Fic: QAF "Back to the Beginning" (2/9)
Title: Back to the Beginning (2/9)
Fandom: QAF
Rating: G (for now)
Summary: Michael finds out about Brian's news, and has to tell Justin.
Disclaimer: If only it belonged to me. Alas.
Earlier installments: One
Three o’clock is when business begins to pick up at the comic book store. Schools release their inmates and suddenly Michael’s hip-deep in ten year olds. While he’s ringing up Marvel’s latest issues of Spiderman and The Incredible Hulk for a redheaded kid nearly as tall as the countertop, his phone began vibrating. “See ya next week” was the kid’s parting shot as Michael flipped open the cellphone and saw the number for Kinnetik.
“Hey, Brian, how’d the presentation go?” he asked enthusiastically. Michael remembered today was one of the High Holy Days for Brian’s agency: the pitch for a new campaign, and this one could take Brian to the Caribbean if he landed the account. He took a couple of wadded up dollars from a boy clutching Captain America to his chest, and his head jerked up as he heard something, or rather someone, he didn’t expect. Cynthia.
“The presentation went fine, but Brian’s not.” In bullet points, she gave him the details of Claire’s call, and Brian’s reaction to the news. Michael gulped, and stared into space, ignoring the next customer who wanted to pay for the latest Iron Man. The obvious popped into his head five seconds later.
“Have you called Justin?”
“No. I called you.” Cynthia’s ruthless efficiency had prevailed again. She knew she could solve all her problems with one phone call to Michael, and besides, a sixth sense told her he was the man to call. What could Justin do from New York? “You can tell Justin.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
++++++++++++
Three customers and one locked door reading “Closed for family emergency” later, Michael was on his way toward the converted bathhouse. As he got closer to his destination, his mind played through all the conversations he’d had with Joan Kinney, and the terror he’d felt the first few times he met her, a terror soon replaced by distaste. So unlike his own mother: no offers of food after school, no warm hugs to crush the life out of him, telling him he was loved. And how she talked to Brian! Small wonder that Brian had practically moved into the Novotny home by age fourteen, with the parents he had. A rapid shake of his head and ghosts of his younger self disappeared, leaving Michael wondering what he could do for Brian that might help. Nothing really would, he knew that. But he’d have to try.
He flipped open his cellphone, and speed-dialed the one person he knew living in New York City. Michael was almost hoping he’d get Justin’s voicemail, because he had no clue what to say. Unlucky for him, Justin answered on the third ring. He sounded a little out of breath. “Michael, hey. What’s up?” The upbeat, happy sound of his voice at a time like this almost made Michael want to throw the phone into a brick wall. Like that would do any good!
“It’s Brian. He just got some news that…Justin, his mom’s dead.” Michael wasn’t sure what else he could say, and the converted bathhouse was nearly in sight ahead of him.
All the cheeriness seemed to have evaporated at the other end of the line. “How is he? Is he okay?” Suddenly feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of him, Justin wasn’t sure what to think, but if his own mother had died, he knew he’d be a freaked-out basket case. He’d never seen that kind of emotion from Brian, though. Not in all the years he’d known him. So who knew how the master of cool detachment would be reacting?
“I don’t know. I’m on my way to Kinnetik, in fact, just got here. I’ll know better once I’ve seen him.” Michael paused outside the office doors, wanting Justin to say the words, to get them out so he would know what he could tell Brian. But Michael couldn’t bring himself to ask. It wasn’t his place, and Brian had made it crystal clear that he wasn’t to interfere when it came to anything about Justin. He just stood there, leaning against the door for a moment, willing Justin to do it. To come home.
“I’ll be there tonight. I’m leaving now.” And something inside Michael’s chest unclenched, something he hadn’t even known was wound up taut and anxious. Only now did his mind consider what it would be like if Justin hadn’t come home. If he’d said he was staying in New York and what-the-fuck-business was it of his if Brian’s mother died?
“You can stay with Ben and me if you need a place, or Mom has room. If you need it.” Michael’s words came out automatically, not really thinking about Justin anymore, now that he knew that the younger man would show up, be around if Brian needed him. Correction: that’s when Brian needs him.
“Thanks, Michael. I’ll let you know. ‘Bye.” Justin cut the connection, and Michael stuffed the silent phone back into his coat pocket, the cold February wind cutting through him to the bone. Christ, what a time for a funeral. Just like when we buried Brian’s dad.
Shaking his head, Michael pulled open the front doors and entered the glass and steel fortress that Brian had erected, passing desks and people on his way to Brian’s office. He saw Ted out of the corner of his eye, but a glance between them told him that Teddy already knew and also knew why Michael was here in the middle of a work day. Because Brian needed him.
He rounded the wall of glass cubes that separated the main hall from the large open space of Brian’s office, and saw Brian at his desk, hunched over a stack of papers and leafing through them looking for something. Michael’s approach slowed, and he walked towards his friend, surprised and yet not surprised that he’d gone back to work after what Cynthia had told him.
Brian’s head jerked up when he realized someone else was in the room, but the raised eyebrows lowered and a cynical twist came to his lips as he bit out, “I’m gonna fire Cynthia ten seconds after you leave. Go back to work, Michael.” The words came out harshly, near bitter, and even if Michael hadn’t known what to expect, this was par for the course. Or par for the Brian Kinney he knew, at least.
Michael reached the desk and circled it, determined not to let Brian keep it between them. And he decided that two could play this game; after all, it was probably what Brian wanted most. “And you’d be out of business in two weeks. You know she’d do anything to make Kinnetik a success. She called me because she’s concerned about you.”
“Bullshit! Cynthia called because she knew you’d come on the run to pick up the pieces after my not-so-imminent nervous breakdown. Sorry to disappoint you, Mikey, but I’m glad she’s dead. And you know all the reasons why.” Brian’s anger made his cheeks flare red for an instant, then the dull flush passed down to his throat. He reached for a cigarette and his lighter, a flame reaching up to engulf the tip while Brian took a drag on it, the smoke puffing out once he released it from his mouth. The cigarette dangled from his fingertips while he looked at Michael, still angry but not saying anything else. He knew Michael wouldn’t let it alone.
For once, Michael didn’t hit him with a comeback. He stood there, cocked his head to one side, looking at his best friend, waiting for Brian to go on. Michael recognized the warning signs of Brian about to go ballistic, and he could take it, if that’s what Brian needed most.
Brian leaned back in the chair, taking another long pull on the cigarette, and two deep lines appeared in his forehead as he repeated, “Go back to work, Michael. If you really want to help, you can come over to the house after 6. There’ll be plenty of shit to do then. That fucking bitch….” The words trailed off, as he flicked the cigarette's ash into the tray.
Michael stood there, confused for a moment. “Isn’t Claire….” He’d half expected to hear that Brian intended to leave all the arrangements to his sister. Now it sounded as if Brian had some kind of obligation.
“Remember how she was when Jack died? Multiply by three and she’s already there. Christ.” Brian rolled his eyes in disgust and stubbed out the cigarette in the tray before he looked hard at Michael. Then he added, “Saint Joan’s decided she needs one last shot at martyrdom. She named me as executor of her will.”
“Shit.”
“There’s more. Claire’s beyond pissed, because Joan left everything to me.” Brian sat there, just shaking his head in mute disbelief.
“Double shit. Why….”
The explosion that came from Brian then must’ve been heard throughout the entire office. “How the fucking hell should I know? She was deranged. But Claire’s figuring that means I have to handle it all. As if that would be different from last time.”
Michael walked forward, knelt down beside his friend’s chair, and wrapped him in a half-hug, burying his face into Brian’s shoulder, letting his arms tighten around him. Slowly, Brian’s head leaned over to rest on top of his friend’s, all the fight gone out of him now. Michael said the only thing he could think of. “I’ll be there after I close the shop.” One of Brian’s hands came up to stroke the back of Michael’s head as he stared straight ahead, at nothing.
Three
Fandom: QAF
Rating: G (for now)
Summary: Michael finds out about Brian's news, and has to tell Justin.
Disclaimer: If only it belonged to me. Alas.
Earlier installments: One
Three o’clock is when business begins to pick up at the comic book store. Schools release their inmates and suddenly Michael’s hip-deep in ten year olds. While he’s ringing up Marvel’s latest issues of Spiderman and The Incredible Hulk for a redheaded kid nearly as tall as the countertop, his phone began vibrating. “See ya next week” was the kid’s parting shot as Michael flipped open the cellphone and saw the number for Kinnetik.
“Hey, Brian, how’d the presentation go?” he asked enthusiastically. Michael remembered today was one of the High Holy Days for Brian’s agency: the pitch for a new campaign, and this one could take Brian to the Caribbean if he landed the account. He took a couple of wadded up dollars from a boy clutching Captain America to his chest, and his head jerked up as he heard something, or rather someone, he didn’t expect. Cynthia.
“The presentation went fine, but Brian’s not.” In bullet points, she gave him the details of Claire’s call, and Brian’s reaction to the news. Michael gulped, and stared into space, ignoring the next customer who wanted to pay for the latest Iron Man. The obvious popped into his head five seconds later.
“Have you called Justin?”
“No. I called you.” Cynthia’s ruthless efficiency had prevailed again. She knew she could solve all her problems with one phone call to Michael, and besides, a sixth sense told her he was the man to call. What could Justin do from New York? “You can tell Justin.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
++++++++++++
Three customers and one locked door reading “Closed for family emergency” later, Michael was on his way toward the converted bathhouse. As he got closer to his destination, his mind played through all the conversations he’d had with Joan Kinney, and the terror he’d felt the first few times he met her, a terror soon replaced by distaste. So unlike his own mother: no offers of food after school, no warm hugs to crush the life out of him, telling him he was loved. And how she talked to Brian! Small wonder that Brian had practically moved into the Novotny home by age fourteen, with the parents he had. A rapid shake of his head and ghosts of his younger self disappeared, leaving Michael wondering what he could do for Brian that might help. Nothing really would, he knew that. But he’d have to try.
He flipped open his cellphone, and speed-dialed the one person he knew living in New York City. Michael was almost hoping he’d get Justin’s voicemail, because he had no clue what to say. Unlucky for him, Justin answered on the third ring. He sounded a little out of breath. “Michael, hey. What’s up?” The upbeat, happy sound of his voice at a time like this almost made Michael want to throw the phone into a brick wall. Like that would do any good!
“It’s Brian. He just got some news that…Justin, his mom’s dead.” Michael wasn’t sure what else he could say, and the converted bathhouse was nearly in sight ahead of him.
All the cheeriness seemed to have evaporated at the other end of the line. “How is he? Is he okay?” Suddenly feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of him, Justin wasn’t sure what to think, but if his own mother had died, he knew he’d be a freaked-out basket case. He’d never seen that kind of emotion from Brian, though. Not in all the years he’d known him. So who knew how the master of cool detachment would be reacting?
“I don’t know. I’m on my way to Kinnetik, in fact, just got here. I’ll know better once I’ve seen him.” Michael paused outside the office doors, wanting Justin to say the words, to get them out so he would know what he could tell Brian. But Michael couldn’t bring himself to ask. It wasn’t his place, and Brian had made it crystal clear that he wasn’t to interfere when it came to anything about Justin. He just stood there, leaning against the door for a moment, willing Justin to do it. To come home.
“I’ll be there tonight. I’m leaving now.” And something inside Michael’s chest unclenched, something he hadn’t even known was wound up taut and anxious. Only now did his mind consider what it would be like if Justin hadn’t come home. If he’d said he was staying in New York and what-the-fuck-business was it of his if Brian’s mother died?
“You can stay with Ben and me if you need a place, or Mom has room. If you need it.” Michael’s words came out automatically, not really thinking about Justin anymore, now that he knew that the younger man would show up, be around if Brian needed him. Correction: that’s when Brian needs him.
“Thanks, Michael. I’ll let you know. ‘Bye.” Justin cut the connection, and Michael stuffed the silent phone back into his coat pocket, the cold February wind cutting through him to the bone. Christ, what a time for a funeral. Just like when we buried Brian’s dad.
Shaking his head, Michael pulled open the front doors and entered the glass and steel fortress that Brian had erected, passing desks and people on his way to Brian’s office. He saw Ted out of the corner of his eye, but a glance between them told him that Teddy already knew and also knew why Michael was here in the middle of a work day. Because Brian needed him.
He rounded the wall of glass cubes that separated the main hall from the large open space of Brian’s office, and saw Brian at his desk, hunched over a stack of papers and leafing through them looking for something. Michael’s approach slowed, and he walked towards his friend, surprised and yet not surprised that he’d gone back to work after what Cynthia had told him.
Brian’s head jerked up when he realized someone else was in the room, but the raised eyebrows lowered and a cynical twist came to his lips as he bit out, “I’m gonna fire Cynthia ten seconds after you leave. Go back to work, Michael.” The words came out harshly, near bitter, and even if Michael hadn’t known what to expect, this was par for the course. Or par for the Brian Kinney he knew, at least.
Michael reached the desk and circled it, determined not to let Brian keep it between them. And he decided that two could play this game; after all, it was probably what Brian wanted most. “And you’d be out of business in two weeks. You know she’d do anything to make Kinnetik a success. She called me because she’s concerned about you.”
“Bullshit! Cynthia called because she knew you’d come on the run to pick up the pieces after my not-so-imminent nervous breakdown. Sorry to disappoint you, Mikey, but I’m glad she’s dead. And you know all the reasons why.” Brian’s anger made his cheeks flare red for an instant, then the dull flush passed down to his throat. He reached for a cigarette and his lighter, a flame reaching up to engulf the tip while Brian took a drag on it, the smoke puffing out once he released it from his mouth. The cigarette dangled from his fingertips while he looked at Michael, still angry but not saying anything else. He knew Michael wouldn’t let it alone.
For once, Michael didn’t hit him with a comeback. He stood there, cocked his head to one side, looking at his best friend, waiting for Brian to go on. Michael recognized the warning signs of Brian about to go ballistic, and he could take it, if that’s what Brian needed most.
Brian leaned back in the chair, taking another long pull on the cigarette, and two deep lines appeared in his forehead as he repeated, “Go back to work, Michael. If you really want to help, you can come over to the house after 6. There’ll be plenty of shit to do then. That fucking bitch….” The words trailed off, as he flicked the cigarette's ash into the tray.
Michael stood there, confused for a moment. “Isn’t Claire….” He’d half expected to hear that Brian intended to leave all the arrangements to his sister. Now it sounded as if Brian had some kind of obligation.
“Remember how she was when Jack died? Multiply by three and she’s already there. Christ.” Brian rolled his eyes in disgust and stubbed out the cigarette in the tray before he looked hard at Michael. Then he added, “Saint Joan’s decided she needs one last shot at martyrdom. She named me as executor of her will.”
“Shit.”
“There’s more. Claire’s beyond pissed, because Joan left everything to me.” Brian sat there, just shaking his head in mute disbelief.
“Double shit. Why….”
The explosion that came from Brian then must’ve been heard throughout the entire office. “How the fucking hell should I know? She was deranged. But Claire’s figuring that means I have to handle it all. As if that would be different from last time.”
Michael walked forward, knelt down beside his friend’s chair, and wrapped him in a half-hug, burying his face into Brian’s shoulder, letting his arms tighten around him. Slowly, Brian’s head leaned over to rest on top of his friend’s, all the fight gone out of him now. Michael said the only thing he could think of. “I’ll be there after I close the shop.” One of Brian’s hands came up to stroke the back of Michael’s head as he stared straight ahead, at nothing.
Three