Fire

Part 3

Justin

I decided to stay at Mom’s condo for a while until things got settled. She was being pretty good about it but I could tell that she was sorry that the thing with Ethan didn’t work out.

Yeah, well, we didn’t, as they say, have legs.

I just kept hanging around the hospital whenever I could get away from school and the diner. It wasn’t as much time as I would have liked, but Brian made it pretty damn clear that if I cut classes or work he’d have my ass banned from his room.

I went through the days marking time until I could get back to Brian and I think that he was starting to look forward to seeing me everyday, at least at little bit. If nothing else, being in a hospital is pretty fucking boring, especially when you’re there for a long time. Believe me, I know.

We were into the second week of Brian’s recovery and things were getting complicated.

Aside from the sheer agony that he had to deal with daily between the damage to his lungs, the burns and his smashed shoulder, he was starting to have to really think about the loss of the loft, it’s contents. The jeep had debris fall on it during the fire and had been declared totaled. Well, actually that was the easy part—Brian was insured up the wazoo and the agents were pretty good about taking care about that end of things.

He could pick out a new car when he was up to it and since the homeowners insurance he had was extensive, everything was pretty much covered. It would be a pain in the ass to replace it all from his toothbrush to his clothes to his furniture and dishes, but it could be done.

Things like pictures and albums and art were just gone.

That was one of the things that surprised me the most about him when we became close. Brian has a couple of photo albums—OK, had. He had a couple of albums of family and friends and Gus and me. He hid them, but he sure as shit had them.

He threatened my balls more than once if anyone found out.

There was still no decision as to whether or not he would want a space in the building when it was replaced. The owners were still looking at plans and Brian wouldn’t want just some crappy apartment in a standard building.

He’d wait and see about that.

Then there were all the records that had gone with the wind, as it were.

Sure he had his computer files backed up on CDs, but they were lost along with the computer itself. Some of the files were in his machine at work, but a lot of stuff was just gone.

Ted, as his accountant, had copies of his taxes and the numbers of bank accounts and stock numbers and that sort of thing, but he had lost so much that it was amazing that it had all fit into the loft to begin with.

It was about the second week that the depression started.

The doctors and nurses told us to expect it, but it hit with a vengeance and it was really hard to see and I couldn’t begin to know how to really deal with it. I’d gone through it myself, and I still didn’t know how to help him.

God, he made me feel like a useless twat.

It’s because Brian is just so fucking smart. You would say something to try to cheer him up or get him to put things in perspective and he’d cut you off at the knees every time.

He lumped a lot of things in together. He included his injuries, of course and the loss of his home, but I think the big thing was that he still didn’t believe that I really wanted us back together.

I know that sounds pretty pathetic, like I have that much to do with his state of mind, but I think it’s true.

I loved him and when he finally believed me and let himself admit that he loved me back, I kicked him in the nuts and jumped ship.

OK, sure, I had my reasons, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did a shitty thing in a really shitty way and he just didn’t trust me anymore.

Or anyone.

He might like to see me come to see him, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to suggest that we become roomies any time soon.

Fuck.

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Emmett

You know what, sweetie? Brian Kinney is one of the dumbest smart people I know.

That’s a fact.

Now you have to understand that I love Brian to death, he’s smart and he’s funny—if you don’t happen to be his target and he always talks straight.

Well, you know what I mean by that.

He tells the truth to everyone except himself and that’s such a shame because that little twink loves the Hell out of him and he just can’t bend himself enough to believe it.

Low self esteem, you know. It’s a killer.

There he is, sitting there all hurt and with a major case of the wimwams and the one person who could climb in bed with him and make all those boogiemen go away is the one he won’t let get close enough to help.

I’m working on it, though.

A lot of people don’t understand why those two are together, what with all the differences between them. I understand it though; I always have thought that they’re perfect for each other.

Brian needs someone as smart as he is so he isn’t bored and who won’t always let him be in control, someone who sees through all his bullshit and loves him anyway. Someone who looks past the crap to see that he’s a sweet and generous man who cherishes his friends and wants someone who will love him and hold him all night long—after they’ve fucked their brains out, of course.

Justin needed a teacher at first, and Brian was that. Now he needs a lover who adores him and steers him and comes home to him and demands that he put out 100% in his work and won’t let him get away with his bullshit like a lot of people do when he flashes that sweet smile of his. He needs someone who will let him love him as much as he wants to love someone.

See what I mean? They’re perfect.

It’s hard to see how much poor little Sunshine is hurting with all this, though. When we’ve had other hospital watches, with Ted and then with Justin we dealt and it was pretty straight forward, but with Brian things are never easy.

He is just one primo mondo drama queen, Armani suits notwithstanding.

I do what I can for the Sunshine, but he’s determined to take care of Brian himself, come Hell or high water—and it might.

You know, one time I heard Debbie said that those two were pretty evenly matched. More’s the pity.

This could take some time.

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Debbie

Poor fucking Brian.

That asshole.

I love him, couldn’t love him more if he really was my son, but he pisses the Hell out of me, always has and likely always will.

Yeah, sure. I felt sorry for him when he was a kid and he’d come over all beat up again by his fucking father. Let me tell you, that was one son of a bitch I didn’t cry over when he finally died.

Brian had a hard time of it, no question about it and if he’d one ounce of softness in him he wouldn’t have made it. He landed on his feet, though, and he got there by occasionally walking right over whoever was in his way.

He was lonely. I could see that. I mean, it’s not like it was fucking hard to do. He hung around here, pretending like we were his real family and I guess that, in a way we were. He had a couple of pretty serious affairs when he was younger, in college, but they didn’t amount to anything and they just added a new layer of scar tissue to his poor fucked up heart.

Michael always hoped for something, but I could see that Brian wouldn’t let that happen. He can’t fuck anyone he cares about. I guess that’s too personal. He only fucks strangers—until Sunshine.

If I’ve ever seen anything scare Brian, it was that little kid, all blonde hair and blue eyes and cute butt. Sunshine fell in love with him and he fell in love right back and he was scared to death.

He’s lying in that damned hospital room and he’s in such pain that I want to cry just to look at him and he won’t let the one person he wants in through even the tiniest chink in those fucking walls he’s put back up because now he’s added barbed wire and electric fences on top of everything else that he had there.

I was pretty pissed off at Sunshine at first, I won’t deny it. He tore Brian’s heart right out and then he just danced a Goddamned jig on it and I wanted to just smack him a good one when I saw that.

I got over it a little when I thought that he was happy with that musician, even though I thought the kid was sort of greasy for the wasp prince, but whatever.

Then Justin changed his mind again and can’t seem to understand that Brian is fucking hanging on with his fingernails right now and doesn’t need anything else to deal with while he’s still flat on his back.

He needs everything he’s got just to try to get well and deal with everything that he’s lost in the fire and Justin acts like he’s just trying to help but what he’s doing is being a constant fucking reminder to Brian that he fucked him over and now he’s back and let’s do it again.

I can see the look on Brian’s face. I know him too well for him to scam me.

He still loves that twink and he’s so scared right now that he can’t think or anything. He’d probably like nothing more than to hold hands with Sunshine and tell him what he’s really thinking and let it all out, all that shit that he’s bottling up again.

But he won’t, not yet, anyway.

He’s too scared.

You know that old saying—burned once, twice shy?

Well, Brian had a lot more than his lungs burned and I don’t know if Sunshine understands that.

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Brian

He’s back.

Maybe he never left, I don’t even know anymore.

He’s trying to help, I know that. I just wish that he’d stay the fuck away from me, but when I go to yell at him—I mean what passes as a yell at this point, I can’t. I’m afraid that if I throw him out he might not come back and I want him to put his hand on my cheek again and kiss me hello and goodbye like he’s taken to doing.

I look forward to it and want him to keep his hand on me even though I know that he won’t.

I love that he touches me and he knows it.

The loft is gone, along with everything in it.

It took me a while to understand that, but I do now. I guess that I do, I mean. Even the fucking car was destroyed when some shit from the building fell on it.

There were a couple of insurance adjusters here yesterday and they were sympathetic and then they told me that I’d be compensated. When they left they said that they hoped I’d feel better.

Right.

Shitheads. I’d like to see that.

The family keeps coming by and I wish that they’d just leave me the fuck alone. It’s not that I don’t appreciate that they’re here—in fact I do.

It just pisses me off to have them looking at me like they feel sorry for me.

You want to know when that first started bothering me? People feeling sorry, I mean? It was back in junior high school and my father would be beating the shit out of me and some of the teachers figured it out but were too pansy-assed to say anything. They would just look at me with this stupid expression on their faces and it didn’t do dick other than to piss me off.

It still pisses me off.

Justin doesn’t look like that. He just looks like he’s afraid that I’ll throw him out like a puppy I don’t want.

I won’t.

I mean I want to, because I couldn’t take it if he left me again and I know that he will.

They always leave.

It’s like waiting for a shoe to drop and when it does, it’s going to be a fucking shit kicking boot.

The truth is that I want him here and I’m scared to Hell that if I admit that he’ll smile that big Sunshine smile and then he’ll turn around and walk out the door. It’s like a pissing contest and I’m just really not up to it right now.

The have me starting the rehab for my lungs. My shoulder is still too fucked to do much other than immobilize it and the doctor thinks that it will need some kind of reconstructive surgery at some point, but the lungs are the playthings de jour.

The exercises are a party, let me tell you.

They have me doing all this shit to try to strengthen them and all it seems to be doing is ripping my Goddamned chest in half. Fucking pain like you wouldn’t believe.

You know, I keep thinking that Justin had a long haul when he got bashed, but this is different. He was hurt and it was bad, but this fucking pain all the time—shit. I just want to give up sometimes or curl up into a ball and cry.

I did that yesterday after a rehab session, it hurt so fucking much. I just lay there on the bed and cried like I was four years old. I didn’t notice Justin was there until I finally realized that his hand was rubbing my back and it felt good. He was talking to me, too, saying the usual shit you say to someone about how it would get better and that I’d be alright.

He kept his hand on my back the whole time, just rubbing up and down and sometimes in circles.

Thank God.

I don’t want him to leave.

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Michael

OK, so I go to see Brian today and, thank God, Boy Wonder was at a class or something so I could actually try to talk without the little pain in the ass running interference.

I couldn’t fucking believe it, I mean I really couldn’t.

So it seems that Brian is scheduled to be released in a couple of days. Don’t these people have any fucking clue just how far he is from being well? He still can’t even begin to breathe right and his shoulder is a fucking jigsaw puzzle of broken bones that need to be put back together.

Oh, you want to hear a good one about that?

Because his lungs are still so fucked up, the doctors say that the shoulder surgery will have to wait and then they may have to rebreak his shoulder since the bones are starting to knit wrong.

Do you fucking believe that? Like he hasn’t enough to deal with.

Jesus.

And they’re releasing him.

I asked him where he was going to go since the loft is gone and he just sort of shrugged (with one shoulder) and said that they had recommended a convalescent hospital he could stay in that’s just outside of the city.

He said that would be alright but I could tell that he was pretty depressed about the thought, not like I blame him.

If he had a normal family he could have gone to his mother’s or his sister’s but like he’d ever do that.

I told him that he could stay with my Mom and he flat-out refused, said that he wouldn’t do that to her because she had enough invalids there with Vic.

If the loft was still there he could have just gone home and gotten a nurse to help him out.

Shit.

He won’t say anything, but he’s pretty upset about this. I mean, all he wants to do is go home.

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Jennifer

I could kill Justin, I swear that I could.

He came home last night and announced that he had invited Brian to use my condo—MY condo as a convalescing home.

It seems that he’s ready to be released from the hospital and has nowhere to go and can’t be on his own yet. He was all set to go to that Convalescent place over in Irwin this coming Wednesday, it was all arranged. It would have been fine, I mean, that’s what they do there; take care of people who need medical help.

As soon as Justin heard that he was up in arms about how Brain would hate the place, that he’d be unhappy there and it would slow down his recovery—well, too bad.

He is not my problem.

And I am not happy that my son has invited his older male ex lover into my home when he can’t even bath himself, for the love of God.

Did I object? Of course I did.

I did everything from tell him that it was inappropriate to the fact that Molly would be there to that the place isn’t big enough to the out and out truth that I simply don’t want him there.

Justin, needless to say, didn’t care.

I even simply said no.

He countered that was fine and he’d leave, too.

I said fine to that and he—called my bluff.

Damnit.

He knows that I want him with me and he knows that after the bashing I worry about him and want him where I can keep an eye on him.

If I really refused to let him stay, Justin would believe that I dislike Brian.

I don’t, really.

He’s not my favorite person in the world, I’ll admit that, but he’s not as bad as I first thought. He was helpful and kind when Justin was hurt and I haven’t forgotten that.

Of course I also haven’t forgotten that he was the one who instigated the thing in the first place or that he’s twelve years older than my son and that he’s had countless lovers—tricks and that he’s the one who introduced Justin to—that life.

I spoke to Brian in the hospital and he was surprised to know that I had agreed to Justin’s demand that he be allowed to stay. He insisted that he would be fine at the convalescent home and that he would even prefer to go there.

He was adamant that he didn’t want to intrude and he knew that I only agreed because of Justin. In fact, he asked me if I’d lost my f-ing mind.

He went on, in what little voice that he has, to say that if Gus ever pulled the s—t that Justin is he’d chew him a new a—hole.

I know. I should have stood firm with Justin, but I just couldn’t. He’s been through so much and he’s still so young. I know that he’s hoping tat he and Brian will get back together and when I said that to Brian he assured me that it would never happen.

He told me that he’d done his time with Justin and that he’d be happy to just be friends. In fact he said that as far as he was concerned they had moved beyond sex to friendship.

I don’t believe that any more than Justin or Brian do.

Justin would sleep with Brian again in a heartbeat, even if Brian isn’t ready for it.

I give up.

So, the bottom line is that he’ll arrive Wednesday and move into Justin’s room. There will be a nurse who will assist him in whatever help he needs and take him to therapy sessions.

They say that I won’t have to lift a finger.

Right.

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Brian

I don’t believe it. Jennifer actually agreed to have me stay in her place when I get out of here.

The twink got his way, after all.

It wasn’t my idea, OK? I was all set to go someplace else. It would have been fine.

I could have refused and gone to the place in Irwin the hospital recommended. It would have made the PT easier since it’s right there and there’s a staff full of nurses and doctors.

I sure as shit didn’t want to go there, though. Justin knew that even though I didn’t say anything. It would have just have been another hospital and I’ve had my fill.

What I really want is to go home, but that’s not an option right now.

I still hurt a lot, all the time. I’m still on painkillers that fucking Seabiscuit would choke over and I spend a whole lot of time pretty out of it. OK, I spend a lot of time really out of it.

It still hurts so fucking much. Every breath hurts. Every time I move, my shoulder hurts. When I try to lift my head up, after the pain fades a little, I get so dizzy that I want to puke.

I just want to climb into my own bed with my own sheets and get clean in my own shower. I want to watch my own fucking TV and listen to my own Goddamned CDs and I would like to go home in my own fucking car.

Well, we know none of that is going to happen anytime soon, now don’t we? All that shit is in some landfill somewhere by now.

So, instead I go to someone else’s home and sleep next to my ex lover.

It’s better than another hospital, but I’m keeping my options open.

Fine, it’s a whole lot better than another hospital. I guess. At least in a hospital it’s not personal.

I can just see the picture on Joanie’s face if I showed up. Maybe we could all have dinner with Father Tom one night. That might be a kick.

No sex, I hope he knows that. It’s not that I wouldn’t fuck him in a heartbeat, but I can’t. I mean, my shoulder is still a Goddamned mess and I haven’t drawn a full breath in weeks. I’m still using fucking oxygen on and off.

Jennifer doesn’t want me there. I know that. I’ll deal with the ice princess act she has going whenever she sees me, but I know that she’s picturing me and Justin going at it. I wonder if she wonders who tops?

Justin mentioned once he told her he’s good at giving head—I guess he said ‘sucking cock’. I wonder if she ever looks at us and pictures that.

So, OK. Why did I agree to stay where I’m so obviously not wanted?

Justin. I want to be with Justin.

Pretty fucking simple when you think about it.

I won’t tell him this, needless to say, but the thought of having him almost to myself and sleeping in his bed—shit, how was I going to turn that down?

This should be a fucking peach of a visit.

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