Footfall

 

With thanks to Ondina, Kashawn and the others who suggested this final follow-up…and Beta Beth, natch.

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Brian was seventy-two now and his health wasn't what it should have been for a man his relatively young age. Decades of smoking and drinking had taken their toll and he was seriously slowing down. He had developed emphysema, but he had avoided lung cancer, at least for now. Though Justin never said anything about it, there was an oxygen tank behind a door just in case.

Justin was a vigorous sixty and he wondered what would happen when Brian realized, or accepted, that he was old in body if not in fact-something he was pushing away with both hands.

OK, that was harsh, but he was. Yes, of course, age was just a state of mind but sixty years of smoking and over fifty years of sixty and seventy hour weeks had been too much and he was just plain wearing out.

It still made Justin laugh when he remembered the look on Michael's face the first time he had come to New York to visit Brian all those years ago after Steve's death and had found Justin already back.

Sure he was just there as a friend, at least at that point, but he was there with his clothes hanging in the closet of the guestroom and his food in the fridge. He had a key to the duplex on his key ring and that was the address he listed whenever he was asked and where he got his mail.

Accidentally, one day Justin had overheard Michael telling Brian about how he was still coming back to the perma twink and it was time for him to change the Goddamned record. Brian, naturally, had just told Mikey to mind his own fucking business. He hadn't, of course, but it had told Michael where things stood, whether he liked them or not. Things hadn't changed all that much in the two decades since then. He and Brian were still together, though the duplex was long sold. They spent most of their time at the place in the Berkshires, the cabin. They had renovated it, fixed it up, added a studio for Justin and made it their own. Yes, there were still traces of Steve here and there, but Justin accepted that as normal and a healthy thing for Brian. To expect him to forget his old partner was unrealistic and even cruel.

They had become lovers again.

It has started slowly with Justin merely offering comfort, both in and out of bed. And of course the comfort went both ways. Justin's life hadn't been what anyone would have envisioned for him back in the Liberty Avenue days and though he had come to terms with the various twists and turns. There were still times when he needed a hand to get through the days-and the nights. They had started as friends, close friends with a long history and had evolved into close and committed partners. That had been almost twenty years ago now and somehow Justin knew that they were about to come full circle.

In a very real way Brian had presided over Justin's birth as an individual separate from his parents, had encouraged him, helped him along and sometimes broken his heart. Now it seemed that they would be together for the final act of the Brian and Justin saga.

There were other things in their shared lives that seemed to be moving to some sort of conclusion as well.

The agency Brian had come to New York to head almost forty years ago was still at the top of the business food chain, still considered one of the best, but Brian had finally taken one of the offers to buy out his controlling interest about a year ago and now just consulted and didn't even do that all too much. He had finally become bored with it all-the cutthroat aspects of the work and the unending grind. He had accomplished everything he'd wanted with his professional life a long time ago and had nothing left to prove to anyone, including himself. He had moved on with little looking back.

They had traveled to most of the places either of them had ever had a yen to see-Africa, the great cities of Europe, the islands of the South Pacific and the Aegean, Japan and South America. Brian had finally decided that he actually enjoyed being quiet and staying close, at least most of the time.

Gus was doing well. He was forty now and a respected architect working out of Boston. He had married late, just a couple of years ago, and seemed to be happy with his life. They saw him every few months. Either they'd drive to the city or he'd make the trip out to the cabin. They enjoyed one another's company and it was always pleasant together. The woman he'd married was what Brian joked as close to Justin as he could have gotten in a female-beautiful, blonde, intelligent and full of righteous indignation over anything she saw as wrong or unfair. She was a consumer advocate for the underinsured minority with out adequate healthcare. She was considering a congressional run. Brian's only complaint about her was that she lacked balls or he might have married her himself.

A lot of the old family was gone. Debbie had a heart attack about ten years before; Jennifer had succumbed to ovarian cancer twenty years ago. A drunk driver had hit Melanie late one night, she had died instantly.

Brian had gone to Pittsburgh, to the old house she and Lindsay had shared til the end and had stayed for a month, helping Linds clean things out and get everything settled. That had been the year Gus had graduated from High School and it had been hard. After that Gus had spent more time in New York with his father and they had become closer than they had been. That closeness remained.

Emmett had found true love finally, or so he said, and had followed his beau to Santa Fe, opening his catering firm out there and making a success of it. They heard from him now and then.

Ted had OD'd finally after backsliding yet again to crystal. No one had been surprised.

Ben had lost his fight with AIDS three years after he and Michael had gotten married but with the new meds, Hunter was declared cured and was a survivor. He had gone on to med school.

Michael still ran the comic book store, still loving it.

Molly was happily married, or so she insisted, with three kids. She had become a stay at home mom and would bring her kids to visit their uncle Justin for part of the summer at the cabin and Christmas in New York. She had told Justin that she was going to be a grandmother in about six months.

Joan Kinney had died one night after falling and hitting her head against the stone fireplace. She had been drunk at the time.

Brian had lost track of Claire as Justin had lost track of his own father. Brian didn't care, Justin did but they never talked about either lost relative.

Things had moved on, of course. They always do.

Brian's health-that was becoming a problem. He didn't work out as he used to and it was all Justin could do to just get him to walk the quarter mile out to the mailbox. His appetite was off as well and he seemed to sleep more than he used to. Of course that was probably to be expected, but it still had Justin worried. Try as he might, though, Brian refused to see a doctor, insisting that he was just getting old.

Seventy wasn't old.

Lately, the last six months or so, there were more and more times when Brian would be found sitting out on the dock, his shoes off, his bare feet dangling in the clear water, lost in thought. More often than not Justin would wake in the middle of the night to find himself alone, Brian off on a ramble somewhere or even just sitting in the living room in the dark. He would never explain what he was brooding about though, becoming angry if pressed.

One evening they were sitting on the porch, dinner in front of them, watching the sun set over the lake in a blaze of fiery color and Brian offered the first insight into what was on his mind.

"I made a mess of it, didn't I?"

"Excuse me?"

"All of it. I screwed up."

"…What are you talking about?"

"The whole thing. I made mistakes."

This was a bit vague even for Brian. "Brian, what do you mean? What did you make mistakes with?"

"Throwing you out when you were seventeen after that first time. Remember how you came looking for me and I threw you out? I shouldn't have done that. And then when we moved to New York. I screwed that up, too. I knew I wanted Steve at that point, but I had you come with me anyway. I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair to Steve, either for that matter."

It had never occurred to Justin that Brian might have any regrets, not serious ones, anyway. It hadn't entered his mind that it was possible. "That was a long time ago, Brian. It doesn't matter anymore."

With a look of disbelief at Justin, Brian went back to his chicken and the conversation was dropped.

Then there was the morning Brian was sitting at his computer, writing. He had been sitting there more and more often lately, always writing.

"What are you working on?" Justin brought in a smallish bowl of soup and half a sandwich, hoping to get Brian to eat.

"Closure."

Setting the tray on the edge of the old desk, the one that had belonged to Steve's grandfather, Justin moved around to get a look at the screen. Brian immediately hit 'save'. The screen went blank. Giving up, Justin left Brian alone with whatever he was doing.

Brian continued to shut himself up in the study typing, though. And Justin never saw a word of what he was writing, nor did they ever discuss it.

A couple of months later Gus was visiting with Carolyn, his wife. They had an announcement at the breakfast table the first morning.

"Dad, Jus-we wanted to tell you both in person. You're going to be grandparents!" The two of them were so happy, so pleased with themselves. Justin hugged them both, exclaiming, thrilled, insisting that they would all go out to the best restaurant in the area that night to celebrate. Brian offered polite congratulations, then took his plate to the kitchen, placed it in the sink and went out the back door. The shade was drawn on the day; the reaction of them all became subdued.

An hour later Gus found Justin painting up in the studio, classical music playing softly in the background.

"Jus, what the fuck's going on with Dad? He's getting worse and he doesn't even seem to know it-how the hell do you put up with him?" He sat himself on one of the stools. "And he hurt Carolyn with his bullshit at breakfast."

"He thinks he's old. Your making him a grandfather was a nail in his coffin, as far as he sees it." Justin wiped off his brush. "I'll talk to him about it."

"That's crap. First of all, at seventy he's not old and it's high fucking time he was a grandfather-and has anyone ever told him that it's not always about him?"

Justin laughed out loud. "You want to break that to your father?"

"-No."

"Look Gus, he's depressed, he has been for a while now. I keep trying to get him out and around, but he won't go. I called a shrink friend who saw him here, casually, and prescribed some antidepressants, but he won't take them. I'm still trying to get him to have a checkup, a physical, but he won't. Maybe you could try."

"If he won't listen to you, he sure as shit won't listen to me." He was right. Brian still wouldn't listen to anyone unless he decided he wanted to. "Fine, fuck, whatever. I'll try." And Gus did. He talked to his father for three hours that afternoon and it seemed, at least on the surface, to help while and the celebratory dinner that night went well, he wouldn't commit to getting a check up.

Two days later, with Brian seemingly making a conscious effort to be in a better mood, Gus and Carolyn left, slightly relieved that the atmosphere had lightened and promising to stay in close touch. They were as good as their word, calling almost every week, driving to visit and one weekend Justin even convinced Brian to make the trip to Boston to catch a show and some art exhibits he was looking forward to seeing. They got together with Gus and Carolyn for a movie and dinner and it went well. Brian was pleasant, telling them that he had set up a college fund for the new baby and all he would need was the name and the social security number as soon as it was born. School would be taken care of; they weren't to worry about it for a minute. He insisted.

After that, though Brian still shut himself up in his study for long hours working on whatever he was working on, things were better. He was more pleasant, more relaxed and willing to start doing things again. He even began going out on his own, getting in one of the cars and going out for what he called 'errands' for two or three hours at a time. He still didn't eat as much as Justin would have liked and he was tired more that Justin thought normal, but he seemed in better spirits and Justin breathed a sigh of relief about it.

"Brian? I got a call from Fred this morning. He set up a show for me out in Santa Fe in about six weeks. Why don't you come out with me and we can visit with Emmett? We haven't seen him in almost five years."

"Maybe. Ask me closer to the time."

"Why, you planning a hot date?"

"Hot as they come."

"And how hot is that?"

"If you have to ask…"

That was the first night they'd made love in almost three weeks. Justin fell asleep with Brian's arms wrapped around just like the old times and he was smiling as he drifted off.

That night Brian was restless again.

He got up quietly without waking Justin and made his way out to the end of the dock. It was a warm night and it was late enough that the bugs were gone to wherever they went at three in the morning. He liked sitting here. In fact, he'd liked sitting here for thirty-five years. He liked the quiet and the solitude. He enjoyed the quiet lapping of the water and the occasional splash of a fish jumping. He smiled at the croaking of the frogs and, though he'd never admit it, had given each of the mallard ducks it's own name.

It centered him to be here, alone and he'd used it as his own personal escape since that week more than thirty-five years ago when Steve had loaned him the cabin. It was when he was trying to straighten out his own thought about the two men he knew he had to choose between-knowing that it was impossible not to cause hurt, whatever decision he made. He had spent hours that trip sitting on the dock, thinking, trying to imagine his life with Justin then trying to picture his life with Steve.

He had made his choice sitting right where he was sitting now and he had a mental image of the dock planks confirming to the shape of his ass with all the time he'd spent there.

He and Steve had been good together and he had made the right choice for himself. He knew that just as he knew that he had deeply, almost fatally hurt Justin with his decision. He was sorry for that, but he wasn't going to pretend that he was in love when he wasn't, at least not in love with Justin at that point, anyway.

Was he in love with him now?

He guessed that he was.

Certainly they were best friends and they certainly loved one another, but was he actually 'in love'?

Well-maybe.

Frankly it didn't really matter any more. It probably mattered to Justin, but not to Brian, not now. It didn't matter, not really, not to Brian at any rate. Not now.

He should tell Justin. He should have told Gus.

But there was nothing they could do and the thought of their pain and their pity was something he didn't want to deal with.

Besides, when you loved someone you protected them, wasn't that right?

The heart disease would kill him, he knew that. There were any number of things that could be done, but with the amount of damage his heart had suffered--he'd been told that he'd likely had at least a dozen mini heart attacks that had made immediate surgery imperative--they couldn't give any guarantees.

The surgery was scheduled for later that day.

He wasn't a good candidate for a transplant, not even for one of the new artificial hearts that worked better than the real thing. He needed old-fashioned open heart, repair what was broken then cross you fingers surgery.

No one knew.

Brian had already decided that he would tell Justin, if he was awake when it was time to leave, that he had some errands to do in Boston and would call him later, maybe in a couple of days. He would drive himself to the hospital, check himself in for pre admission testing, go through the surgery and if he woke up he would call to let Justin know what had happened. If he didn't wake up-well, he would have spared Justin and Gus a hospital vigil they didn't need to be subjected to. They'd find out soon enough anyway.

It was his choice. He'd do this his way.

It would be fine, one way or the other. He'd deal with whatever consequences there might be.

His papers were all in order, including the living will Melanie had told him he should have years ago. Both Gus and Justin knew where to find everything. He'd made his wishes plain and everything was ready-there were lists of his various accounts and holdings, of what he wanted done with the many things he'd accumulated over the years and who would get what. It was simple, really.

No muss, and a minimum of fuss.

They'd all be fine.

Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.

Enjoying the lake, the quiet, the ducks and the gentle lapping, Brian stayed there until dawn was lightening the horizon.

Justin didn't wake up before he had to leave, so Brian left a note on the kitchen counter telling him not to worry and that he had some things to do. He'd be in touch. He left his cel phone on the counter next to the note. He didn't want to deal with it or be bothered.

Skipping the melodrama of a last look or any of that foolishness, he pulled out of the driveway, calm about where he was going and what was going to happen.

When Justin finally made his way downstairs for breakfast he wasn't all that surprised to find himself alone. Brian would go off for walks or early errands or even just to sit on the dock. He was probably around somewhere. Finding the note, he was a little annoyed, but thought that Brian was just trying to be considerate by not waking him. If he said that he'd call in a day or two, then he would, though leaving his phone wasn't normal.

Well, Brian could be a little forgetful sometimes now and Justin didn't think all that much of it.

Two days later the call came in.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Taylor?"

"Yes, who's calling?"

"This is Doctor Steinetz over at Boston General. I apologize for calling you at this hour", it was nine thirty in the evening, "but would it be possible for you to come to the hospital?"

"…Now? But…Has something happened?" It hit him like a physical blow. "Brian? Is he alright?"

"I'm afraid that I can't really go into it over the phone. Would it be possible for you to come?"

"Can you tell me why, what's happened?…Of course…it will take me about an hour and a half to get there…"

"That's fine. I'll be here, just ask for Mr. Kinney's room at the front desk."

He took the small Mercedes, the one Brian had given him last Christmas saying that everyone should own one car that was completely impractical at least once in their life. Justin forced himself to pay attention to the road, the drive the exits. It was the only way he could do this. Brian-it made sense now, all the secrecy, the disappearances, the 'errands'. Now he understood.

Jesus.

In close to a panic Justin made his way to the reception desk, was told the room number and given directions to get upstairs.

It was the cardiac wing, brightly lit. A too efficient looking nurse asked if she could help him. He was directed to a room three doors down the corridor. Inside was a single hospital bed with a man attached to a number of beeping machines. He looked either unconscious or dead.

Brian.

A man wearing scrubs was checking some of the machines. He looked up as Justin stood at the foot of the bed. "Was there an accident? Is he going to be alright?"

"Mr. Taylor? Thank you for getting here so quickly, I'm Doctor Steinetz. I'm Mr. Kinney's cardiologist. I'm afraid that the surgery didn't go a well as we'd hoped and the damage was simply too great-no, he can't hear us, he's still under sedation."

"But he was fine, he was just going to do some…" Brian. Of course. It was so like him. Heart problems and no one knew. It was like the cancer almost forty years ago. He hadn't told anyone then, either. It was the same thing-but this time it looked like he wouldn't be cured with a simple operation and some follow up. "Will I be able to take him home?"

The doctor looked genuinely sorry. "There isn't time for that."

"I need to call his son. He lives here in Boston." There was a phone by the bed. Justin made the call. Gus would be there inside of half an hour. "May I stay with him?"

"Of course. If you need anything, just ask." Walking around to the foot of the bed, he added almost as an afterthought, "He's not in any pain." Steinetz closed the door as he left the room, leaving Justin alone with Brian and the machines.

Sitting in the straight-backed chair beside the bed, he took Brian's lax hand, stroking the long fingers, so much more graceful than his own.

He thought about a thousand things, a hundred incidents; Gus' birth, that night under the street lamp. He remembered their first Christmas as a couple and their move to New York. Craig Taylor throwing him out, denouncing him as his son. His first encounter with Brian's mother after another round of screwing after the Viagra episode. Ethan. Steve, always Steve. His heart breaking but still Brian in the background to help pick up the pieces, to pick up the tuition, to arrange meetings with gallery owners, throwing him advertising work during lean times. Making love, screwing, fucking. Fucking Steve. Arguing, making up, making love. Raising Gus. Reconnecting after Steve's death, Michael's decades of jealousy. The shower at the old loft. Rage. The move to the cabin together after Steve's death. Making the cabin their own. Early mornings making love and late nights.

Forty years, almost forty-five years.

Ending.

The machines were still doing their work, his body was still functioning.

The machine that counted brain waves, the thing that mattered, the part of Brian that was like no one else, his mind-it was dying despite everything.

Justin watched as the line wavered, flaring briefly like a dying ember when someone blows on it then faded to smoothness

The line was flat now. The machines kept his damaged heart beating and his cigarette scorched lunges breathing but he was gone. Brian was gone.

No. Brian was dead.

Justin sat there, memorizing features he'd been able to draw without looking since he was seventeen years old. This would be the last time they'd be alone, the last time he could hold the hand while blood still flowed through the veins, the last time he could kiss the mouth and still feel the warmth of his lips. Even though Brian wasn't there anymore, Justin could pretend for a few more minutes.

There was a soft knock. The door opened. Gus, his face a mask of shock, obviously having been told at the nurses station since the machines could be read out there as well as in here. He knew that his father was dead. He was too late by a few minutes and there was nothing to be done.

Brian was dead.

It was as simple as that.

It was over now.

Finally. At last.

Too soon.

They should have had another twenty years together and Justin had a momentary flash that this was like what Brian himself had endured when Steve had died too young.

Shock beyond disbelief or anger.

It was too much to grasp now, this unimaginable idea of Brian being dead. It was too much and too sudden and it was-wrong.

Brian was strong and alive and…

Gus stood next to his father's body, his hand going to the still, though still warm cheek, brushing his hair out of his face then bending to kiss him for the last time. Dry-eyed, he straightened and touched the buttons on the machines he had been told would turn them off, sparing Justin.

The heart and lung machine only needed one touch to stop it's doing the job it was built for.

Brian's chest stopped raising and falling with the forced breaths, the machine beeped as his damaged heart tried for a minute or so then gave up. The machine noises stopped.

There was silence.

No tears, not yet. No crying, just stunned acceptance of what had happened.

The two men had no real warning, no time to prepare themselves or to accept this.

It was over.

Gus put his hand on Justin's shoulder as he kissed Brian's cooling knuckles and stood, his hand resting briefly on the still chest, his other hand going to cover Gus' hand still on his shoulder.

The hospital had copies of Brian's instructions in case he didn't survive the surgery. They would do as he wanted and then Justin and Gus would carry out whatever was left-a memorial service to his specifications, his will would be read and followed. There would be letters and flowers to be acknowledged, donations to a favorite cause or two, the usual testimonials. Justin and Gus would have to write an obituary.

In a few weeks, too soon, they would have to move on, but for now, they had these few last minutes.

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