Solid Footings

 

Steve had been dead for three years now.

In fact it was the third anniversary of his death and Justin marked Brian's quiet and apparent depression to the fact. He had barely said a word that morning and when Justin had suggested that he not go into the office he had come close to the old Brian Kinney snark, fast and hard.

Justin had let the matter drop, figuring that if Brian wanted to be at work, then he was old enough to make that decision for himself.

They had loved each other, the two men, Brian and Steve. Justin didn't doubt that and he knew Brian would rather that things had worked out differently than they had-that things had just stayed status quo with him and Steve living happily together and Justin safely out of the picture.

Justin had shown up-not knowing that Steve had even been sick, let alone that he'd died-in New York a few days after the funeral. He had found out over dinner what had happened, that Steve had succumbed to a fast moving brain cancer, that Brian had held him while he died and that he had given the eulogy just two days before in a packed church before an overflow crowd. He was distraught, or as distraught as Brian would ever allow himself to be and Justin had tried to help.

He had stayed with Brian at the duplex on a couple of the upper floors at Trump Tower where he and Steve had lived for almost two decades. He had managed to convince Brian to join him when he went back to Colorado and the man Justin had lived with for almost ten years. The trip had been intended as just a change of pace for Brian, a getaway and a change of scene when he obviously needed it.

Well, the thought was a good one, even if the trip was a bust.

Unlike Brian and Steve's solid partnership, Justin and Peter were rocky, the relationship uneven and abusive. It had taken just one evening and one argument with them all together for Brian to convince Justin to leave permanently. In fact, he had been thinking about it for a while, just needing the encouragement to go.

He had been ready to make the break. Within days he had packed his belongings and arranged for them to be shipped east. Brian had waited, running interference between the two other men.

He had taken up what was supposed to be temporary residence in Brian's guest room in New York, but inside of six months they were sharing a room and a bed-tentatively, perhaps, but happy to be together.

Or maybe, as Justin occasionally thought, happy not to be alone. It was an easy routine for them both and they knew each other well enough for the change back to lovers to be accomplished almost with no effort on their part. It somehow just seemed natural to give one another the comfort they both needed.

It also occurred to Justin that their new relationship was a lot like their old one, back when Justin had been a teenager; unconventional and undefined.

They were friends, certainly and he supposed that they were lovers. Certainly they shared a bed and had regular-and occasionally not so regular sex.

Brian never said he loved Justin. Justin never said the words either, having learned his lesson too well twenty years before.

He stayed, though. He wanted to be there, he didn't want to leave. He wanted to be with Brian and he knew that Brian wanted him around as well.

He couldn't help but want the undefined part of the equation dropped, though

Besides, Justin would occasionally think, neither of them were the studs of Liberty Avenue anymore. Brian was in his mid fifties, he was already in his forties. They were hardly prime meat, no matter how well they kept themselves in shape.

As they fell into a domestic routine he found that Brian wasn't the same man Justin had known all those years ago. He was still smart and accomplished and handsome-none of that had changed, but he was less acerbic, less angry and less prone to lashing out. Even his sarcasm was somewhat dampened, though he could still cut like a sharp knife when provoked.

He was more affectionate, at least in private. He would kiss Justin hello and goodbye. He would stroke his cheek as he walked by and he would say things, now and then, just to be kind, just because he knew they were things that would please Justin.

Justin credited Steve with the changes.

He had been good for Brian. He had allowed Brian the confidence to get past a lot of his defensive walls and simply be himself. The family had been skeptical at first, wondering when the real Brian would reappear, but they were wrong. This was the real Brian-a man who cared deeply about the people who mattered to him and though he would never be overtly demonstrative, he was solid and there for them.

His relationship with Gus was a good one, too, and Justin was always happy to see the two of them together. Gus was a grad student at Columbia now, studying architecture and doing well. He had inherited artistic ability from both of his parents and both of them had encouraged him.

The young man was the spitting image of his father, to no one's surprise and the two were close. They had dinner or lunch together every week or so and would sit together, talking about their lives and whatever was on the deck for them on a given moment. Gus had come to love Steve, who had felt privileged to have some part in raising the boy, and missed him almost as much as Brian did. They didn't talk with one another about their loss all that much, understanding without needing to open the still raw wound of his sudden death.

Justin knew better than to try in any way to interfere or get in the middle of that. As far as the Kinney's were concerned, Justin was an outsider and they would share only what they chose to.

Justin didn't press.

At first when he had moved back into the duplex, Gus treated him politely but with some reserve and distance. He had been so young when Justin had disappeared from his life that it wasn't surprising he saw Justin merely as one of his father's old friends from back in Pittsburgh.

They were not close but slowly Gus seemed to sense that Brian couldn't speak about Steve yet and the boy needed to tell someone. Justin listened.

Gus was grieving, too and he would talk to Justin sometimes, sharing memories, telling stories and reliving parts of their lives that Justin knew nothing about. He heard about trips they had all taken together, holidays, parties and simple walks through the city. Gus told him how Steve had helped him hide the accident he'd had with Brian's new antique Porsche two years before his death, quietly having the thing repaired, paying the bill and not letting Brian know about it. Steve was the one who had told his various parents that he was straight and had fallen in love for the first time and made sure Gus knew it was alright. Steve had bought him his first bicycle and then spent a very long weekend teaching him how to ride the thing. Steve had talked Brian into joining them for those two weeks of camping in the Caribbean-the one where the three of them had made their first real connection and when Gus had finally understood how much his father loved Steve and how good they were together.

Justin knew it wasn't fair or reasonable of him to be jealous or hurt when Gus would go on for hours about some trip or a Christmas they'd all had together, but he couldn't help it. Part of him couldn't get past the basic belief that he should have been part of it, that he should have been there but that Brian had chosen someone else to do all those things with.

He had wanted to be there.

He hadn't been welcome.

He hadn't been wanted.

Well, no, that wasn't completely true. If he had knocked at the door he would have been invited in and asked if he wanted dinner or a drink or even a bed for the night, but he would have been an outsider. He would have been a guest when he had wanted to be part of the family.

And now he was…he was…he wasn't sure what he was with them now. Pain management? Yes, he was that. A friend? Yes. A lover? That one he wasn't sure about. He and Brian had sex, though it wasn't like the sex they used to share nor nearly as often. Were they lovers?

No, not really.

They were old friends who slept together for mutual comfort and companionship.

They helped keep each other's boogey men away.

Did they love each other?

Yes, certainly. In a way they did. Old friends, people with shared memories and a shared past. People who had a lot in common. People who had known one another for many years and had cared about one another and helped one another-yes, they loved one another in those ways.

Did they share passion?

Sometimes, briefly, for moments at a time, but the moments passed and then they were friends sharing pain and loss again.

Justin shook himself out of his thoughts. He'd been spending too much time dwelling on things that depressed him lately and he wanted to shake off the black clouds before Brian got back from whatever meeting he was in this afternoon.

He'd make dinner. He'd make a special dinner and maybe they could go to a movie or something later-no, Brian wouldn't want to do that. Maybe they would just take a walk or something. Getting up from the couch he looked through the fridge and the cabinets, finding ingredients. One of Debbie's old dishes would be right, Brian always thought of her things as comfort food.

Lasagna.

No. Pasta with her special sauce.

No, Brian was on a new kick about not eating things that were red. Whatever.

Something alfredo. Chicken. Yes. That's what he'd make.

He pulled out the makings and began grating cheese and choosing the pasta, trimming the chicken and all the rest.

It wasn't like he had nothing to do, for Christ's sake. He did. He was an in demand artist who commanded up to twenty thousand dollars per canvas. He had commissions; he was backlogged for three portraits. He was Somebody.

He even had a show coming up at the friggin Whitney. Well, fine, he was part of a group show but screw it, how many people could say they were part of a damn show at the damn Whitney Museum in New York City?

Brian made it clear, in his way, that he was proud of him, and that was nice. He still encouraged him in every way he could. He had introduced Justin to some of their hotshit neighbors in the Tower, leading to a few more commissions. One couple wanted as many of his things as he was willing to part with for their place in the Hamptons. That made him laugh. Like there were any working artists whose work wasn't available for the right price. Fine, there were a couple of things that he was a little sentimental about-the portrait of Brian he'd done twenty years ago which hung over the fireplace in the living room, but not many others. He knew he could paint more.

His agent always had stuff, commissions and jobs lined up for him and he was in the enviable position of being able to turn jobs down if they didn't interest him.

Brian, of course was swimming in money.

His salary alone was around a million a year, plus bonuses, plus investment income, plus he had inherited the bulk of Steve's estate after a chunk had been-rightly- taken out for Steve's sister and her kid's education funds. He'd even left Gus money to make sure that he wouldn't be dependant on Brian or his mothers for funds. In fact Brian had asked him not to do that, insisting that the kid shouldn't get a free ride. He needed to learn to appreciate things that he worked for. The compromise was that the money was in trust, to only be released for educational purposes and was controlled by Brian until Gus was thirty. . He'd also left a butt load of cash to some of his charities, but there had been plenty left over after all the dispersals had been made. Brian had the sole ownership of the duplex and the place up in the mountains, which sat on Christ knew how many prime acres.

Money had stopped being an issue for Brian a while ago.

Because of that he could do what he wanted and he wanted to stay busy and productive. He still got up and went to the agency every day. He went out to dinner and saw friends. He was in touch with his family and would make sure they had whatever they needed without fanfare.

Debbie's old house was rewired and the kitchen updated a couple of years ago. He'd had the roof reshingled and the furnace replaced when it had gone last year. It now had air conditioning because Debbie suffered in the heat. She would always spend a month at the cabin every summer and Brian would see to it that all her grocery bills were sent to his office.

He had co signed the mortgage and a building loan for Michael and Ben, assuming the payments when needed.

He paid Gus's rent.

When Cynthia and later Molly, had gotten married-though not to each other-he had sent them on their honeymoons to Tahiti and New Zealand, respectively.

The dinner finished hours ago, Justin had finally gone up to his studio to paint. He wasn't even surprised. This was Brian. He didn't always call. He didn't check in. He came and went at will.

By eleven that night Brian still wasn't home, the dinner was in containers in the fridge and Justin was rotating between fury and fear.

His cel was off.

He hadn't called.

Gus hadn't seen him.

No one had seen him.

Justin knew him well enough that he wasn't about to start calling the cops or the hospitals.

Brian was just off on one of his…trips. He would do this now and then. He would get on the ferry or a bus or get in a cab and just ride for hours, thinking, brooding, stewing. Whatever. Eventually he would show up with no apologies and no explanations.

He'd walk in sooner or later.

Once he had been gone for two days before he'd finally called. He was in London, at Steve's-now his-row house in Kensington. He hadn't had a chance to go through the place after Steve had died and thought that…

He had arranged for it's sale and to have some of the things in it shipped to New York, but not very much was sent.

There was no point.

The things were Steve's. He had picked them out. He had bought them.

The possessions he had shipped home were some things he had decided he would give to Steve's sister or her sons.

All Brian took for himself was an old, favorite and slightly frayed cashmere sweater Steve liked to wear when he was chilly. Brian took to wearing it around the duplex when he was relaxing, maybe on a weekend.

He closed that part of his life and it would be the last trip to London he would ever make, his reason for going now gone.

The next morning Justin still hadn't heard anything.

By dinner he was starting to become concerned and had learned that Brian hadn't shown up at the agency either that day or the day before.

He slept, but not well.

Two days later, finally, the phone rang. It was Gus.

"Jus? I'm with Dad. We're at the cabin. I thought that you might be worried about him or something. We drove up on Wednesday."

It was now Friday. "Is everything OK?"

"…Could you maybe come up here? He's, well, he's kinda upset."

It must be something if Gus called for help. The Kinney's were still closed books, both of them, when it came to their feelings.

"I'll leave as soon as I can. Could you tell me what's going on?"

There was a long silence then, "…I think he misses Steve."

Of course.

"I'll get ready to go now. I should be there by lunch."

"Thanks, Jus."

He knew the way, but just in case he had printed out directions on the computer. He pulled up to the cabin just about one o'clock. No one was around. No one answered his knock, but it was a nice day. They could be out somewhere walking.

He started to look around the property and finally saw Gus walking towards him.

"Thanks, Jus. He's been real down the last couple of days, you know? It's the anniversary and it always, you know, it's hard for him."

Yes, he knew.

Gus looked back in the direction he'd come from. "He's on the dock." Justin nodded and headed over. Brian was sitting on the edge, his shoes off and his feet in the water, staring at something below.

"Anything interesting?"

Brian didn't look up, just kept watching. "There's a catfish down there eating a dead sunny." Justin looked into the water. Sure enough, down on the bottom, maybe five feet or so down, there was the fish having his lunch.

Justin sat down beside Brian. "I was starting to get worried about you."

"I told Gus there was no need to call you. He insisted. You didn't have to drop whatever you were doing to come up here."

I was worried, you asshole. "I thought maybe I could help."

Brian shook his head, his attention still on the damn fish. "No."

They just sat for maybe five minutes. "…It's been three years. I know you miss him, but Brian, he wouldn't have wanted you to be like this."

Normally that would have gotten a rise out of him. "How long did you mourn when I kicked you out? Twenty years and counting, isn't it?"

Bull's eye.

"I lived with two other men after we broke up, both of them long term." And fuck you.

"One was pain management, the second was self flagellation."

"…And what's number three?"

"Wishful thinking?"

"Motherfucker. Who do you think you fucking are? We've been living together for three Goddamned years now and you're telling me that it's bullshit?"

Brian spared him a disinterested glance. "You know as well as I do what it is."

"Enlighten me."

"Mutual convenience."

Without another word Justin got up and walked back to the cabin. He was in the car and had turned the key before he responded to Gus pounding on the driver's window.

"Justin, please."

"Fuck him. I'm going back to New York and packing my shit. Twenty four years of Brian Kinney is more than anyone should have to put up with."

"Justin-Damnit, please." He put the car in gear, it started to roll. "He asked me to call you. He was the one who wanted you up here."

Unfuckingbelievable.

"Justin, please. He won't talk to me and he went nuts when I said I'd call Mikey or Mom. He won't even consider Debbie. He wanted you here." Gus stood there by the passenger side. His hands at his side in some kind of defeat. He knew he couldn't help his father and the only one who might be able to was going. "Please."

Justin turned off the ignition. Brian was upset about Steve. Fine, he'd clued into that about three years ago but Steve was dead and buried and that was over. He wasn't coming back.

Steve wasn't coming back and Justin had been the one in Brian's bed for the last couple of years.

Goddamnit. He opened the door and got out.

"Fine." He started for the house. "He'll come back when he's ready, let's get some lunch. I didn't stop on the way up."

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting on the comfortable porch chairs with their sandwiches and beer.

"You don't remember me from when your Dad and I were together, do you, Gus?"

He shook his head. "Sorry."

"You were little, it's OK. Did your Dad ever say anything about me?"

He swallowed. "Not really. I mean, you weren't a forbidden subject or anything, and sometimes he'd tell Steve that he'd gotten a card or heard something about you, but mostly Steve was the one who would talk about you."

"…Steve did?"

"Yeah, he liked you a lot. I think he was a little jealous of you from the way he would talk sometimes."

Justin sipped his beer. Jesus. "What sort of things would he say?"

"That you were the one who Dad loved first and that was something he couldn't have. He and Dad hardly ever argued, but I think when they did he was afraid that you'd end up back in the picture."

"I don't think I've ever seen two people tighter than those two. It never would have happened."

Gus shrugged. "Probably not, but even Steve was a little insecure when it came to Dad. Sometimes I used to think that he loved Dad so much that he was afraid that if they broke up there wouldn't be much of him left." He paused. "Instead it happened to Dad."

Justin almost sort of half smiled, he'd wondered that himself. "You mean part of your Dad died with Steve?"

"You've been sleeping with him for a while now. You think he's like he used to be? I sure as Hell don't. His mainspring is broken. He goes through the motions and most people don't know him well enough to tell, but he's half gone."

Gus was right, they both had known it for a long time now. Justin took a bite of his sandwich, stalling a little. "You loved Steve a lot, too. How are you doing with all of this?"

"Dad is my father and I couldn't love him more if I tried, but Steve was Pop. He was the one who always…" His face started to crumble. "I just miss him so fucking much. He was always there, he always had time, he always just loved me so much."

Unlike Justin. He was just the newcomer, the replacement.

He spoke quietly. "Why does Brian want me around, Gus?"

He blew his nose into the paper napkin, wiped at his eyes. "Um… He likes you."

"Gus…c'mon. I'm just a place filler for Steve."

Gus nodded slowly, his eyes focused on some ripples out in the pond. Probably Brian was tossing pebbles or something. "At first you were, yeah."

"Nothing's changed."

He looked at Justin. "Of course it has. You wouldn't have stayed this long if you were just getting sex and a place to live. From what I've seen you're not that needy." He sipped his beer, his composure back. "You're in love with Dad, just like you were twenty years ago…well, maybe not the same way, but you're still in love with him."

"'Shame it's not returned."

"You're a asshole, Justin. You know that? You really are. I thought that Mikey had that crown, but you've got him beat."

"Excuse me?"

"My Dad loves you. He's loved you all along. The fact that he chose Steve over you doesn't mean that he wouldn't have given his fucking right arm for you…Shit; you're the only one he wanted when Steve died. You're the one he still wants around."

"Fuck this, He just told me that we're together because it's convenient. He's right-it's just so fucking much easier and…"

"You are just such a Goddamned drama queen. He wants you around because you're the one who makes it hurt less, asshole." Gus turned his whole body so that he was facing Justin. "Don't you get it? This is the hardest thing he's ever done-losing Steve. He's still a mess and you're the one who helps him get through it."

"And when he gets his shit together then…"

"Jesus Christ. You think he cares about the agency at this point or the money or any of that shit? He cares that he's lost the love of his life-his fucking other half- and now he's almost fifty-five years old and he's terrified that he's going to have the next twenty or thirty years alone. He doesn't want you there because you're a warm body, he wants you there because you're the only other man in his whole Goddamned life he loved."

"Past tense."

"…Whatever. You still want to queen over something that happened twenty years ago, that's your business. If you'd open your Goddamned eyes you'd see that he still loves you and he fucking needs you now." He took a slug of his beer. "And you'll clue in that it's not going to be the same as it was back then because neither of you are the same. If you have a brain you'll make it something better than you had with him before." He caught the angry look on Justin's face. "Because it couldn't have been as perfect as you've been painting it if he decided to go with Steve instead of you-in fact you two probably had some major problems."

"We would have worked them out."

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda." He stood up, tired of the whole thing, of dealing with his father's pain and his own loss and now Justin's crap. "You got a second chance. You want to piss it away? Then get in the fucking car and leave." His anger gone for the moment he started towards the steps. "I'm going to take a walk."

Justin watched him go down the path, away from the pond, away from his father. He would be gone a while. Standing, he picked up the plates and the beer bottles, taking them into the kitchen.

Propped on the counter was a five by seven picture of Brian and Steve in a leather frame. It had been taken years ago, early in their relationship. The two men were standing down on the dock. Brian was in his usual perfectly worn jeans and a black tee, Steve in khakis and polo. They were both leaning on the railing, casually, close to one another but not touching, unconsciously angled towards one another, both tall and almost painfully handsome. It was a beautiful day and they were both happy and relaxed, the water and far shoreline behind them.

They just looked so-content.

He tried to remember if Brian had ever looked like that when they were together, in Pittsburgh or when they had first moved to New York. Well, yes. Now that he thought about it, a few times he had. He had looked like that a few times at Woody's and Babylon when they were together or after they'd made love. He'd looked that way in his office when Ethan was history and they knew they were back together. Once in a while he had looked like that at some of Justin's art shows or at Deb's when they were all having dinner together.

He had.

There had been times when he had been that happy with Justin, when they had been that happy together.

But now…

Screw it.

Maybe Gus was right. Maybe they really could make the second chance-which was what it was-work.

If Brian could get over Steve's loss.

If he could get through his grief.

If Brian was willing to give as good as he got.

If he could forget that Brian had chosen Steve over him twenty years ago.

The front door slammed. The spring needed to be replaced.

Brian.

"That was taken the first summer we were up here."

"It's a good picture."

"…Yeah."

He started washing the dishes. Brian standing and watching him.

"Look, I'm glad you came up here. Thanks."

"It's OK." He wiped his hands. "Are you hungry?" Brian shook his head. "You feeling any better?"

"I am. I always feel better here." A small smile. "I guess I'm a country boy at heart."

"I guess." And the Pope was Jewish. Justin turned; he should probably go back to New York. It was too awkward for him to be there. They could reconnect back in the city. If what Gus said was true, Brian would give him a few days. He didn't know what to say here and he wasn't sure he was really wanted. He felt like he was intruding on Brian's privacy and with his time with his son. The place was just so much Steve and Brian's that it was hard not to feel like an outsider.

"Things make more sense up here-I've been thinking. I want to sell the duplex. Move."

What the fuck? Justin turned back. "What are you talking about?"

"That place was mine and Steve's. I think we should get a new place that's yours and mine."

"Brian?"

"Well, if we're going to be together we should have a place that we're both comfortable in. I think we should make some changes here, too. Pick out some new stuff, maybe redecorate."

"Would that be 'mutually convenient'?" Still the drama queen.

Brian huffed out a small laugh. "Justin, nothing about you is convenient. That's part of your charm."

"You want me here?"

"…I want you with me." He looked at the floor, his lips rolled in, the old gesture. "I know this has been hard on you, too. I know that. But-I know Steve is gone now and we're still good together-if you're willing."

"As pain management or a band aid?"

"I thought that Steve and I would have another twenty years together. We both did but that's not the way it turned out." Brian put his hand on Justin's cheek, the caress they always used between them. "At first, right after he died you know as well as I do that you were the only thing that kept me going. You still do. I want us together."

"As your night light against bad dreams?"

"That would be one of the benefits, yes, but I'd rather you were around as my lover."

"I thought we were partners."

"We are."

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes."

 

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