Incendiary

Chapter 6 - Flashover

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BRIAN

My legs feel like they're made of lead as I climb the stairs to the second floor. I knock on the door and, a moment later, it opens a crack, Lindsay's sleepy eyes peering at me over the chain.

"Brian? Do you have any idea how late…"

The door closes again and then quickly opens, unhindered by the chain.

"What's wrong?"

I try to offer a reassuring smile, but I'm sure it's more of a grimace as I make my way inside the small apartment. "There was a fire at the loft. I thought I'd better let you know before you saw it on the morning news and freaked."

"Oh my God! Are you all right? What about Justin?"

I hold up a hand to stem the flow of anxious questions. "I'm fine. Justin will be, too… I think."

"You think?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "He's got some minor burns on his hands from the door, and there was some smoke inhalation, but …" I allow my voice to trail off. I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm wishing I'd just called like I'd originally planned. That way, I could just hang up when the questions got too intense.

"God, Brian. Is he in the hospital?"

I shake my head. "He's at Deb's."

"What happened? How did it start?"

"I don't know." And I don't. I have my suspicions, but I don't want to visit them. Best to wait and see what the investigation shows. There will be plenty of time for sackcloth and … ashes later.

"Justin was home at the time?" She's sitting beside me now, her face a mask of concern.

"He was filling in at the diner tonight. He discovered the fire when he got home."

She frowned. "I don't understand. You said he got the burns from the door. If he was outside…"

Sometimes I hate her for her logic. "He was trying to get in. He thought… he thought I was still in there."

"Oh my God," she breathed. "That must have been horrifying."

Tell me something I don't already fucking know.

"Thank God you weren't."

I huff a wry laugh. "No, I was at Babylon getting my dick sucked at the time." My voice is harsh but I don't care. "Safe and fucking sound."

She's quiet for a moment while she digests that bit of news. "Is that why you're here instead of with Justin?"

Fuck. I really do hate her. She's got no business knowing that I can't… I won't… I can't… face him. Not now. Not tonight when all I want to do is grab him and shake him hard until he promises never to make me feel like this again. Tell him that I'm … I don't deal in regrets, everyone knows that, but right now, this moment, I wish… No, she doesn't need to know that. I revert to the role she knows. The one she recognizes. The one we're both so familiar with. "He's a little pissed right now." It's a gross understatement, of course, but she doesn't need to know that either.

She scoffs. "Can't say as I blame him."

"Yeah, well, who would?" I get restlessly to my feet. "I want to see Gus."

"He's sleeping, Brian."

"I know that," I grate. "I won't wake him, I just …" I hate the way my voice cracks and I take a second to make sure it doesn't happen again. "I just want to see him."

She bites her bottom lip and finally nods, leaving me to turn away from whatever the fuck it is that I see in her eyes. I don't want her fucking pity. I don't want her sympathy. I sure as Hell don't want her advice. I just want to see Gus.

I sit beside his bed and watch him sleep. The kid's fucking beautiful, a true testament to what the right genes can do. He's happy and healthy, everything I could want for him. Most importantly, he's here, safe and sleeping in his own warm bed without a care in the world.

Brian Kinney doesn't do envy either, and yet…

I force myself from the thoughts, watching the rise and fall of his chest for a moment longer before I quietly return to where Lindsay is still sitting on the sofa.

"You OK?" she asks softly.

I nod once. "Sorry to wake you. I'll let you get back to bed."

"Where will you go?"

I shrug. As the shock slowly wears off, I'm faced with the enormity of what's happened. I don't even have a home to go to. It's gone. The loft, the designer clothes, the imported fixtures. Gone. Nothing left.

"You could stay here," she offers kindly. "Gus would love it."

I'm already shaking my head. "Thanks, but …I gotta go."

She frowns a little, concern shining in her eyes. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

A brief, reassuring smile touches my lips for her benefit. "I'll be fabulous, as always."

She nods in reluctant acceptance and walks me to the door. "Let me know if you need anything or if there's anything I can do."

"I will," I promise, leaning over to kiss her lightly. "Thanks."

The drive to Kinnetik doesn't take long in the late night traffic. Once inside, I take a moment to revel in its normalcy. Everything is clean, crisp, quiet. I head for my office and the wet bar, pouring a double shot of Beam and knocking it back before pouring another. I take this one, along with the bottle, to my desk and sink wearily into the chair.

Christ. What a night.

For the first time since getting Mikey's call, I start to think about everything that will need to be done. Insurance adjusters, contractors, safety inspectors.

Christ.

I don't even want to think about how much worse it could have been. I try to block out the image of the charred debris, Justin trying to fight his way through the smoke and heat to reach me. Trying to get through to me.

Like he's been doing since the night we met.

I almost laugh out loud at the very idea of such a lesbionic thought crossing my mind. It's funny what shock and stress, not to mention a few shots of Beam, can conjure up. I push myself resolutely to my feet, heading to the safe to retrieve the documents I'm going to need in the morning. This is something I can do, something I can deal with. Taking charge of a situation comes naturally to me, as naturally as breathing, as fucking.

I mentally turn away from the image of Justin that last thought invoked. He's fine. He's with Deb. He doesn't need me.

So, why do I feel such an overwhelming urge to go over there?

Christ.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

JUSTIN

Brian does

Brian does

Michael's words reverberate through my brain until I feel like I'm going to be physically ill.

Brian does

All these years, he's known what this feels like. I never really got it. Never really understood what must have gone through his mind that night so many years ago and in the days that followed. I was the one in the coma, oblivious to what was going on in anyone else's life during that time. By the time I learned how close I'd come to death, the danger had already passed. It was like hearing about something that had happened to someone else. Then there was the pain, the physio, the fear of not knowing if I'd even be able to use my hand again, let alone draw. I was the one who went through all that. Me.

But Brian hadn't had the luxury of a coma. He was awake and aware of every passing minute, every second that could have been my last. He had to face the reality that I might die, that he might lose me. I thought I understood, but there's no way I could really know, really, truly know what those hours, those days must have been like for him.

Until now.

Even remembering how I felt during the short time I'd feared him dead, a weight seems to settle on my chest. Was this how it was for him? I have to swallow a lump in my throat as I remember how I spoke to him earlier. How I practically accused him of being responsible for what happened tonight. Pain and anger clouding my judgement, I lashed out at him for something that's as much a part of Brian as breathing.

And that is the real problem here.

Tricking is a part of who Brian is. Not all he is, like some people might like to believe, but a part of him. A big part. It has been since long before we ever met and it likely always will be. If nothing else, tonight's events drove that point home. Not that I ever expected him to give it up, not entirely. Hell, I'm not sure I'd even want that. For either of us. But I can admit, at least to myself, that I'd hoped its importance would lessen over time. That maybe he'd come to realize that being king stud isn't all there is to Brian Kinney. That committing to someone doesn't necessitate trading leather pants for gardening gloves.

I blow out a long breath and stare at the ceiling, my gaze following a crack in the plaster. It starts in one corner and spreads its way haphazardly across the expanse of yellowed paint only to end suddenly, never reaching whatever its ultimate destination might have been.

Going nowhere.

And I don't think I've ever felt so sad. Working at cross-purposes is making us both miserable. Neither of us wants to admit it, but we both know it can't work. Not as long as we want different things. I'll come to resent his lifestyle and he'll resent my resentment. We'll destroy one another eventually. As surely as flames destroyed the loft, our fucked up relationship will devour us until there's nothing left but a pile of smoldering ash, too used and consumed to go on. Not together. Not even alone. Just like the crack Vic must have looked at night after night, we'll end up in the middle of nowhere, a beginning with no real end. A journey without a destination, doomed to end in a stagnant trap, unwilling to stay, unable to leave.

I know I need to talk to him, need to let him know that I don't blame him for what happened, that I was just so fucking scared and angry that I wasn't thinking about anything but the fact that he was at Babylon and not at Kinnetik or Lindsay's or Michael's. The only thing really important here is that he wasn't in the loft.

But I can't. Not yet.

Not until I can decide where I need to go from here. Do I want to keep trying? Keep hoping that we can make it work despite the fact that our wants and needs are so vastly different? I'll never have it all, not with Brian. Maybe not with anyone. If I stay, if I accept as much or as little as he's willing to give me, will it be worth giving up on ever having what he won't?

Maybe this is it. Maybe after everything, the bashing, Ethan, cancer, L.A., we need to accept that it's just not working for either of us. I'd rather give him up than see him as miserable as he's been lately. He may believe that I was foolish for doing what I did tonight, but I know better. He's worth it. I'd walk into a thousand burning lofts for him.

And if I have to, if that's what it takes for us to be happy, I'll walk out of one.

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