Parce Mihi Domine Chapter 3

[nothing_rhymes_with_ianto]

Brian's feeling and thoughts from 1.22 through the end of 2.02. This is a gapfiller of sorts, and tells what happens in the month and a half or so when Justin was in the hospital.
Summary: The end of Brian's listless month when Justin is in rehab. Michael comes back home. 2.01.

 

The month melted together, days blended, hours faded into each other. Every day Brian would drag himself out of bed and into work, and bury himself under projects and accounts. Then he would go home, shower, go to Babylon or the Baths or someplace to find drugs and tricks and get drunk, then somehow he would find himself outside of Justin's hospital room at two or three in the morning, the night nurse either babbling in his ear or silently watching him. Then he went home to start all over again.

One night he looked in the window to see all the wires gone.

"He woke up." The night nurse told him. He let out a quiet breath. "His mother and sister were there. He doesn't remember being attacked."

"Oh." He watched Justin put his arms around himself, frowning in his sleep. He fought the slight urge to go in there and sooth him. He wasn't supposed to let this kid get to him. Brian Kinney didn't do boyfriends, or partners, or anything remotely similar. He didn't do love, or over-protectiveness, or regret, or sorrow. Shit.

But he didn't leave. He stayed and watched through the glass as Justin tossed and turned in his sleep. He tried to ignore the emotions gnawing at his heart, at his gut, until it became too much and he got out of there as fast as he could.

*****

Someone had finally gotten up the balls to call Michael after about a week of not hearing from Brian. Now Michael was leaving messages every day, which Brian didn't listen to, and sending him worried emails which Brian didn't read.

After a little bit, Brian started going to the diner in the morning again, just so that maybe it would calm Michael down a bit and everyone would stop coddling him. But he wouldn't visit Justin. Well, he made sure that no one else knew about his early morning visits. Debbie glared at him every morning when she saw him in the diner, taking his order stiffly. He knew she was angry at him for not visiting Justin, but he also wondered if she, like the others, blamed him for Justin getting hurt. It was his fault. If he hadn't danced with Justin, that Hobbes kid wouldn't have done anything.

He came home from work and, as usual, hit the message machine as he changed for Babylon.

Beep. "Hey, Brian. It's Michael. Just calling again to make sure you're okay. Why haven't you called me back? Ma says she saw you in the diner today. Call me when you get this."

Beep. "Hey, Brian, it's Michael. Will you just call me? I want to make sure you're not dead, or in a coma or something. Oops. Sorry. I-I shouldn't have said that. Sorry. Just-just call me back."

Beep. "Hey, Bri. It's Lindz. How're you holding up? We went to see Justin today. He's doing much better. Just checking to see how you're doing. You should go visit him. Bye."

Beep. "Brian. It's Michael. Sorry about what I said earlier. Wont you just call me back? Brian, you gotta talk to someone. Lindsay told me Justin is getting better. She says he's still depressed though. But no one knows how you're doing. Call me."

Beep. "Hi, Brian? It's Daphne. You know, Justin's friend? Ju-Justin gave me your number. He wants to see you. Whenever we come visit him, all he asks is 'Where's Brian?' You should come and see him. Um, bye."

Brian sighed, glad tomorrow was the weekend and he could spend the day in, and the night out. And not go see Justin while he was awake. He didn't want to Justin, or anyone else, to see that this was actually having an effect on him. Brian Kinney wasn't emotional and the only person that mattered was himself. That's what should be happening. His brain was just being an asshole, feeling guilty for getting Justin hurt. And yet, he still found himself on the road to the hospital every night after Babylon. Once the kid was out of the hospital, Brian could return to life as it was before Sunshine came along, and not have to bother with the silly trick any more. Right? Right.

******

"Deb, my order?"

"It's coming, asshole. Don't get your balls in a fuckin' twist."

Brian rolled his eyes and folded his newspaper over to read the next article. Something about a firefighter being canned for confessing to arson. Ha.

"Here." A to-go box dropped in front of him. He looked up at Debbie and gave her a sarcastic smile of thanks. "Have you gone to see Justin yet?"

"No, Debbie. And I'm not going to see him." He picked up his box. "Now, I have to go to work. Bye." Deb watched him leave with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

At first, Cynthia acted normal. She just gave him his folders as usual and went about her business. But as the day, wore on, she began to give him funny looks. Finally she just had to say something.

"Brian, are-are you doing all right? You're always working or fucking. Shouldn't you go see Justin and see how he's doing? Maybe it would do both of you some good."

"Christ!" Brian slammed his hands on the table. "Does everyone think I need to be babysat? You all, just need to go away, and let me continue on with my life as it was, before that brat came along. Fuck."

Cynthia stared at him for a moment, then turned and left. He sank back into his chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Goddamn.

He left Ryder in a shitty mood, determined to go home and get stoned and then go to sleep. Which he did.

He woke up the next day, went to the Diner. Debbie ignored him, leaving someone else to take his order. At Ryder, Cynthia did as he had asked and acted as though it was a year ago before this had ever happened. Comforted by the illusion that all was well, he decided to head to Babylon.

He put on a black sleeveless top, and headed out. But, wading through the endless bodies and waves of pulsing, sweating skin, something began to crack, a fissure was forming inside him that he didn't really notice. All he knew was that he needed more drugs, and more fucking. He felt like there was a void, a hole. And of course, the all-purpose cure was sex, sex and more sex. So he found himself in the backroom, two guys going down on him as he sat in a chair, eyes glaze over, brain far away, half in bliss and half in a dark place that he didn't know how to get out of. And he wasn't go to let anyone near him while he was in that sort of state. At least, no one who knew him well or cared about him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar form staring at him. He pulled his usual don't-give-a-fuck Brian Kinney mask on and looked up.

"Hey, Mikey."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"No," He knew Mikey wanted him to say something all heartfelt; fuck that. He leaned down to the two guys on his cock. "Cover your teeth."

"I've been emailing you and leaving you messages practically every day for the last month, and you never answered." Fucking drama queen. Michael needed to fuck off.

"Busy, busy." Brian knew that Michael was at least reliable enough to partially believe that he'd gone back to his original King of Liberty Avenue state.

"What, up to your old tricks?"

Brian grinned. "Never old. And never the same ones twice." Suddenly, the mouths on his cock were a hassle, and all he wanted to do was get out from under Michael's stare, into the loft and into some guys' ass. "You can take a break." He muttered and stood up, zipping up.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay." Sentimental Mikey was a bitch. First, he's a drama queen, now he's an annoying babysitter. He really did take after his mother.

He raised his eyebrows at Mikey. "Oh, not just okay, I'm-I'm fabulous." Thank god for drugs. He stood up and began to walk away. "In fact, I'm the most fabulous fag in Pittsburgh. That is, if it's possible to be fabulous in Pittsburgh." He sighed, feeling his mind slipping back into that dark place now that Michael was here. "Does anybody have any E?" A dozen hands appeared. He made his selection and paid. Sex and drugs were so reliable.

"So who told you I was here, Rosencrantz or Guildenstern?"

"I think I could have figured it out on my own." A well-toned body caught Brian's eye and he turned. Finally, a reason to get rid of Mikey.

"Shit, I've been trying to nail that fucker all night." He followed the trick as he disappeared behind the wall. He barely heard Michael's concerned, needy call as he made his way into the darkness.

He followed the trick, slipping with him into a corner, pushing away all thoughts of Mikey and all dark thoughts of Sunshine and blood and guilt, and instead focused on the hot muscled body in front of him. He shoved the trick against the wall and whispered in his ear, sliding off his jeans in preparation to fuck the guy's brains out.

The guy reached behind him and handed Brian some more drugs. He wasn't entirely sure what they were, but at the moment he didn't care, so he popped them in his mouth and took a quick bump of his own cocktail.

In moments he was flying high on the drugs in his system and the ass on his cock. He let his brain leave his body and savored the bliss for as long as he possibly could.

His brain was hazy from the drugs and the sex and the pleasure and the trying to forget, but he managed to get into his car and start driving. The unfortunate thing about trying to forget, was that it only lasted so long, and it wasn't long enough that he didn't find himself on the familiar road to the goddamn hospital. He parked in the lot and got out, suddenly feeling too sober for his own good.

He stared in at the thin blond boy in the hospital bed. Part of him hoped that Justin would wake up from his dreams and see Brian staring in at him, but another, stronger part of him hoped that Justin would never know that he was ever here. He knew the night nurse would never tell.

He stared at the sleeping form, the mantra of my fault my fault my fault running unfailingly through his brain. Brian jerked slightly and focused on the boy as Justin groaned, frowning and rolling over in his sleep, a bad dream disturbing his peace. He's not okay. This is all my fault. He needed more drugs. He took a bump, putting his hand up to his face and sniffling as if tired.

"Crummy night." He jumped a little. The night nurse. He'd forgotten she was there. He looked away, not wanting her to see that he was getting high.

"Yeah, what's a little rain?" reluctantly, he turned from the window and sat down in the chair.

"How 'bout some hot tea?" Brian sighed, everyone was always trying to babysit him. "Or I could, uh, fix you up some of that, uh, soup-in-a-cup. Though it has enough sodium to stiff a horse." He shook his head. No food, it would only make him feel worse. He couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten a full meal.

The nurse turned back to him. "Oh, by the way, Miguel, you know, uh, the one who's here Tuesdays and Thursdays, he was tossing the ball with him today. Yeah, said his hand was improving." He looked up at her, unable to decide whether he was glad that Justin would be out soon and he could get on with his life, or disappointed because he wouldn't get to see the little twat any more. "But he still has these outbursts when he gets frustrated."

Brian scratched his head. He didn't want to talk. "Well, there must be something that you can give him."

"Oh, drugs cant fix everything."

"Where'd you hear that?" Drugs were certainly working wonders with him. Brian stood and walked to the window, his brain starting up its "my fault" mantra again. He pulled out a cigarette.

"If you ask me, what would help him the most, is if he knew that you came here every-"

"No!" He couldn't know. No one could know. He didn't want anyone else-even himself- to really see how much Brian-fucking-Kinney was affected by this. Brian Kinney didn't do affected. Brian Kinney didn't do apologies. And Brian Kinney definitely didn't do attached. He really needed this cigarette. He flicked his lighter. The nurse made a noise. Absurdly, he held out the pack in offering, then realized exactly what he was doing.

"Ah, no." He put the cigarette and the pack away.

"Who made up the fucking rule that you can't smoke in a hospital?" The nurse shrugged at him and walked away. He turned back to the window and stared at Justin. As usual, he lost track of time as his thoughts wandered, guilt and pain and Sunshine and darkness and so many other things flinging him inward for a long time, and he finally dragged himself away from the glass and home to the loft to collapse in bed with the bloodstained scarf still draped around his shoulders.

*******

Upon awakening, Brian made the instant executive decision to stay home and get high.

Weeks ago he had gotten used to the constant sense of déjà vu of his life the past month. He didn't even try to do much of anything besides his usual old routine of diner, work, Babylon or the Baths, hospital, bed, repeat. Some days he would break the monotony a little bit and stay home to get drunk or stoned or both. Now that Mikey was back, he had a feeling that comforting, safe, numb monotony would end. And, unfortunately, he would now be worried and henpecked and coddled to death by Michael. Today ought to be loads of fun. Getting high was most definitely needed to survive. He pulled out his first joint and started in.