in all, he’s done very well. Although he’s let the occasional snide remark about Tucker slip out, he’s managed to refrain from harpooning him through the head with a candy cane or strangling him with string of tinsel. And when Jennifer had pecked Tucker on the lips before disappearing into the kitchen with a frozen turkey, Justin had merely pretended to vomit into the nearest Poinsettia.
The only member of the household who seemed more relieved to see our guests departing was my little grey cat. As a general rule, Ophelia was not fond of human guests of the female variety. She knew all too well that they were often accompanied by an over-zealous little monster named Jenny-Rebecca. Hearing women’s voices, the cat had preemptively hidden under our bed, only emerging during lunch when she was sure the house was devoid of miniature people. She’d then skulked around my ankles, glaring up at the guests with an expression that meant, “My human. Back off.”
Trust me to rescue and later adopt a kitten with a mountain lion complex, and who was inclined to bouts of jealously. Ophelia was clearly under the impression she had adopted me.
The Christmas lunch, which Justin and his mother prepared together, had been a success, all things considered. At the very least, it had given mother and son some much-needed ‘heart-to-heart’ conversation time. At Justin's suggestion, I’d taken Molly to see the neighbours' acreage and their menagerie of farm animals. I'd dragged Tucker along as well, in case Justin’s homicidal tendencies towards his new stepfather got the better of him.
Trying not to let Justin’s judgment of Tucker bias my own opinion of the man, I’d listened as he talked about engineering, motorbikes and his childhood on a farm. He wasn’t too bad, I decided. He was far more witty and intelligent than I’d given him credit for, and he and Molly seemed to get on like a house on fire.
The feast that Justin and Jennifer had prepared was delicious, and the conversation during the meal had been amicable. I’d talked about our plans for the house, Jennifer about her job, and Tucker about his adventures as a mechanical engineer. Whenever she could get a word in edgeways, Molly regaled us with stories about her upcoming science fair project, her part in the school year play, and her deep infatuation with Daniel Radcliffe.
Only Justin remained obstinately silent, evidently sticking to the ‘Thumper Principal’. If he couldn’t say anything nice to/about/regarding Tucker, he reasoned, it was best to say nothing at all. The speed at which he’d leapt to his feet at the conclusion of the meal, murmuring something about starting the dishes, suggested that he was glad the ordeal was over.
Justin is now in the kitchen, helping his sister pack up the leftovers from the Christmas dinner. Tucker, seizing upon an excuse to flee his new stepson’s hostile company, has gone outside to start loading presents into the car. Jennifer has subtly taken my elbow and propelled me into the mudroom, telling Justin something about grabbing their jackets.
“Thank you for having us, Brian,” Jennifer tells me as I pull her coat out of the hall closet. “You have a beautiful house - and that means a lot coming from a realtor. You and Justin have done wonders with this place. I’m glad we were finally able to spend Christmas Day here.”
I smile a bit awkwardly as I hand Jennifer her black, knee-length quilted jacket. It was an almost-mother-in-law guilt trip.
It’s been three years since Justin returned from New York to live with me, working as a sessional lecturer at the PIFA between his art exhibitions. Although we’d twice hosted Christmas-Hanukkah at Britin for the Munchers, Michael, Ben and their offspring, this is the first occasion that we had invited Justin’s family over for the holiday.
Justin has been keeping his family at arm’s length ever since Jennifer and Tucker's wedding the previous September. Distressed by the apparent disintegration of the mother-son relationship, I’d persuaded Justin to man up to his filial duties and invite his family over for the holiday. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to make Justin accept that, as his family now officially included a stepfather, he had no good reason for not inviting Tucker.
“You’re always welcome here, Jen,” I tell Jennifer sincerely, catching and holding her gaze. “There’ll always be a place for you at Britin.”
She shakes her head, breaking eye contact as she pulls white angora mittens out of the coat’s sleeves. When she speaks, her tone is low and almost sarcastic.
“Will there really?”
She looks over to the door leading into the kitchen. I follow her gaze and understand her meaning.
“Yes,” I tell her firmly, lowering my voice. “You are. You and Molly and Tucker. I won’t let Justin scare him away, I promise. For what it’s worth, I think Tucker is a nice guy. He’s a vast improvement over your last husband.”
Jennifer sighs, sliding her arm through her coat sleeve as I hold it out for her. As I move behind to help her shrug the coat on, and catch a whiff of her perfume. I recognize it as an expensive brand Lindsay used to wear, and I wonder if it was a present from Tucker. Although muted behind a veil of mature dignity, it was clear - to me, at least - that the newlyweds were madly in love with one other.
“You’re very sweet, Brian,” Jennifer says matter-of-factly. Her eyes are on her coat buttons as she fastens them, not looking at me. “I’m glad Justin ended up with you. You’re good for him. He listens to you.”
“He listens to you, too,” I protest as I haul Molly’s turquoise parka out of the closet. “You managed to talk him out of buying that horrific water feature. It’s thanks to you that we don’t have a nymph version of The Titanic sinking, gracing our front yard.”
“Well, that was just common sense,” Jennifer says with a shrug and a huff of amusement. “The thing may have been ‘artistic’ in Justin’s mind, but it was totally hideous. Sometimes fine art and landscaping are just not compatible.”
Jennifer’s second marriage had brought a splash of youth and liveliness to her appearance. There are aspects of Justin in her features and complexion that I haven’t before appreciated. With the exception of Jennifer’s eyes, which are hazel instead of blue, she and her son are very much alike.
“But he didn’t listen to me when he started seeing you,” she says softly, sweeping a blonde wisp of hair back from her face. “So I didn’t listen to him when I started seeing Tucker. I figured he was in no position to pass judgment on age differences in relationships.”
She holds up her left hand to display the thin white gold band on her ring finger. I notice her nails have been manicured, and recently. Another holiday gift from her beloved?
“He still hasn’t forgiven me, you know,” Jennifer murmurs tiredly. “Molly has adjusted so well to having a new stepfather. I’d even go so far as to say she welcomed it. As you point out, Tucker makes a pleasant change from my ex-husband, and Molly is not a fan of his new wife. Speaking of Craig, even he couldn’t have cared less when I married Tucker. But Justin?”
Jennifer spreads her hands in a gesture of helplessness, her clear nail polish glinting slightly in the low light.
“I just don’t understand his reaction to all of it. He hardly ever talks to me about it, but he clearly hates Tucker on principle. And it matters, Brian. Tucker knows how Justin feels about me remarrying, and I know it upsets him. I just… I feel a bit helpless. I don’t understand why Justin barely batted an eyelash when Craig got remarried, but he’s acting as if my second marriage has somehow instigated an apocalypse.”
I have to smile slightly at her choice of expression. It’s exactly the kind of ambiguous hyperbole Justin might have used. It is perhaps this that causes sympathy to surge through me, and I lay a hand on Jennifer’s shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze.
“You have to give him more time, Jen,” I tell her gently. “I don’t want to put words in Justin’s mouth, but I can tell you what I think. He and I have talked about this a little bit, although probably not as much as we need to. His dislike of Tucker is multifaceted – it comes from a lot of places. Part of it is displaced anger towards your ex-husband. Craig failed him as a father, and he failed you as a husband. I think Justin is afraid to invest in Tucker (for lack of a better word) in case he also falls flat. You know he cares about you and Molly a great deal.”
I see something like surprise in Jennifer’s eyes, quickly replaced by a flash of anger.
“But that’s not fair!” she points out indignantly. “Justin hasn’t given Tucker a chance. He can’t hate him for something he hasn’t done!”
I hold my hands up in a gesture of placation. I’m half-afraid Justin will suddenly walk through the door to find us talking about him and I lower my voice.
“I know,” I tell her softly. “I agree. But it’s more complicated than that. Neither of us can pretend that the age difference between you and Tucker doesn’t bother him.”
“Ha!” Jennifer gave a whinny of cynical laughter. “Tell me something I don’t know. It’s incredible to me that he can’t see how hypocritical that is. When I try and point out that this is how I felt when he started seeing you – no offence – he gets angry and tells me it’s not the same thing. But he can’t say how it’s not the same, and that’s what is so maddening.”
I smile slightly and give her shoulder another gentle squeeze.
“Justin doesn’t have the perspective you do,” I explain gently. “When I arrived on the scene, there must have been part of you that was afraid I’d take Justin away. I don’t mean physically. I mean emotionally. Were you afraid that I would take away something you could never get back?”
Jennifer regards me in silence for a long moment, her eyebrows creasing.
“Of course,” she says finally. “But every parent goes through that. It’s part of a child growing up. It’s part of letting them go so they can find their own paths.”
I nod in understanding, thinking of my own son. I’d gone up to Toronto earlier in the month to spend Hanukah with the Munchers. I’d been shocked by how much Gus had grown in the three months since I’d last seen him, and how much he reminded me of myself around that age.
“I know,” I tell her gently. “I already understand a little of what that’s like, and Gus is only nine. Having a kid is like taking out a part of your heart and letting it walk around by itself.”
I think I can see the light of comprehension dawning in Jennifer’s green-gold eyes even before I speak. With it comes the gentleness of maternal affection that I saw often in Debbie’s eyes when she looked at me, though never in my own mother’s.
“This is letting go, too,” I tell her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “Only it’s the other way around. Justin has to learn to let go of you, to let you live your own life again.”
Jennifer looks for a moment, seeming to search for something in my expression. Then shakes her head slightly, running the fingers of her right hand through her hair.
“I don’t think I want him to let go of me,” she admits finally. “I just want him to share. Accepting that his happiness depended on my ability to share him with you – with someone I’d never have expected to share anything with - was one of the hardest lessons I learnt as a mother.”
I smile and give her upper arm a tight, comforting squeeze.
“Justin knows that,” I tell her earnestly. “And so do I. But it is a very hard thing to do, sharing someone you love. Tucker is replacing Justin as the ‘man of the family’. After the divorce, Justin sort of got used to having you to himself, and now he has to share. It’s an ‘alpha male’ thing.”
The softness in Jennifer’s eyes melts away into dark amusement. She snorts with mirthless laughter.
“You mean it’s a cock fight,” she reiterates, and I can tell she’s trying to infuse some comic relief. “Well, if it’s testosterone wars Justin wants, he better watch out. Tucker’s got plenty of his own.”
I cringe, a tad scandalized. My fondness for discussions involving men’s sex hormones and the size of the tackle came to a screeching halt about fifty miles away from women over the age of forty-five. Although I had noticed – innocently enough – that Tucker did seem to have a fairly impressive package, that was really all I wanted to know about him in the sex department.
“Why, Brian,” Jennifer says ingenuously. “Are you blushing? This is a first. Still, I see no need for prudishness. I’ve walked in on you fucking a man before.”
I can feel the flush creeping up my neck, burning into my cheeks. There are not many things in this world that can make me blush, but when they do, I put tomatoes and clown noses to shame.
“If you recall, I was finished fucking him,” I mutter, aiming for indignant but sounding merely embarrassed. “And more to the point, the guy I was fucking wasn’t your son. I’m not that indecent, for Christ’s sake. That was years ago, anyway…”
Justin’s bashing seems like a lifetime ago now, rather than a mere eight years.
As if she can read my thoughts, Jennifer gives an unexpected smile. Looking down into her eyes, I remember again that one of the most important things in both of our lives is something we share. Justin’s journey through life is tangential to both of our own.
“I’ll talk to him about Tucker,” I promise her gently. “He might bite my head off and refuse to talk about it, but I’ll keep at it. If there’s one thing I know he and I see eye-to-eye on, it’s that you deserve to be happy.”
Jennifer smiles up at me, and then draws me down with a hand on my shoulder.
“Thank you, Brian,” she says sincerely, kissing my cheek. “Justin and I are both lucky to have you. Merry Christmas, my unconventional practically-son-in-law.”
I huff out a laugh as I draw her into a hug, brushing my nose against the blonde hair that is so much like her son’s.
“Merry Christmas, Mother Taylor,” I murmur affectionately. “To you and your kin.”
There’s a clattering in the hall and Molly and Justin come through the kitchen door, arms full of Tupperware containers, a casserole dish and a couple of plates covered in Saran wrap. They come to an abrupt halt when they see us standing there in an embrace, and we quickly draw apart.
Unexpectedly, Molly says, “Told you!” to her brother, and Justin smirks.
Justin’s sister is now fourteen, and is quite as good-looking as her brother. She looks much more like her father than he does, but the similarity in their hair and eyes makes it obvious they’ve came out of the same stable. Molly is also leaner than her brother, and is taller than him by about a quarter-inch - a fact that she apparently never lets Justin forget.
“Told him what?” Jennifer asks suspiciously, looking from her son to her daughter and back again. “What are you two smirking at?”
“Nootttthhhing,” Molly says in the type of annoying sing-song voice that teenage girls excel at.
Ophelia has also come slinking into the room behind them, and has wrapped herself around my ankles, mewing demandingly. To make her cease her bleating (she has a raucous meow for such a small cat), I bend to pick her up with one hand. She clambers up my sweater to drape herself around my shoulders like a fur stole, purring like a vintage automobile.
“Brian,” Molly says, her eyes following the cat with some trepidation. “Why does your cat hate me?”
I can’t help but laugh lightly, and reach up to scratch Ophelia’s chin.
“Don’t take it personally,” I tell Molly reassuringly. “Ophelia equates female visitors with Lindsay and Melanie and their cat-terrorizing spawn.”
“Jenny-Rebecca once tried to give her a bath,” Justin supplies helpfully. “Y'know, Brian called her called Ophelia after Hamlet’s girlfriend, who drowned in a stream. The feline Ophelia was only half-drowned when Brian found her, but she still wasn’t too happy about revisiting the stream incident with little JR...”
Ophelia purrs loudly and kneads her claws into the wool of my sweater. I imagine this gesture could be cat-ish for, “yeah. that’s right, bitch…”
“She also just generally hates anyone who shows interest in Brian,” Justin explains to his sister. “Especially me. No one is going to mess with her Knight in Shining Armor…”
Justin exchanges a nasty look with Ophelia, but there’s a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey, Mom, guess what?” Molly blurts out, turning to Jennifer. “Justin says that I might be able to have my junior prom sleepover here. Wouldn’t that be cool?! We could hang out by the pool and visit the horses next door and have a campfire in the woods. It would be the best thing ever!”
She nearly drops a plate of mince pies as Justin elbows her in the ribs. She turns to give him a dirty look.
“And whose approval was this plan contingent on, brat?” Justin prompts her in his superior big brother voice. He nods in my direction. “Here’s a hint. Tall, dark, handsome, and standing right there.”
I’m surprised and delighted to note that Justin’s dark mood of earlier in the afternoon has vanished. He still looks tired, but there’s a kind of lightness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. I grin at Molly, realizing that it was probably her doing.
“What do you think, Brian?” she asks, turning to me excitedly. “You wouldn’t mind having…oh, say… sixteen teenagers over here for a weekend, would you?”
“Girls only,” Justin interrupts to clarify. “It would be heteronormative to suggest this equates to no ‘premarital relations’, but at least you won’t have to deal with the Morning After Pill or anything.”
“Justin!” Jennifer looks horrified.
“What?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be such a prude, Mother. What the hell else do you think teenage girls talk about, besides Daniel Radcliffe? Actually, I’m sure their discussions about sex and Daniel Radcliffe are not mutually exclusive…”
Molly, who has turned a delicate shade of pink, kicks her brother in the shin, muttering ‘Jerk! That’s </i>gross</i>!’ Justin winces and tries to cover his injured shin with the back of his foot, the casserole dish teetering precariously on his forearm. I reach out a hand to steady him, thus preventing the unfortunate meeting of a four-cheese lasagna with my custom-made slate tiles.
“It sounds like hell on Earth,” I tell Molly with an exaggerated groan, putting my arm around Justin’s waist for safe measure. “But your brother just might be able to persuade me that this is a good idea, as long as there are no bouncy castles involved.”
“But I love bouncy castles!” Justin protests. “Remember that one Mel and Lindsay hired for Gus’ birthday last year?”
“That’s exactly the reason I’m vetoing them," I say firmly. "If I recall rightly, someone - whose name rhymes with ‘Shustin’ - was bouncing under the influence, and ended up being horribly sick. You realize that I had to fork out a considerable fortune for them to clean the vomit out when we returned the damn thing.”
Justin turns beet red and elbows me hard in midriff, making me to grunt. He nods towards Jennifer, who looks severely unimpressed.
“We agreed we weren’t going to tell my mother that story!” he hisses.
“Oh, please, as if she doesn’t already know it.” I give Justin a squeeze by way of apology, and look over towards Jennifer and Molly. “Okay. As long as there are bouncy castles involved, I can conceivable see myself agreeing to this sleepover thing. What do you think, Jen?”
Jennifer frowns disapprovingly at her children, as if silently berating them both. It looks as if she is going to take some convincing, but if Molly’s powers of persuasion were anything like Justin’s, she would have no trouble at all.
“She’ll say yes,” Molly tells me matter-of-factly. She leaps forward to wrap me in a one-arm hug. It’s awkward because I also have my arm around Justin and a cat on my shoulder, and she’s holding three Tupperware containers of leftovers, but I appreciate the gesture. “Thanks Brian. See, no one is going to forget Justin’s prom. Now no one will forget mine.”
“Molly!” Jennifer snaps, looking horrified. “How could you say something like that?”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Justin tells her hastily, running a hand through his hair. “Molly is only repeating what I said to her. Relax.”
“Yeah,” Molly retorts, letting me go. “Justin said it first. Know what else he said? I was worried that Brian wouldn’t understand teenage girls because he’s gay and everything. But Justin said that, when Brian was in high school, he and Lindsay used to drive his car out to this park at night and…”
“Shut up, you idiot!” Justin hisses sharply, shoving at his sister in the back with the casserole dish. “Do you have no fucking discretion? Christ! I told you that in confidence, you little shit!”
“I wasn’t gonna go into the details!” Molly protests.
I burst out laughing as Jennifer starts berating Justin for his language, Molly kicks at Justin’s shins again, and a thoroughly unimpressed Ophelia leaps off my shoulders. It was nice to feel like part of the family.
From outside, there comes the sound of a car horn and the room goes suddenly quiet.
“That’s Tucker,” Jennifer says after a beat of silence. “We’d better get going if we want to get home before midnight. Molly, put your jacket on and say goodbye to Brian. Justin… please come outside and say goodbye to him, at least. It wouldn’t kill you… Remember it’s Christmas.”
I help Molly into her jacket and then hug her goodbye, watching Justin over the top of her head. Jennifer has already gone outside with the mountain of leftovers, and Justin’s gaze has followed her, almost unseeingly.
“Merry Christmas, Brian,” Molly says to me, pulling out of the embrace. “I love your house, and you’re a really great almost-brother-in-law. I really hope the sleepover party thing works out. Let me know, okay?”
“I will. Merry Christmas, kid Taylor,” I reply, ruffling her hair. “Take care of your Mom for me, okay?”
“If you take care of my brother,” she agrees with a nod and a smile. She lowers her voice. “Please don’t let your cat murder him. He’s going to be my supplier of booze until I turn eighteen.”
I grin. Clearly Justin has been a good influence on her.
She turns to Justin, who is slowly putting on his coat. His expression is hard, but the focus of his attention seems to be on something far away. To my surprise, Molly takes his hand and this small gesture seems to shake him from his reverie. He looks at her and returns the smile, though I can see a hint of trepidation etched into his profile.
Together brother and sister step out the door into the wintery evening, out to where their mother and stepfather are waiting to say their final goodbyes. I watch them disappear into the night, then scoop up Ophelia (who seems to be contemplating a bid for freedom out the open door) and head back into the house.
*~*~*
Much Later
**
“Brian?”
Justin’s voice is muffled, smothered against my shoulder. I haul myself groggily out of the hinterland between waking and sleeping. As the vestiges of post-sex drowsiness slowly lift, I become aware of Justin’s hands running slowly up and down my back.
“Am I too heavy?” I mutter sleepily, making a half-hearted attempt to roll off him. Mind-blowing sex always leaves me feeling as if my bones have been replaced with Jell-o.
It’s a very good feeling.
Justin gives a huff of amusement, his breath warm against the side of my neck. He wraps his arms around my torso to keep my where I am, sprawled on top of him, my hips nestled between his legs.
“You? Too heavy?” he murmurs affectionately. He brushes hair back of my face with gentle fingers. “I weigh more than you do, you skinny bastard.”
Under his gentle caress, my eyelids start to droop again. I lower my head, pressing my nose against his neck, breathing in his scent.
“Hey,” Justin says insistently, slapping at my flank. “Don’t go to sleep. Let me clean us up so we can get into bed properly.”
I’m acutely aware of the warmth of his hand where it rests against my ass. I nuzzle my face against his neck and press butterfly kisses against the place where his pulse beats rhythmically underneath his skin. He moans softly and arches his back as I press my tongue against the sensitive spot behind his ear. I feel him stirring against my hip as he squeezes my ass between his hands.
“God…. Okay, okay… forget cleaning up,” he murmurs with a soft laugh. “I don’t think we’re quite done yet. Did Santa leave you Viagra this year or something?”
I bite his neck and he tries to squirm away, giggling. He puts his arms around my neck and weaves his fingers into my hair, tugging gently to make me raise my head. When I do, he kisses me softly on the mouth.
“I love you,” he tells me matter-of-factly. He nudges my nose with his. “And so do my family. My Mom was singing your praises when I said goodbye to her this evening. What were you talking about in the mudroom before Molly and I came in?”
I lean down to press a kiss to the thin stretch of skin between his nose and his upper lip.
“You,” I tell him honestly. “You’re what we have in common.”
“Molly guessed you were,” Justin says with a sigh, running his thumbnail along the top of my eyebrow. “She said Mom had taken you aside for a chat about me and Tucker.”
I look into his eyes, searching for some sign of anger or disapproval, but I can find none.
“Are you angry that we were?” I ask cautiously. “I didn’t want to put words in your mouth or anything, and I promise I was completely honest with her. I just wanted to help your Mom understand a little of what you’re going through. As much as I understand it, that is.”
Justin grins up at me, smoothing the creases of worry from my face with gentle fingertips.
“You must have done a good job of explaining,” he tells me honestly. “Molly and I were talking in the kitchen at the same time. She made me realize some things I hadn’t thought about before.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyelids lowered so that I can make out the expression in his eyes.
“Like what?” I prompt gently.
“Like, I never thought about what it was like for her when I started seeing you,” Justin explains softly. “She saw the rift forming between Mom and Dad over it, and she said she knew she had to choose whose side to take. In the end she took my side, and that’s one of the reasons Mom came around.”
He sighs softly and looks up at me, his eyes bright and clear. He gives a soft, unexpected laugh.
“She told me it was time I returned the favour. Molly loves Tucker, and she loves that he makes Mom happy. So it’s time I swallowed my fucking pride and give Tucker the credit he damn well deserves.”
I laugh, and bend to kiss his forehead.
“Were those Molly’s exact words?”
“Yeah. Sarcastic little potty-mouth. I wonder where she got that trait from…”
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly. He squirms up a bit on his back so that he can hug me back properly. For a moment we remain like this, breathing in each other’s scents, wrapped in each other’s love.