Walking On Thin Ice

[nothing_rhymes_with_ianto]

Brian has some realizations during Justin's showdown with Stockwell at the GLC.
So I'm not amazingly proud of this one, but I wanted to get my thoughts out that this scene is the moment that Brian realized that he's hurting more than helping himself by backing Stockwell. Also, does anyone else think of Fight Club whenever they hear Debbie say "His name was Jason Kemp"?
 

"Margarita Lopez."

Brian blinked. Justin's voice rang out over the heads of the tittering crowd. He watched the back of the younger man's head, marveling at his lover's strength, wondering what he had cooked up this time.

"Excuse me?"

Daphne stood, holding a sign above her head. "Margarita Lopez was a transsexual. She was murdered five years ago. Her killers have never been found."

Stockwell was nodding, obviously trying quickly to find an answer that would appease the whispering audience and the strong-willed teens who stood before him.\

"The Pittsburgh P.D. does it's best to solve every crime." Brian could feel Justin's stony glare, and he wasn't even on the receiving end of it. "However, there's always the occasional—"

"Jefferson Proctor." Justin's voice commanded again.

"Jefferson Proctor was a gay African American," Lindsay now stood, also bearing a sign. "Shot to death half a block from Woody's. Crime unsolved."

Stockwell's eyes flicked downward, uncertain. Brian could see that this attack was unsettling, he wasn't used to this group of people fighting back.

"Natasha Ginsberg."

Melanie stood. "Natasha Ginsberg, age sixty-one. A lesbian, out walking her dog, stabbed to death. Killer still at large."

Brian looked again at Justin, watched the young man square his shoulders suddenly, saw the sigh before it passed his lips.

It came out as a resentful sort of exhalation. "Justin Taylor."

Brian tensed, blinking a little, feeling his pulse speed up suddenly. His hands came up to rub together, the sense memory of dried blood suddenly vivid. Again, he could see Justin in his mind's eye, limp on the cold cement, lifeless and bleeding in his arms.

Jennifer stood now, a sign picturing Justin's brilliant smile before prom. "Justin Taylor, my beautiful gay son. Attacked at his prom, left for dead." Brian shuddered. He didn't want to think about that last word, even still. "Police reported it as a simple assault instead of a hate crime, which it was." He clenched his jaw, refusing to let his mind conjure up the sound of wood cracking into bone, the thud of Justin's body against the pavement, the red marring the boy's beautiful face, the cold fear in the pit of his stomach. "His attacker got off with community service."

Brian shifted, tried to shake off the guilt and fear that always surrounded him when the bashing was brought up. He tried to hide that he was affected, so Stockwell couldn't see.

Stockwell stared in his direction, but Brian did nothing. He couldn't, not when he was reminded of the incompetence of this person and the people at his command when it came to Justin's attack.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank these concerned citizens for reminding me of the violence that threatens and sometimes claims the lives of members of this community. However, the vast majority of violent crimes are solved and the criminals apprehended."

Brian only half listened to Debbie's rant about Jason Kemp. He was too busy watching Justin. Justin's body was tenser than it had been before. His arms were kept at angles at his hips or crossed in front of his body. He could see Justin's legs tense and release, unconsciously readying to run. But Justin stood his ground and straightened up. As Stockwell began to leave the stage, Justin turned in Brian's direction and smiled a little. Brian stifled his answering smirk, though he knew that Justin saw the small lip crick. He turned back and faced Stockwell's stare with dignity, staring right back.

Brian sighed, trying to release the tension within his body. He glanced at Justin, saw him smile a little wider. It relaxed him just a bit, and he was able to follow Stockwell out the door without clocking the politician for letting his Sunshine down. But driving back to the office, readying for Stockwell to bitch and moan about the GLC catastrophe, Brian's mind was again drawn to Justin's little showdown.

Again he pictured the smile in Justin's photo, the smile he could remember staring down at as they danced. He remembered Justin's grin, the twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes as he walked away with Brian's white scarf around his neck. He remembered the cold fear scratching at his belly, the terror that was stuck inside his chest as he held Justin's bleeding body. He remembered the smile before it was struck down. Something clenched in his heart as he realized what Justin had been trying to tell him. He wasn't going to get more from helping this politician. He might get more money, sure, but that was all. Because helping Stockwell meant helping the bashers, helping people like Hobbes, it meant supporting the people that had nearly killed Justin, the people that had left him for dead, the people that let Hobbes off on a count much too minor for his crime. It meant letting Justin down. And he wasn't going to do that, not again.