nothing_rhymes_with_ianto | Boys Keep Swinging Chapter 7

After three and a half years, Justin comes home from New York for good.
Chapter Summary/Teaser: Justin goes home from the hospital. Lindsay and Gus have a conversation. Michael confronts Ben. Brian creates another one of his infamous "cliffs."

Go back to Chapter 6

Justin groaned. His face hurt. His body hurt. Why did everything hurt? Where the fuck was he? He heard someone say his name gently, felt a hand stroking his hair. He turned his head and tried to look to see who it was, but the light stabbed his eyes and he squeezed them shut tight again.

"Justin? Honey?" Honey? Brian never called him honey. Who was that? "Sweetheart?" The voice finally registered in his brain.

"Mom?" He heard his mother's gasping laugh of relief.

"Justin, sweetheart, you're in the hospital. You were mugged." Oh yeah, that's why everything hurt. He remembered now. Ethan had been there. He opened his eyes. This time the light didn't hurt as much. He squinted around.

"Where's Ethan?"

"He called me. He stayed until they made sure you were okay. He told me to tell you that he…" She gave a bewildered look, squinted to remember what she'd been told. "Understands now and he isn't going to try anymore and that he's leaving."

Justin tried to nod, but it hurt his head, so he just let out a puff of air. "Good. Where's…." He really didn't want to ask this question. "Where's Brian?"

"I don't know. I called him, and told him that you got hurt, but he hung up on me. I don't know if he's coming or not. When he talked, he seemed….flat. He sounded like nothing."

"Why? What did you say?"

"He wondered why the hospital hadn't called him since he's your emergency contact. I told him that they hadn't called me, that Ethan did." Shit. Justin groaned and ran his right hand over his face. His left one was in a cast.

"Fuck. Okay. When do I get out of here?"

"I don't know. I'll get the doctor and tell him you're awake and ask him about it."

"Thanks." Justin leaned back into the pillows and watched his mom leave the room. He wished Brian was here. He wondered if he would even come visit. He knew they both hated hospital, Brian sometimes more than him. He wondered, too, if there was another reason that Brian had not called or told his mom he was going to visit.

Michael lay on his stomach on the couch, a box of pretzels on the floor next to him, his nose stuck in a comic book. He'd been stressed all week, worrying about Ben, trying to talk to Brian, working on Rage. He'd decided it was time to wind down. He had a whole stack of comic books to go through, and a third of it was already finished.

The door opened and shut softly, and Ben walked through the living room and into the kitchen, shedding briefcase and jacket and scarf as he went. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the edge of the couch near Michael's feet.

"Hey. Where'd you go last night? I missed you."

Michael closed his eyes for a second. He'd wanted to relax today. He really didn't want to be having this conversation. He could already feel the sad sort of resignation and betrayal bubbling in his gut. He kept his sentence short. "To Ted's."

"Oh. How is he? I heard Blake is living with him now." Anger suddenly replaced the sadness.

"We need to talk." The hardness in his voice surprised Michael. Ben closed his mouth and looked at him, a little taken aback. "Brian told me something a few weeks ago that I should have known was true. Instead, I called him a liar because I listened to what you said. But last night, I found out that he wasn't the one who had lied."

"Michael, I-"

"Don't say you don't know what I'm talking about and don't say you're sorry. We both know neither of those things are true right now." Michael took a breath and words that he hadn't even tried to prepare tumbled out in that same hard voice. "So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to stay over at my mother's for a few days. You're going to stop using that shit. When I get back here, we'll figure out where to go from there." He stood up and went upstairs, packing a backpack, feeling oddly calm. When he walked out the front door, Ben was still sitting silent on the couch, staring at the wall.

Lindsay rolled her eyes as she hauled a squalling Gus out of his third-grade classroom and into the bitter cold. She was glad she'd left JR asleep in the car seat instead of taking her outside.

"Mommy! It's freezing! Why is it so cold at the end of February? It wasn't this cold back in America!" Lindsay sighed and stayed silent through the whining. She seriously doubted that Gus could remember February in the United States, since he'd barely been five years old when they left. He clambered into the back of the car. She looked at him in the rearview mirror.

Gus looked like a miniature version of Brian. He had grown fast, and was becoming tall and thin like Brian. He had Brian's large, hazel eyes; luckily, Gus's eyes did not look wise and worn beyond his years as his father's had. He had Brian's chestnut hair and tan complexion. Although, he did have Lindsay's chin, and most definitely her blush.

Gus poked Jenny and she started crying. He shrank back in the seat and looked sheepish when his mother scolded him. Lindsay blew a heavy breath through her nose and hoped there wasn't any traffic. There wasn't, and she got home fast enough that JR wasn't even done hiccupping by the time they pulled into the driveway. She got out and opened the sliding door of the van to unbuckle JR's car seat. Gus started complaining about the cold again. She told him to please be quiet and dragged his whining body into the house by a resisting hand.

When he got inside, Gus sat down hard in the entryway as the door blew shut. He crossed his arms and glared up and Lindsay. Sometimes she wished she was a mind reader. Trying to school her features into something like patience, she softened her voice.

"What's wrong, Gus?"

The little boy drew his legs toward his chest and set his chin on them, looking a lot like his father. "I want to go home."

"You are home, Gus."

"No, Mommy. I want to go home to Daddy and Justin and Unca Mikey and Unca Ben and Gramma Deb and….Mommy, I want to go home!" he wailed the last sentence, his attempt at adult composure gone, his eyes overflowing with tears as Lindsay gathered him in her arms, her own heart filling with longing for her home in Pittsburgh.

"I know, Honey. I know. I do, too, Baby."

"Then why cant we?" Gus asked through his tears. Lindsay couldn't answer, didn't have answer. She wondered what to say to Melanie when she got home.

Brian's head screamed at him and he rubbed his temples for the hundredth time that day. He'd been snapping at people and threatening unemployment all day. Ted had come in once, then scurried away. He'd even snapped at Cynthia, who'd told him to fuck off and get the hell over his hangover. Good thing she had enough balls to call him out on things.

The door opened and Cynthia stood there with her hands on her hips. Brian opened his eyes and removed his head from his hands, staring at her. She cocked her head at him.

"Well? Are you done queening out? Can we get on with our jobs?" He waved a hand at her.

"Sure. I'll just be in here going over slogans for this piece of shit Mulligan's Hygienic Soap account. Christ." He rubbed his head again. Cynthia walked briskly over to his desk and pulled the papers away from him.

"Go home. Sleep off that fucking hangover. Fuck whoever you need to fuck or do whatever you need to do to come back here in a normal state. You're totally fucked up right now. So go home."

Brian sighed. He and Cynthia were nearly as stubborn as one another. And right now, he was too tired and in too much pain to argue with her. He picked up his coat and headed out.

The doctor poked and prodded at Justin. The blonde sighed and held still. He had spent enough time in a hospital to be completely used to all the procedures. When the doctor walked in, he'd promptly held up his right arm, ready for the blood pressure band to be wrapped around his bicep. The doctor had seemed surprised. Justin and his mother had shared a private smile of dark amusement.

"Your concussion is mild. Thankfully, it was on the opposite side of your head from your previous brain injury, and we're fairly certain there's been no permanent damage. You have a few broken ribs, but all we can do for that is wrap your chest and wait. Everything else is pretty much just bumps and bruises."

"What about my hand? Is it broken?"

"No, it's not. You've got some torn ligaments and bruised bones, but nothing's broken. We put it in a cast because you were clenching and unclenching your hand while you were unconscious, and we didn't want you to damage it more than it already was. If you would like, we can remove the plaster cast and replace it with a removable plastic brace before you leave."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"When can he leave?"

"Well, he seems to be just fine, besides the broken ribs and knock to the head. So, this afternoon, probably."

"Thanks." Justin flashed a Sunshine smile. For once, he could get out of a hospital fast, and not have to sit around and wait. For New York, that was awesome.

Two days later, Justin was home in Pittsburgh, watching TV and eating Pringles on his mother's couch. He was allowing her to mother him, partly because he missed it, and partly because he had no idea what Brian's temperament was like and he was a bit apprehensive about going over.

After another tube of Pringle and a whole box of Oreos, Justin decided to take the risk. He knew he'd be restless and bitchy in about a day if his mother kept this up, and it would be much better living at the loft, since Brian didn't try to do everything for him when he was hurt. He put on some clean clothes, told his mom he was going out and would have his cell phone with him.

He took a cab to the loft, since the doctor had told him not to drive for a week, just as a precaution to the concussion. He got out and punched in the familiar number to Brian's building, bounding up the stairs. He knocked on the door and waited.

The door slid open and Brian blinked at him. Justin had an incredibly strong sense of déjà vu, thought back to when he was eighteen and had been bashed. He felt eighteen all over again, gave the same nervous smile.

"Hi." Brian just kept staring, so Justin pushed his way inside. This time, Brian didn't put a hand on his chest and stop him. Justin went to the fridge, grabbed a beer he knew would be in there. "My mom has been fawning over me for the past two days. I'm sick of it. If I go to Deb's, she does the same thing. So I'm staying here."

Brian nodded, gave him a small kiss hello, and went back to his computer where he had been working before Justin had arrived. Justin stood in the middle of the room, feeling strange and abandoned in his own home.

It was just like last time; Justin injured and nervous, standing outside his door, pushing his way inside and saying he's going to stay. Only this time, Brian wasn't going to let that happen. He hid the fact that he knew that Justin had been with Ethan, because he didn't know if Justin knew he knew. Just thinking that sentence tired him out, and he decided that this time he'd get rid of the twink as quickly as possible. He turned back to his work and ignored Justin, engrossing himself in his job. When he looked up, the twink was asleep on the bed in his favorite pair of Brian's sweats and an old t-shirt. Brian took a moment to admire the pale blonde body against the blue sheets, then shook his head and began to devise a plan to get him the hell out before Justin could hurt him again.

"So, I'm still living here, right?" Justin asked, draping himself over Brian's shoulder. It had been three days since Justin had come, and he was still there. They had fucked twice.

"Obviously," Brian replied, reciprocating the offered kiss.

"Good." Brian watched over his computer as Justin sauntered back to the couch and plopped down with his sketchbook, shaking out his still-healing left hand before using it to hold the sketchbook up.

Brian hated to see Justin hurt. Once had been enough, and that had almost killed both of them. He wondered how many more times he'd have to witness Justin getting injured. Justin alone had been through more in twenty-five years than most men had in a lifetime.

The other thing Brian hated, was knowing that Justin had hurt him, betrayed him. He didn't want this to keep going. Justin had left him three times before- four if he counted the time he'd almost stayed in California- it was no surprise that he'd do it again in a heartbeat. But this time if Justin was going to leave, it would be because Brian wanted him to.

Justin had been living at the loft for nearly two weeks, He and Brian were lounging around the house on a Saturday. Brian was sitting on a floor pillow, watching The Godfather on television, and Justin was attempting to read The Fountainhead, but kept get distracted by his sketchbook and new ideas.

Brian looked up during a commercial. "I'm selling it."

"Huh? Selling what?"

"The house."

"'The house'….Britin?" Brian nodded. Justin frowned. "Why?"

"Well, it just sits there. Do you really think I'm going to keep an enormous piece of real estate that I don't use? It sucks money out of my wallet every month."

"It's not like you don't have enough money to pay for it." Justin stood, moved to stand frowning down at Brian, trying to understand. "And, you bought that place for me, for us, why would you sell it now?"

"Because I don't use and I don't need it. I bought it three years ago for a reason that no longer matters."

"Brian…..the house was a promise. It meant us."

Brian scoffed. "No, it meant that I had gone temporarily insane and wanted to become a stepford fag. So glad I was cured."

"I thought you said we were together, we didn't need rings or vows."

"Or houses. And I think I was temporarily insane when I said that, too. Because apparently that's what you need. So go back to the orchestral genius who gives you what you want. I don't give a shit. Anyway, you get a bonus. You can stay in New York and get a boyfriend. Anyway, I'm still selling the house." The commercials were over. He turned his attention back to the television.

"Brian, what-" But Brian had shut down. "Fine. You do whatever you want. Who cares what I want. Of course." Justin spat. "Well, since I'm in control of my own life, I guess I'll leave you to your own pathetic existence. Fuck you, Brian. Fuck you." Justin turned on his heel and grabbed his sketchbook and coat, slamming the loft door behind him.

Brian let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. That was over with. Justin could go back to Ian or Isaac or what ever the fuck his name was and Brian could go back to his life. Someone else would have to care for the twink while he was injured, this time it wouldn't be Brian.

He stared at the television screen, but he didn't really see what was in front of him. A feeling he hadn't known for six years formed inside of him, surprising him. He ignored it, pushed it away and focused on the movie. But it came back, so he just let it sit there, refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to let it grow.

Chapter 8