Apologies in Advance
Just kind of dabbling with a new story here--unrelated to any other universe. It's Justin/OMC with Brian re-entering the picture after an absence. It's unfinished, and I have to admit, I'm not sure which way it's going to go!!
For all three of you whom I haven't scared away--enjoy!
The One Where Justin's With Another Guy, and Brian Interferes
When Brian Kinney glanced out of the conference room door just as he and Bill McGinty were getting ready to sign a contract, the last thing he expected to see was Justin Taylor walking by. Brian would have been less surprised to find his dead father tap dancing on the stage at Babylon.
Brian jumped up out of his seat and stuck his head out into the hall. "Hey!" Brian called, stopping Justin in his tracks. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Justin turned and gaped at Brian, eyes wide, mouth hung open. "Brian?!"
"Is there a problem?" Bill asked, coming up behind Brian.
"No," Brian said shortly. "I'm just surprised to run into Mr. Taylor here. He was an intern at Vanguard when I was there."
"Yes, I'm aware of that," Bill said. "I didn't think it would be an issue of any kind, given..."
"It's not," Brian said quickly, softening his tone, aware that Justin's reaction was wavering between rage and panic that Brian was going to interfere with his position. "Like I said, I'm...surprised."
An awkward silence followed until Bill gruffly cleared his throat and said, "Well, I'll, uh...return a few phone calls then. Let you two...talk."
"Why aren't you in New York?" Brian demanded. "Why aren't you in school?"
"I am in school," Justin said coolly. "I work at McGinty & Schiff part-time."
"You're commuting to the Pitts for a part-time job?" Brian asked incredulously.
"The New York Art Institute was your idea, Brian, not mine. I never had any intention of going there. I'm majoring in art & design at Carnegie Mellon."
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Brian never thought twice about following Justin home. Home turned out to be a rather impressive house in the upscale suburb of Mount Claire. Brian was surprised when Justin's car--a two-door Saturn that looked to be a few years old-took the Mount Claire exit instead of heading east toward the university district.
"Why didn't you call me to tell me you weren't going to New York?" Brian said the second he stepped out of his car.
Struggling to open the front door, Justin dropped his keys and turned to face Brian, his face red with outrage. "Jesus, are you fucking brain damaged?" Justin yelled. "Where do you get off fucking even thinking that?"
Brian rolled his eyes are Justin's indignation. "Since when have you been so fucking literal about anything I say? Stop acting like I'm being unreasonable to think you would..."
"Fuck you," Justin muttered and pushed the door open. "It's a fucking good thing I wasn't in New York because all this shit went down, and I sure as fuck didn't need to be a thousand miles from home."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"My mom had a car accident in November," Justin said tersely.
"Oh," Brian said, mollified. "So why didn't you call me?"
Justin stared at Brian in stunned disbelief. "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head.
Brian was saved from having to say anything by the slamming of the front door. "Hey J!" came a call as some guy bounded up the stairs without coming into the living room. "Christ, I am so fucking late! Hammie's gonna kill me! You have a good day?"
Justin smiled to himself. "Yeah, it was good!" he called back. "How 'bout you?"
"Totally fucked!" the man shouted. "My triple by-pass is tanking. I told his family he was too weak to risk it. He won't last another week."
"Sorry!" Justin said.
"You hear from that financial guy at CM?"
"Yeah, the loan's approved--everything's gonna work!"
"Excellent! What'd I tell you? Unclog a valve or two and people are more than happy to do you a favor! We're playing at the Y on Cranston. How 'bout I pick up a pizza from Rotolo's?"
"That sounds good."
Justin finally cast a glance at Brian, defiantly lifting his chin in deference to Brian's narrowing eyes.
Pulling a sweatshirt over his head, the disembodied voice jogged into the living room. With his head covered by the sweatshirt, he moved right past Brian so that all Brian caught at first was the back of his head. He had close-cropped, curly hair, brown with some gray mixed in. He was taller than Brian; broad shouldered. He gave Justin an energetic hello kiss then Brian's presence finally registered.
"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry!" he said sheepishly to Brian. "I didn't realize anyone was here." He was in that murky age range-somewhere in his 30's, mid- to late, Brian judged, noting with some satisfaction the lines around his brown eyes. The guy held his hand out to Brian. "Dan Forrester," he said.
"Brian Kinney," Brian said, certain the introduction was unnecessary.
"How are you?" Dan said, the name not registering as familiar. "Sorry I can't stay." He kissed Justin again. "If anyone calls, I left 15 minutes ago, and you heard there was an accident on 279. Traffic's backed up for miles!" Justin gave him an exaggerated look of disapproval, prompting Dan to shrug helplessly. "Last one there has to wear the Jersey of Shame(tm)," he said, his shrug suggesting the reason for lying was self-evident. He swatted Justin on the ass, winked at him and turned to go.
"Good to meet you," Dan said to Brian, and at the same time, Justin called after him, "You're such a liar!"
"Love you too, Precious!" Dan hollered and slammed the front door behind him.
The echoing silence was uncomfortable in such a familiar way that the sense of deja vu practically superimposed an image of the loft over the room in which Brian actually stood. "How cozy," Brian said.
"Don't you say anything," Justin warned, his mood morphing from light and amused to defensive and angry. "Not a fucking thing! Dan is the best person I've ever known, and you can't say one fucking thing about him!"
Brian looked away in irritation. Shaking his head at the whole fucking situation, he finally shrugged and headed for the door. "Whatever," he muttered to himself. Brian stopped with his hand on the door knob and turned to look at Justin over his shoulder. Almost an afterthought, he asked, "Is your mom okay now?"
Justin seemed taken aback by the question, then embarrassed. He flushed and said apologetically, "She died two weeks after the accident."
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Dan got back home with dinner a little before nine. He'd played for shit, thrown more than he anticipated by the site of Brian Kinney in his living room. The room had crackled with energy. It was one thing to hear Justin describe the intensity of his relationship with Brian, but it was another thing altogether to actually witness it.
He stopped in the doorway, enjoying the warmth of seeing Justin at the end of his day. Dan had been nearly two years out of an eight-year relationship when he met Justin, and he'd forgotten how nice it was to come home to someone was waiting for him. He'd forgotten a lot of the simple comforts a steady relationship provided, and he'd spent the last six months eating crow with all the friends to whom he'd insisted he wasn't ever going to tie himself down again. This was nowhere near the amount of crap he took for hooking up with someone so much younger than he. Damn him and his self-righteous opinions anyway.
Justin was sketching in the living room, a box of Pop Tarts, another of oatmeal, and one of rice set out before him on the coffee table. Dan guessed it was something for work.
"Hey," Dan finally said. "Soup's on!"
Justin looked up and smiled. "Hey! How was your game?"
"No one bought the traffic story," Dan said glumly on the way to the kitchen. "I had to wear the Jersey of Shame(tm) and fetch all the out of bounds balls."
"You didn't like being the ball fetcher?" Justin asked sympathetically.
"Don't even start," Dan ordered. "They think it's so funny, making the token homo chase the ball all over the court. It's like playing with a bunch of fifth graders."
"I wouldn't play anymore if they're going to be so mean," Justin said haughtily.
Dan sighed tragically. "And then there's all the emotional turmoil of coming home from work and finding my lover's ex hanging out in the living room. It's hard to play with that kind of trauma going on."
Looking up from where he was loading pizza slices onto a plate, Justin's expression was bemused as he gently scolded, "You didn't have to act like you've never heard his name before."
Dan's grin stretched ear to ear even as he concentrated on filling his own plate. "Yes I did."
Justin shook his head. "Why am I always falling for such mature grown-ups?"
"Have you fallen for me?" Dan asked with exaggerated curiosity, as if this was the first he'd ever heard of it.
"Against my screaming better judgment," Justin said wryly.
On his way to open a bottle of wine, Dan laughed and hooked his arm around Justin's neck, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head. "Why don't you just give up and admit I'm the best thing that ever happened to you?"
After dinner, Dan re-edited the article he'd written for the New England Journal of Medicine. He hoped to present it at a conference in Nassau in March. Please God, give me Nassau in March.
Justin sat on the couch in the office and read a text for his history class. That's where he'd studied for a good month after his mom died. Lately, he'd taken to working in the media room with the stereo blaring and the TV on mute. Dan couldn't understand it. Even as an undergrad, he'd needed absolute silence, the complete absence of distraction to study. That was hardly the case with Justin, who was more apt to study in a bustling coffee shop than the library
When he finished for the night, Dan shut off the computer. He stood in front of the couch and held his hand out to Justin, leading him to the media room. They stretched out together on the couch, Justin lying with his head on Dan's chest. Dan could feel the smile on Justin's face as he listened to the heartbeat beneath his ear. Dan ran his hand through Justin's hair, humming softly along with the CD.
Some time later, Justin hid his face in Dan's shirt and cried quietly for a little while.
Dan wasn't obtuse enough to ask him what was wrong.
Jesus. Poor kid. The hits just kept coming, over and over and over.
Dan had been so sure when he first ran across Justin in a coffee shop near the hospital that he was some run-of-the-mill rich kid from South Hill. He was a pretty kid to be sure-with a killer smile and an ass that went from zero to 60 in less than five seconds. He was worth a tumble just on face value, but Dan had been surprised-and intrigued-at how much more there was to the young man. It became clear very early on that behind the intelligence and quick humor was more than a little heartache.
And that was before Jennifer Taylor's death. But already there had come Justin's estrangement from his father over his coming out; his being bashed in high school; suffering the humiliation of an unexpected end to what Dan understood to be a profound if not volatile affair.
Brian Kinney had been front and center at every one of those dramas. Except the loss of Justin's mother. Dan had been there for that, and it had offered him a glimpse of nearly everything that had come before.
He'd met Craig Taylor at the funeral, finding him remote and barely tolerant of Justin, certainly unsympathetic to Justin's grief. Nightmares of the bashing had followed swiftly on the heels of the funeral and now, right when Justin was starting to gain some equilibrium, Brian Kinney bulldozes his way back onto the scene.
Enough already.
Dan wasn't about to tell Justin everything was okay, so he offered the only truth he had at the moment. "I love you," he whispered. The words made Justin clutch at him harder. When the CD stopped playing, Dan hugged Justin tightly. "Let's go to bed," he said. Justin nodded against his chest but didn't move. Dan chuckled. "Let's go to bed," he tried again.
Justin snickered and rubbed his cheek against Dan's soft T-shirt. "You are, you know," he said in a sleepy voice.
"I am what?"
"The best thing that ever happened to me."
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Across town, sitting at the bar at Woody's, Brian spared another impatient glare at the front door. Fuck-an-A, what he wouldn't give for the old days when Michael was at his fucking beck and call. Still, it was a mere fifteen minutes after Brian had called and said merely, "Get your ass to Woody's now," that Michael walked through the door and sat down next to his best friend.
"I fucked up," Brian said without preamble.
Michael accepted a beer and took a long pull on it. "I'm gonna need more details," he said, grinning at Brian's smirk.
"I ran into Justin today. He's working part time at a graphic arts studio I'm gonna outsource some jobs to."
"Whoa, I thought he was in New York," Michael said.
"You and me both."
"So how'd you fuck up? You didn't, like, refuse to use the company unless they fired him or something, did you?"
"Your faith in my integrity is a beautiful thing," Brian said.
"You're the one who said you fucked up," Michael pointed out. "I'm just trying to move the conversation along."
"I might have...misjudged some things about art school in New York."
"Misjudged," Michael tried the word on for size. "You ordered him to go to school in New York, he refused, you told him to get the fuck out of your life and never darken your doorstep again. You're thinking there was a better way to handle it?"
"Let's just say it didn't go down the way I thought it would."
"What did you think would happen?" Michael asked.
"I thought...he'd get to school, make some friends, get into the classes. Realize I was right about everything."
"Then what?" Michael said. "Beg you to let him come back?"
"No!" Brian said. "That would have happened...naturally."
"That is so fucked," Michael said.
"It had to be his decision! He wouldn't have gone otherwise!"
Michael stared at him open-mouthed. It was almost like he thought Brian wasn't making any sense. "But you didn't let him make a decision! His decision was not to go!"
"He only thought he didn't want to go! A few years down the road he would have resented the lost opportunity and me for taking it away from him." Irritation rose full force again. "He should have figured what I was doing," Brian said.
"Why should he have to?" Michael said in exasperation. Brian rolled his eyes, but then so did Michael. "So what the fuck?" Michael said. "Justin didn't go to New York, and now you're pissed that your master plan tanked?"
Brian sighed and stared morosely at his drink. "I fucked up," he said again. "He never had any intention of going to New York-he enrolled at CM. And that's not the worst of it."
"What's so bad about going to CM?" Michael asked, affronted on Ben's behalf.
"Jennifer Taylor died a couple of months ago. In a car accident."
"She died?" Michael echoed, shocked by the news. "Shit. Two months ago? Jesus. He didn't get in touch with anyone? Didn't he think we'd...I mean, he didn't think we wouldn't..."
"Who the fuck knows what he thought," Brian groused dismissively. "He's playing house with some fucking do-good shithead who doesn't know shit about shit. Fuckin' asshole, acting like he fucking has a right to...fuckin' asshole." Brian shook his head, grimacing at his drink. "Justin didn't even fuckin' call me. You know, fine, he doesn't want my condolences, I still deserve the courtesy of a phone call. Maybe I owe his mother some fucking respect. I mean, Jesus Christ, we traded custody of him back and forth for two fucking years. You get to fuckin' know a person..."
"Well, you know, you did tell him not to...
"I fucking know what I told him, all right?" Brian interrupted. "I don't need a recap! Fuck! This is so fucked!"
Michael sighed. "Jesus. Well, okay, so, what the fuck are you gonna to do now?"
Brian sat up straight on the bar stool and drained the last of the whiskey. "What I always do when I fuck up," he said, slamming the empty glass down on the bar. "Fix it."
End Part 1
For all three of you whom I haven't scared away--enjoy!
The One Where Justin's With Another Guy, and Brian Interferes
When Brian Kinney glanced out of the conference room door just as he and Bill McGinty were getting ready to sign a contract, the last thing he expected to see was Justin Taylor walking by. Brian would have been less surprised to find his dead father tap dancing on the stage at Babylon.
Brian jumped up out of his seat and stuck his head out into the hall. "Hey!" Brian called, stopping Justin in his tracks. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Justin turned and gaped at Brian, eyes wide, mouth hung open. "Brian?!"
"Is there a problem?" Bill asked, coming up behind Brian.
"No," Brian said shortly. "I'm just surprised to run into Mr. Taylor here. He was an intern at Vanguard when I was there."
"Yes, I'm aware of that," Bill said. "I didn't think it would be an issue of any kind, given..."
"It's not," Brian said quickly, softening his tone, aware that Justin's reaction was wavering between rage and panic that Brian was going to interfere with his position. "Like I said, I'm...surprised."
An awkward silence followed until Bill gruffly cleared his throat and said, "Well, I'll, uh...return a few phone calls then. Let you two...talk."
"Why aren't you in New York?" Brian demanded. "Why aren't you in school?"
"I am in school," Justin said coolly. "I work at McGinty & Schiff part-time."
"You're commuting to the Pitts for a part-time job?" Brian asked incredulously.
"The New York Art Institute was your idea, Brian, not mine. I never had any intention of going there. I'm majoring in art & design at Carnegie Mellon."
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Brian never thought twice about following Justin home. Home turned out to be a rather impressive house in the upscale suburb of Mount Claire. Brian was surprised when Justin's car--a two-door Saturn that looked to be a few years old-took the Mount Claire exit instead of heading east toward the university district.
"Why didn't you call me to tell me you weren't going to New York?" Brian said the second he stepped out of his car.
Struggling to open the front door, Justin dropped his keys and turned to face Brian, his face red with outrage. "Jesus, are you fucking brain damaged?" Justin yelled. "Where do you get off fucking even thinking that?"
Brian rolled his eyes are Justin's indignation. "Since when have you been so fucking literal about anything I say? Stop acting like I'm being unreasonable to think you would..."
"Fuck you," Justin muttered and pushed the door open. "It's a fucking good thing I wasn't in New York because all this shit went down, and I sure as fuck didn't need to be a thousand miles from home."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"My mom had a car accident in November," Justin said tersely.
"Oh," Brian said, mollified. "So why didn't you call me?"
Justin stared at Brian in stunned disbelief. "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head.
Brian was saved from having to say anything by the slamming of the front door. "Hey J!" came a call as some guy bounded up the stairs without coming into the living room. "Christ, I am so fucking late! Hammie's gonna kill me! You have a good day?"
Justin smiled to himself. "Yeah, it was good!" he called back. "How 'bout you?"
"Totally fucked!" the man shouted. "My triple by-pass is tanking. I told his family he was too weak to risk it. He won't last another week."
"Sorry!" Justin said.
"You hear from that financial guy at CM?"
"Yeah, the loan's approved--everything's gonna work!"
"Excellent! What'd I tell you? Unclog a valve or two and people are more than happy to do you a favor! We're playing at the Y on Cranston. How 'bout I pick up a pizza from Rotolo's?"
"That sounds good."
Justin finally cast a glance at Brian, defiantly lifting his chin in deference to Brian's narrowing eyes.
Pulling a sweatshirt over his head, the disembodied voice jogged into the living room. With his head covered by the sweatshirt, he moved right past Brian so that all Brian caught at first was the back of his head. He had close-cropped, curly hair, brown with some gray mixed in. He was taller than Brian; broad shouldered. He gave Justin an energetic hello kiss then Brian's presence finally registered.
"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry!" he said sheepishly to Brian. "I didn't realize anyone was here." He was in that murky age range-somewhere in his 30's, mid- to late, Brian judged, noting with some satisfaction the lines around his brown eyes. The guy held his hand out to Brian. "Dan Forrester," he said.
"Brian Kinney," Brian said, certain the introduction was unnecessary.
"How are you?" Dan said, the name not registering as familiar. "Sorry I can't stay." He kissed Justin again. "If anyone calls, I left 15 minutes ago, and you heard there was an accident on 279. Traffic's backed up for miles!" Justin gave him an exaggerated look of disapproval, prompting Dan to shrug helplessly. "Last one there has to wear the Jersey of Shame(tm)," he said, his shrug suggesting the reason for lying was self-evident. He swatted Justin on the ass, winked at him and turned to go.
"Good to meet you," Dan said to Brian, and at the same time, Justin called after him, "You're such a liar!"
"Love you too, Precious!" Dan hollered and slammed the front door behind him.
The echoing silence was uncomfortable in such a familiar way that the sense of deja vu practically superimposed an image of the loft over the room in which Brian actually stood. "How cozy," Brian said.
"Don't you say anything," Justin warned, his mood morphing from light and amused to defensive and angry. "Not a fucking thing! Dan is the best person I've ever known, and you can't say one fucking thing about him!"
Brian looked away in irritation. Shaking his head at the whole fucking situation, he finally shrugged and headed for the door. "Whatever," he muttered to himself. Brian stopped with his hand on the door knob and turned to look at Justin over his shoulder. Almost an afterthought, he asked, "Is your mom okay now?"
Justin seemed taken aback by the question, then embarrassed. He flushed and said apologetically, "She died two weeks after the accident."
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Dan got back home with dinner a little before nine. He'd played for shit, thrown more than he anticipated by the site of Brian Kinney in his living room. The room had crackled with energy. It was one thing to hear Justin describe the intensity of his relationship with Brian, but it was another thing altogether to actually witness it.
He stopped in the doorway, enjoying the warmth of seeing Justin at the end of his day. Dan had been nearly two years out of an eight-year relationship when he met Justin, and he'd forgotten how nice it was to come home to someone was waiting for him. He'd forgotten a lot of the simple comforts a steady relationship provided, and he'd spent the last six months eating crow with all the friends to whom he'd insisted he wasn't ever going to tie himself down again. This was nowhere near the amount of crap he took for hooking up with someone so much younger than he. Damn him and his self-righteous opinions anyway.
Justin was sketching in the living room, a box of Pop Tarts, another of oatmeal, and one of rice set out before him on the coffee table. Dan guessed it was something for work.
"Hey," Dan finally said. "Soup's on!"
Justin looked up and smiled. "Hey! How was your game?"
"No one bought the traffic story," Dan said glumly on the way to the kitchen. "I had to wear the Jersey of Shame(tm) and fetch all the out of bounds balls."
"You didn't like being the ball fetcher?" Justin asked sympathetically.
"Don't even start," Dan ordered. "They think it's so funny, making the token homo chase the ball all over the court. It's like playing with a bunch of fifth graders."
"I wouldn't play anymore if they're going to be so mean," Justin said haughtily.
Dan sighed tragically. "And then there's all the emotional turmoil of coming home from work and finding my lover's ex hanging out in the living room. It's hard to play with that kind of trauma going on."
Looking up from where he was loading pizza slices onto a plate, Justin's expression was bemused as he gently scolded, "You didn't have to act like you've never heard his name before."
Dan's grin stretched ear to ear even as he concentrated on filling his own plate. "Yes I did."
Justin shook his head. "Why am I always falling for such mature grown-ups?"
"Have you fallen for me?" Dan asked with exaggerated curiosity, as if this was the first he'd ever heard of it.
"Against my screaming better judgment," Justin said wryly.
On his way to open a bottle of wine, Dan laughed and hooked his arm around Justin's neck, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head. "Why don't you just give up and admit I'm the best thing that ever happened to you?"
After dinner, Dan re-edited the article he'd written for the New England Journal of Medicine. He hoped to present it at a conference in Nassau in March. Please God, give me Nassau in March.
Justin sat on the couch in the office and read a text for his history class. That's where he'd studied for a good month after his mom died. Lately, he'd taken to working in the media room with the stereo blaring and the TV on mute. Dan couldn't understand it. Even as an undergrad, he'd needed absolute silence, the complete absence of distraction to study. That was hardly the case with Justin, who was more apt to study in a bustling coffee shop than the library
When he finished for the night, Dan shut off the computer. He stood in front of the couch and held his hand out to Justin, leading him to the media room. They stretched out together on the couch, Justin lying with his head on Dan's chest. Dan could feel the smile on Justin's face as he listened to the heartbeat beneath his ear. Dan ran his hand through Justin's hair, humming softly along with the CD.
Some time later, Justin hid his face in Dan's shirt and cried quietly for a little while.
Dan wasn't obtuse enough to ask him what was wrong.
Jesus. Poor kid. The hits just kept coming, over and over and over.
Dan had been so sure when he first ran across Justin in a coffee shop near the hospital that he was some run-of-the-mill rich kid from South Hill. He was a pretty kid to be sure-with a killer smile and an ass that went from zero to 60 in less than five seconds. He was worth a tumble just on face value, but Dan had been surprised-and intrigued-at how much more there was to the young man. It became clear very early on that behind the intelligence and quick humor was more than a little heartache.
And that was before Jennifer Taylor's death. But already there had come Justin's estrangement from his father over his coming out; his being bashed in high school; suffering the humiliation of an unexpected end to what Dan understood to be a profound if not volatile affair.
Brian Kinney had been front and center at every one of those dramas. Except the loss of Justin's mother. Dan had been there for that, and it had offered him a glimpse of nearly everything that had come before.
He'd met Craig Taylor at the funeral, finding him remote and barely tolerant of Justin, certainly unsympathetic to Justin's grief. Nightmares of the bashing had followed swiftly on the heels of the funeral and now, right when Justin was starting to gain some equilibrium, Brian Kinney bulldozes his way back onto the scene.
Enough already.
Dan wasn't about to tell Justin everything was okay, so he offered the only truth he had at the moment. "I love you," he whispered. The words made Justin clutch at him harder. When the CD stopped playing, Dan hugged Justin tightly. "Let's go to bed," he said. Justin nodded against his chest but didn't move. Dan chuckled. "Let's go to bed," he tried again.
Justin snickered and rubbed his cheek against Dan's soft T-shirt. "You are, you know," he said in a sleepy voice.
"I am what?"
"The best thing that ever happened to me."
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Across town, sitting at the bar at Woody's, Brian spared another impatient glare at the front door. Fuck-an-A, what he wouldn't give for the old days when Michael was at his fucking beck and call. Still, it was a mere fifteen minutes after Brian had called and said merely, "Get your ass to Woody's now," that Michael walked through the door and sat down next to his best friend.
"I fucked up," Brian said without preamble.
Michael accepted a beer and took a long pull on it. "I'm gonna need more details," he said, grinning at Brian's smirk.
"I ran into Justin today. He's working part time at a graphic arts studio I'm gonna outsource some jobs to."
"Whoa, I thought he was in New York," Michael said.
"You and me both."
"So how'd you fuck up? You didn't, like, refuse to use the company unless they fired him or something, did you?"
"Your faith in my integrity is a beautiful thing," Brian said.
"You're the one who said you fucked up," Michael pointed out. "I'm just trying to move the conversation along."
"I might have...misjudged some things about art school in New York."
"Misjudged," Michael tried the word on for size. "You ordered him to go to school in New York, he refused, you told him to get the fuck out of your life and never darken your doorstep again. You're thinking there was a better way to handle it?"
"Let's just say it didn't go down the way I thought it would."
"What did you think would happen?" Michael asked.
"I thought...he'd get to school, make some friends, get into the classes. Realize I was right about everything."
"Then what?" Michael said. "Beg you to let him come back?"
"No!" Brian said. "That would have happened...naturally."
"That is so fucked," Michael said.
"It had to be his decision! He wouldn't have gone otherwise!"
Michael stared at him open-mouthed. It was almost like he thought Brian wasn't making any sense. "But you didn't let him make a decision! His decision was not to go!"
"He only thought he didn't want to go! A few years down the road he would have resented the lost opportunity and me for taking it away from him." Irritation rose full force again. "He should have figured what I was doing," Brian said.
"Why should he have to?" Michael said in exasperation. Brian rolled his eyes, but then so did Michael. "So what the fuck?" Michael said. "Justin didn't go to New York, and now you're pissed that your master plan tanked?"
Brian sighed and stared morosely at his drink. "I fucked up," he said again. "He never had any intention of going to New York-he enrolled at CM. And that's not the worst of it."
"What's so bad about going to CM?" Michael asked, affronted on Ben's behalf.
"Jennifer Taylor died a couple of months ago. In a car accident."
"She died?" Michael echoed, shocked by the news. "Shit. Two months ago? Jesus. He didn't get in touch with anyone? Didn't he think we'd...I mean, he didn't think we wouldn't..."
"Who the fuck knows what he thought," Brian groused dismissively. "He's playing house with some fucking do-good shithead who doesn't know shit about shit. Fuckin' asshole, acting like he fucking has a right to...fuckin' asshole." Brian shook his head, grimacing at his drink. "Justin didn't even fuckin' call me. You know, fine, he doesn't want my condolences, I still deserve the courtesy of a phone call. Maybe I owe his mother some fucking respect. I mean, Jesus Christ, we traded custody of him back and forth for two fucking years. You get to fuckin' know a person..."
"Well, you know, you did tell him not to...
"I fucking know what I told him, all right?" Brian interrupted. "I don't need a recap! Fuck! This is so fucked!"
Michael sighed. "Jesus. Well, okay, so, what the fuck are you gonna to do now?"
Brian sat up straight on the bar stool and drained the last of the whiskey. "What I always do when I fuck up," he said, slamming the empty glass down on the bar. "Fix it."
End Part 1