Another rushed update
I'm jumping from one written project to the other: Part 5, headers and disclaimer here. Summary: Nine Months After... Spoilers for all the QAF-Seasons!
Short info before reading this: Dipidolor (I know that this is not the way it's spelled, but I have searched long for its correct spelling and couldn't find it - sorry) is a a very strong opioid which was given to my older brother when has lungs had had little holes and the pain became too much. It's both a medicine that soothes pain and sends you to sleep, but it can get dangerous if not used by people who know what they're doing. It can also be addicting and help against not physical, but psychical pain. In other words, it's fucking strong and NOBODY should use it outside a hospital room, but sometimes pain can grow too painful... (I'm not an expert for it though, so you better not use this information for your doctorate ;))
I told you everything
Opened up and let you in
You made me feel alright for once in my life
Now all that’s left of me
Is what I pretend to be
So together but so broken up inside
Cause I can’t breathe
No I can’t sleep
I’m barely hanging on
“…SO TAKE THE SHIT YOU CALL RESEARCH AND GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT OF MY OFFICE!”
Cynthia stared at her boss hurt. Yeah, Brian could get pretty loud and rough, even on her, and she could handle the shouting and the emotional outbursts, but he had never, ever said before that her work was for shit.
Well, everyone’s cherry needed to be popped some time.
But still, it had hurt to see him tossing her folder onto the ground and all the laboriously collected, written and arranged material flying around, covering his office’s floor with white paper.
Brian had burrowed his face in his palms and his thumbs had started rubbing his temples. Cynthia knew that face; it meant: You better get away, because Brian’s this near to either having a breakdown or a fit.
But that rule didn’t apply to her - she was Cynthia, after all, and not some guy from the art department. So she just collected every single piece of paper silently, put it back where it belonged and placed the folder gently on Brian’s desk. Cynthia knew herself, and she knew Brian. She knew that her work was as flawless as always and she knew that Brian merely was an irritable wreck in the inside and that the real reason behind his complains about her research was Justin Taylor, or the lack thereof. She knew that Brian was all but alright right now.
So Cynthia let it slip, as every friend should and although one may not consider her one of Brian Kinney’s friends, she still had been his loyal secretary for many years and, having had her heart broken herself a few times, understood that her boss didn’t need a nagging bitch at work right now. So she left the office, leaving him alone his face still hidden in his hands.
As she was about to close the door, his voice held her back.
“Cynthia.”
She knew that voice and turned around slowly. Brian’s gaze was burning holes into her face (he was one of the few male individuals who never stared at her tits but always into her eyes - go figure).
“Take the afternoon off.”
Cynthia only nodded in reply and left the office. The last thing she saw was Brian leaning back into his chair, throwing his head back exhaustedly and closing these beautiful hazel eyes. Dark shadows were caught under his lids and his face looked oddly sunken. She would have to check on him tomorrow and then maybe even talk him into go seeing a doctor. But for now, Cynthia just left.
She was smart and had learned to accept Brian Kinney’s silent apologies, especially if it meant a free day.
On her way out, she stopped at Ted’s small office. The accountant was at the very moment - accounting. Go figure for the second time as she knocked and stuck her head into the room:
“Ted, will you please make sure that Brian doesn’t work all night?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Ted never even looked away from his screen and Cynthia chuckled. She had never seen someone who was so happy about counting numbers.
***
“Brian? You still in here?”
Ted carefully opened his boss’s and friend’s office door. Considering the burning lights that could be seen through the glass, it had been a dumb question to ask, but after no one had answered to him knocking, it seemed like the right thing to ask.
Brian wasn’t at his desk, nor was he sitting on his snowwhite couch, nor was he pacing up and down the room.
Ted couldn’t believe it. Brian never went home before eight and mostly stayed at least until ten, then only stopped briefly at the loft to shower and change into some club clothes and headed straight away to Babylon. He was the most devoted customer of the club, that was for sure.
“Brian?”, Ted called again, but the only answer he got was an all-too familiar sound from the office’s bathroom he had wished he would have never to hear again.
It was Brian vomiting.
Ted had already taken the first two steps into the direction of the bathroom when he thought better of it and instead grabbed a carafe of water from the small coffeetable and poured it contains into a glass. It had become a routine of theirs back in "cancer-days" as he’d like, or rather didn’t like, to call them.
When Brian returned from the bathroom, Ted was shocked to see that he looked like the living death: Dark circles under his eyes, a haggard face and his eyes a pair of black abysses. Not another tumour, please, not another tumour, he just got cancer-free a year ago, please not another tumour!
While Brian grabbed the glass from Ted with shaking hands wordlessly, the accountant couldn’t help but speak:
“Are… are you… alright?”, he asked tentivately, just in case that something wasn’t “alright” - besides Justin leaving, of course.
Brian threw him an empty look, placed the glass back onto the coffeetable with a soft clink! And then went back to his desk, sitting down in front of his computer again.
“Brian?”, Ted asked again while following him. Something was awfully wrong.
“Yes, Theodore?”
Brian, propping his chin onto his folded hands looked up at him intensely as if nothing had happened. Ted stared at him bewildered and slightly panicked.
“Are you alright?”
Brian waited a few seconds, then shrugged.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why wouldn’t you-- Jesus Christ Brian, you just vomitted into your toilet!”
“I’m healthy, thanks for you concern.”
“Well, it definitely didn’t sound that way.”
Another shrug.
“Whatever.”
Ted couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Brian. If something is wrong, you…”
“Theodore!”, Brian suddenly snapped, “keep your fucking nose out of my business!”
Ted knew that scam and how to react to it: Be persistent.
“If you’re drugged or drunk in the office, that is my business, Brian--“
“Fuck you, Theodore! I’m not drunk or drugged!”
“Well, if you’re neither drugged or drunk nor ill then why did you vomit?”
Brian looked at him angrily and Ted couldn’t help but smirk. He so rarely won against Brian when it came to their repartee.
“If you need to know, I have a slight cold.”
Ted lifted furrowed his brow and looked Brian up and down, just noticing now that his friend wore the loose coat again - also a thing he had done during the cancer-period. Then something else suddenly caught his eyes right in front of Brian’s keyboard, halfway hidden behind the screen.
His eyes widened as he realised what it was and made a quick grab for it, which Brian couldn’t prevent from reaching its goal.
Brian groaned annoyed as Ted almost shoved the packet of dipidolor into his friend’s face:
“You do realise that this dipidolor, right?”
“Yes, Theodore, I am quite capable of reading, thank you.”
But Ted was too upset to play any of Brian’s games.
“You DO realise that this is strong opioid?!”
Brian didn’t show any sign of reaction and Ted sighed frustrated.
“Brian, fuck, if you’re having any problems, go see a doctor!”
A tongue-in-cheek-smirk. At least one familiar thing.
“I did. He gave fabulous head and was delighted to provide me with this.”
“BRIAN! Fuck! This shit is dangerous! You can… get addicted and… shit, I don’t even wanna think about it!”
Suddenly Brian was on his feet and had ripped the packet away from Ted’s hands. “Then don’t”, he said calmly and dropped it into his briefcase, seemingly wanting to leave, but Ted blocked his way out, acting braver than he actually felt.
“Okay, that’s it. Give me the fucking shit, Brian.”
Brian looked at him incrediously, then he laughed.
“Why, Theodore. Growing balls at last, after fourty years. Who would have guessed.”
“This is not funny, Brian. Give it to me.”
“Bad idea. Your drug-counselour at home wouldn’t want you to run around with addicting medicine.”
Playing the Blake- and the card of his former addiction wasn’t fair.
“I won’t let you leave until I have it in my hands.”
Brian closed his eyes, then placed his briefcase onto the desk, opened it again and took out the opioid. When he opened his lids again and looked at his friend, he was serious, sober and almost fearful:
“I can’t sleep, Ted.”
“Oh, so you’re becoming an addict?!”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Ted, I’m not an addict!”, Brian barked, “I’m in fucking control of myself, unlike you.”
Ted looked hurt, but he shut up knowing that Brian would continue to talk if he let him now.
“I don’t need a lot more than a single drop, Ted. I talked it over with my doctor and it’s safe as long as I don’t loose it.”
“But why?”
A long silence filled the room and then Brian answered and his voice sounded exactly the same way as the time he had told Ted about his parents:
“If I don’t take it, I can’t sleep, I dream and my body hurts like a motherfucker in every place you can think of even though I didn’t do anything at all.”
Ted gaped at Brian. Too vulnerable for Brian fucking Kinney, this had to stop!
“But it’s turning you into a vomiting mess!”
Brian shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter now anymore”, he simply replied and placed the medicine into Ted’s hand before walking past him to his door. “Would you be so kind to shut off the lights, Theodore?”
Ted looked at him, totally lost. Brian had never made any sense to him, but now it was even worse.
“What about you? I mean… do you have any sleeping pills or… or…?”
Brian only waved the question away gracefully.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fabulous.”
Being at a total loss for words, Ted only nodded.
“You look tired, though”, Brian remarked, and it would have been funny coming from the living death hadn’t the situation been so serious, “maybe you better stay home tomorrow and make Blake and yourself a nice weekend. Travel. Fuck. Have a good time.”
Ted could do nothing but stare at his friend in awe as Brian smiled one last time and then left the office. He didn’t know how someone could be so fucking strong. He didn’t know how Brian could just throw away the one thing which allowed him to sleep peacefully and painless for a few hours.
And he didn’t know whether or not he should call Justin and beg him to come back, at least for one single fucking night, so that he could stop watching his friend falling apart from the inside.
Short info before reading this: Dipidolor (I know that this is not the way it's spelled, but I have searched long for its correct spelling and couldn't find it - sorry) is a a very strong opioid which was given to my older brother when has lungs had had little holes and the pain became too much. It's both a medicine that soothes pain and sends you to sleep, but it can get dangerous if not used by people who know what they're doing. It can also be addicting and help against not physical, but psychical pain. In other words, it's fucking strong and NOBODY should use it outside a hospital room, but sometimes pain can grow too painful... (I'm not an expert for it though, so you better not use this information for your doctorate ;))
I told you everything
Opened up and let you in
You made me feel alright for once in my life
Now all that’s left of me
Is what I pretend to be
So together but so broken up inside
Cause I can’t breathe
No I can’t sleep
I’m barely hanging on
“…SO TAKE THE SHIT YOU CALL RESEARCH AND GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT OF MY OFFICE!”
Cynthia stared at her boss hurt. Yeah, Brian could get pretty loud and rough, even on her, and she could handle the shouting and the emotional outbursts, but he had never, ever said before that her work was for shit.
Well, everyone’s cherry needed to be popped some time.
But still, it had hurt to see him tossing her folder onto the ground and all the laboriously collected, written and arranged material flying around, covering his office’s floor with white paper.
Brian had burrowed his face in his palms and his thumbs had started rubbing his temples. Cynthia knew that face; it meant: You better get away, because Brian’s this near to either having a breakdown or a fit.
But that rule didn’t apply to her - she was Cynthia, after all, and not some guy from the art department. So she just collected every single piece of paper silently, put it back where it belonged and placed the folder gently on Brian’s desk. Cynthia knew herself, and she knew Brian. She knew that her work was as flawless as always and she knew that Brian merely was an irritable wreck in the inside and that the real reason behind his complains about her research was Justin Taylor, or the lack thereof. She knew that Brian was all but alright right now.
So Cynthia let it slip, as every friend should and although one may not consider her one of Brian Kinney’s friends, she still had been his loyal secretary for many years and, having had her heart broken herself a few times, understood that her boss didn’t need a nagging bitch at work right now. So she left the office, leaving him alone his face still hidden in his hands.
As she was about to close the door, his voice held her back.
“Cynthia.”
She knew that voice and turned around slowly. Brian’s gaze was burning holes into her face (he was one of the few male individuals who never stared at her tits but always into her eyes - go figure).
“Take the afternoon off.”
Cynthia only nodded in reply and left the office. The last thing she saw was Brian leaning back into his chair, throwing his head back exhaustedly and closing these beautiful hazel eyes. Dark shadows were caught under his lids and his face looked oddly sunken. She would have to check on him tomorrow and then maybe even talk him into go seeing a doctor. But for now, Cynthia just left.
She was smart and had learned to accept Brian Kinney’s silent apologies, especially if it meant a free day.
On her way out, she stopped at Ted’s small office. The accountant was at the very moment - accounting. Go figure for the second time as she knocked and stuck her head into the room:
“Ted, will you please make sure that Brian doesn’t work all night?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Ted never even looked away from his screen and Cynthia chuckled. She had never seen someone who was so happy about counting numbers.
***
“Brian? You still in here?”
Ted carefully opened his boss’s and friend’s office door. Considering the burning lights that could be seen through the glass, it had been a dumb question to ask, but after no one had answered to him knocking, it seemed like the right thing to ask.
Brian wasn’t at his desk, nor was he sitting on his snowwhite couch, nor was he pacing up and down the room.
Ted couldn’t believe it. Brian never went home before eight and mostly stayed at least until ten, then only stopped briefly at the loft to shower and change into some club clothes and headed straight away to Babylon. He was the most devoted customer of the club, that was for sure.
“Brian?”, Ted called again, but the only answer he got was an all-too familiar sound from the office’s bathroom he had wished he would have never to hear again.
It was Brian vomiting.
Ted had already taken the first two steps into the direction of the bathroom when he thought better of it and instead grabbed a carafe of water from the small coffeetable and poured it contains into a glass. It had become a routine of theirs back in "cancer-days" as he’d like, or rather didn’t like, to call them.
When Brian returned from the bathroom, Ted was shocked to see that he looked like the living death: Dark circles under his eyes, a haggard face and his eyes a pair of black abysses. Not another tumour, please, not another tumour, he just got cancer-free a year ago, please not another tumour!
While Brian grabbed the glass from Ted with shaking hands wordlessly, the accountant couldn’t help but speak:
“Are… are you… alright?”, he asked tentivately, just in case that something wasn’t “alright” - besides Justin leaving, of course.
Brian threw him an empty look, placed the glass back onto the coffeetable with a soft clink! And then went back to his desk, sitting down in front of his computer again.
“Brian?”, Ted asked again while following him. Something was awfully wrong.
“Yes, Theodore?”
Brian, propping his chin onto his folded hands looked up at him intensely as if nothing had happened. Ted stared at him bewildered and slightly panicked.
“Are you alright?”
Brian waited a few seconds, then shrugged.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why wouldn’t you-- Jesus Christ Brian, you just vomitted into your toilet!”
“I’m healthy, thanks for you concern.”
“Well, it definitely didn’t sound that way.”
Another shrug.
“Whatever.”
Ted couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Brian. If something is wrong, you…”
“Theodore!”, Brian suddenly snapped, “keep your fucking nose out of my business!”
Ted knew that scam and how to react to it: Be persistent.
“If you’re drugged or drunk in the office, that is my business, Brian--“
“Fuck you, Theodore! I’m not drunk or drugged!”
“Well, if you’re neither drugged or drunk nor ill then why did you vomit?”
Brian looked at him angrily and Ted couldn’t help but smirk. He so rarely won against Brian when it came to their repartee.
“If you need to know, I have a slight cold.”
Ted lifted furrowed his brow and looked Brian up and down, just noticing now that his friend wore the loose coat again - also a thing he had done during the cancer-period. Then something else suddenly caught his eyes right in front of Brian’s keyboard, halfway hidden behind the screen.
His eyes widened as he realised what it was and made a quick grab for it, which Brian couldn’t prevent from reaching its goal.
Brian groaned annoyed as Ted almost shoved the packet of dipidolor into his friend’s face:
“You do realise that this dipidolor, right?”
“Yes, Theodore, I am quite capable of reading, thank you.”
But Ted was too upset to play any of Brian’s games.
“You DO realise that this is strong opioid?!”
Brian didn’t show any sign of reaction and Ted sighed frustrated.
“Brian, fuck, if you’re having any problems, go see a doctor!”
A tongue-in-cheek-smirk. At least one familiar thing.
“I did. He gave fabulous head and was delighted to provide me with this.”
“BRIAN! Fuck! This shit is dangerous! You can… get addicted and… shit, I don’t even wanna think about it!”
Suddenly Brian was on his feet and had ripped the packet away from Ted’s hands. “Then don’t”, he said calmly and dropped it into his briefcase, seemingly wanting to leave, but Ted blocked his way out, acting braver than he actually felt.
“Okay, that’s it. Give me the fucking shit, Brian.”
Brian looked at him incrediously, then he laughed.
“Why, Theodore. Growing balls at last, after fourty years. Who would have guessed.”
“This is not funny, Brian. Give it to me.”
“Bad idea. Your drug-counselour at home wouldn’t want you to run around with addicting medicine.”
Playing the Blake- and the card of his former addiction wasn’t fair.
“I won’t let you leave until I have it in my hands.”
Brian closed his eyes, then placed his briefcase onto the desk, opened it again and took out the opioid. When he opened his lids again and looked at his friend, he was serious, sober and almost fearful:
“I can’t sleep, Ted.”
“Oh, so you’re becoming an addict?!”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Ted, I’m not an addict!”, Brian barked, “I’m in fucking control of myself, unlike you.”
Ted looked hurt, but he shut up knowing that Brian would continue to talk if he let him now.
“I don’t need a lot more than a single drop, Ted. I talked it over with my doctor and it’s safe as long as I don’t loose it.”
“But why?”
A long silence filled the room and then Brian answered and his voice sounded exactly the same way as the time he had told Ted about his parents:
“If I don’t take it, I can’t sleep, I dream and my body hurts like a motherfucker in every place you can think of even though I didn’t do anything at all.”
Ted gaped at Brian. Too vulnerable for Brian fucking Kinney, this had to stop!
“But it’s turning you into a vomiting mess!”
Brian shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter now anymore”, he simply replied and placed the medicine into Ted’s hand before walking past him to his door. “Would you be so kind to shut off the lights, Theodore?”
Ted looked at him, totally lost. Brian had never made any sense to him, but now it was even worse.
“What about you? I mean… do you have any sleeping pills or… or…?”
Brian only waved the question away gracefully.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fabulous.”
Being at a total loss for words, Ted only nodded.
“You look tired, though”, Brian remarked, and it would have been funny coming from the living death hadn’t the situation been so serious, “maybe you better stay home tomorrow and make Blake and yourself a nice weekend. Travel. Fuck. Have a good time.”
Ted could do nothing but stare at his friend in awe as Brian smiled one last time and then left the office. He didn’t know how someone could be so fucking strong. He didn’t know how Brian could just throw away the one thing which allowed him to sleep peacefully and painless for a few hours.
And he didn’t know whether or not he should call Justin and beg him to come back, at least for one single fucking night, so that he could stop watching his friend falling apart from the inside.