Parce Mihi Domine Chapter 2

[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.
 

Brian awoke the next morning to sunlight blinding him. His head was pounding. He felt something silky brush his arm, his neck. He looked down. A bloodstained white scarf. The past three days came rushing back, slamming into his head and he screamed, a rough, throat-searing scream of despair, and curled into the fetal position, burying himself under the sheets. He felt tears threaten to take over and swallowed them down along with the lump that had formed in his throat. Fuck. He tensed every muscle until it burned, then released them and tossed off the sheets. Once again, he folded the bloodied scarf reverently and placed it at the foot of the bed before stepping into the shower.

He let the shower's heat course over him. What day was it today? He should probably go into work. Yeah. He turned off the water and shaved, trying to concentrate so he wouldn't nick himself. He pulled on his pants, and stopped. The scarf. Justin. He couldn't leave the scarf here. As if in a daze, he picked up the scarf and draped it around his shoulders, smoothing out the cloth so it wouldn't show beneath his shirt. He finished dressing and took a breath, steeling himself for the day ahead.

He stepped outside. Someone (probably Michael) had driven his car from the garage to his building, and it was parked out front. He silently thanked Michael taking the keys with him, knowing there was an extra pair in his front pocket. He got in and turned the car on. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, pulling on a practiced expression of neutrality, then, satisfied that he couldn't be read, peeled out and drove to work.

When he walked into work, Cynthia gave him a look that said "You look like shit, and why haven't you been here in a week?" But she had the decency and intelligence not to ask him aloud. He flung himself down on his chair and pulled the pile of papers on his desk toward him, dreading having to open up the folder on top and work his way down.

He heard Cynthia come in and say something about the newest account being all set up, and to come take a look at what the art department had come up with, she didn't think it was too good, but it was his decision, but he didn't hear her, really. He had been caught off guard by the feel of silk brushing against his neck. He had forgotten he was wearing the scarf. He had frozen mid-reach, everything from the past week rushing back, pain blooming inside him and behind his eyes as if it was a bruise he had accidentally pressed firmly down on. And then somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, a resounding crack of wood on bone echoed, and he flinched and shuddered. Cynthia looked at him strangely, but he waved her away, responding with some vague reply about getting to it in a second, and she left, glancing back at him, her face showing some concern. He put his head in his hands and sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Why did he have to let that silly trick break the fuck-only-once rule? And why did let the kid stay with him? And why did let the hope and optimism and sunshine in his eyes get to him? And why did he get jealous when that kid fucked someone else? And why did he decide to go to Justin's prom for him? Oh, yeah, because he- Wait, what the fuck was he thinking?

Brian groaned, and wished to god a full bottle of JB would conveniently appear on his desk. But it didn't. So he got up and headed out of his office to go take a look at what the art department had served up.

By the end of the day, Brian was itching to get out of his suit and to the clubs to get hospitals and blood and blonde twinks off his mind. He sped home, changed into his hottest Babylon outfit, and went off into the thumpa thumpa to erase his brain.

He danced, eyes closed, losing himself in the music, in the movement, the beat. Men brushed up against him, grinding with him, enticing him. Someone handed him a packet of E and he took it, gladly. Without missing a beat, he threaded through the pulsing crowd to the bar to get as drunk as he possibly could.

With a sufficient amount of drugs in his system, he now made his way to the back room. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he turned, rolling his eyes. Now what?

"What are you doing here?" Emmett's shouted question carried over the music. "Why aren't you at the hospital or something?"

Brian shook off Emmett's hand and turned away. "Fuck off. I'm here because I want to be. I don't have to report to you my every move. Go away." Emmett frowned at him, but went back to dancing with some burly guy anyway.

He brushed through the chain curtain into the back room, making his way through the plastic strips to a corner, where he leaned against a wall and waited. In moments, a few tricks were on top of him, and he allowed them to take away his stress with their mouths.

After an hour or so in the back room, Brian made his way to the Liberty Baths. Thank god they were open all hours. He wandered listlessly into the steam room. He could feel eyes on him as he sat down. Scanning the room, he chose his target.

Less than ten minutes later, he was in a corner of the steam room, his dick buried in some trick's ass, his eyes closed and his body sparking. Suddenly the flashing image of a Sunshine smile being eclipsed by a bat and the sound of wood on bone flickered through his mind.

"Shit." He pulled out, holding his head. Ignoring the trick's protests, he wrapped his towel around himself, hurried out of the steam room, grabbed his clothes and drove.

At first he just drove around. He just felt the need to move, to get somewhere, to get nowhere, to clear his head. Then he found himself on a familiar road to the hospital.

As if being propelled by another entity or something that was entirely not himself, Brian entered the hospital, pressing the buttons on the elevator to Justin's floor in a daze. Before he could stop himself, he was standing at the window of Justin's room, the sickening crack of wood on bone echoing through his brain, unable to look away from the sleeping twink hooked up to all those wires. He stared hard through the glass, as if thought alone could will the boy to wake up, to come out of his coma and light up the world with his sunshine again.

He lost sense of time as he leaned his forehead against the glass, watching Justin sleeping breathing. He lost himself in his mind, trying desperately to think about the King Of Babylon contest, taking Justin, the sunshine smile, Justin with Gus, the art show, anything but the sound of wood on bone. The night nurse tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped.

"Who are you?" She cocked her head at him.

"Brian. I'm a friend-

"Oh! You're the man that saved Justin. Yes, his mother said something about you." Brian shrugged and said nothing. I wouldn't exactly call being in a coma saved, he thought. He turned back to the window. Ignoring the night nurse, he lost himself in thought again. It wasn't until 3:30 AM that he looked at his watch and realized that he should probably get back to the loft. He pried himself away from the glass and trudged out to his car.

It took him a long time to fall asleep that night. He spent most of it shrouded in blue, staring at the ceiling through the smoke of his cigarette, wondering what could have happened if he hadn't gone to that prom.

*****

Brian woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. He called Cynthia.

"I'll be a little late."

"Why don't you just take the whole day off, Bri? You sound like you have one hell of a hangover."

"No. I'm coming in as soon as the elephants stop dancing in my brain." He heard Cynthia's sigh.

"All right. But take some aspirin or something."

"Yes, doctor." He hung up. Groaning, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and shielded his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window. Reluctantly, he took an aspirin as Cynthia had demanded and made himself the strongest pot of coffee he could possibly find. Letting the warm water roll over him, he tried to ignore the pounding in his head. He threw on a random suit over the spoiled scarf, for the first time in his life not even bothering to find the perfect one for the day, downed his coffee, and hurried out to his car.

Driving to work was a nightmare. Driving hung over was one thing, he had done it many times. But driving hung over while the reason for being hung over was still firmly lodged in his head, well that was something else. Something he had never done before. After what seemed like forever, he got to work. Barely acknowledging Cynthia's presence, he sat down at his desk and buried himself in his work, keeping busy so he wouldn't have to think about blonde hair and bright smiles and blood.

Cynthia seemed to notice Brian's glassed eyes and that he was repeatedly running his hands over his face, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, things he only did when he was worried or stressed. Throughout the day, he continued to blow off her questions about whether he was okay and if he'd like to go home. Finally, it was the end of the day and she was gone. He worked for as much longer as he possibly could before heading home.

He got in his car and relaxed at the thought of going off to Babylon and getting his rocks off, losing himself in the sex and the music and the drugs. And ignoring his stupid friends. Now that Michael was gone, the others seemed to think it was now their job to worry about him and keep an eye on him. He didn't need a baby sitter. Christ.

His thoughts were too loud and annoying for him to deal with right now. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over and flicked on the radio. The notes of an all too familiar song reached his ears.

"Shit!" He turned off the radio and punched the dashboard as hard as he could. "Fuck!" Now he really needed to go to Babylon, get drunk, and get rid of this pain in his hea- hand.

He unlocked the door and stepped into the loft, walking over to the table and poking the blinking button to listen to his phone messages as he peeled off his clothes to change for Babylon.

Beep. "Brian. It's Ted. Just calling to make sure you're okay. Emmett wanted to make sure. And I haven't seen you hardly. Call me back when you get this. Bye."

Beep. "Brian, it's Lindsay. Just calling to make sure you're o-" Brian pressed Erase All before her voice could continue. He sighed, rolling his eyes. Why did everyone want to fucking check up on him? He was fine, except when a certain Sunshine smile popped into his head. Leaving his cell phone off and sitting on the counter, he left the building to go to Babylon and dance away the night.

This time, he actually got all the way through fucking some trick before Justin came to his mind. At the thought of his body on the cold floor of the garage, he headed over to the bar and got drunk. Somehow, he managed to drive correctly and made his way out of the club to the hospital (not of his body's accord) without getting in an accident or pulled over.

He found himself staring through the glass at the blonde boy in the hospital bed. The stupid machines and his paleness made Justin look small and helpless. Again he wondered whether this would have happened if he hadn't gone to the prom and danced with Justin. Again he decided firmly that it was his fault. Again he wanted to kill the motherfucking kid who had done this to Sunshine, and drown himself in whatever he could find for going to his stupid prom and causing this to happen.

"Oh, you're back." The night nurse had shuffled in behind him. He merely nodded. She seemed to have realized that he didn't really want to talk. But for some reason today she pressed on. "He still hasn't come out of his coma yet. His mother told me the guy who hit him is going to go on trial next month. I'm not really supposed to tell people my political opinions, but I hope to hell that jackass is put away."

"Yeah." Brian replied, so softly the night nurse barely heard it. He decided he heard enough jabbering for the night, and fuck if it wasn't his fault Justin was here in the first place. He turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the hospital, leaving the night nurse to stare after him, wondering if she'd said something wrong.

He drove home, one hand on the wheel, the other by his neck, rubbing the silk scarf between his thumb and forefinger. He watched an ambulance fly by in the direction of the hospital, and could see in his mind's eye the paramedics working frantically on Justin as they rushed to safety and help. He shook his head, but the vision stayed.

He knew he would get to sleep late tonight.