Homecoming

*12*

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Opening Negotiations

Brian

I snatch up the coffee cups and shit and take myself off to the kitchen. I'm not sure that I want to hear this conversation. I know I should have done something about the situation with Gus long before now. I should never have let them take him out of the country without some formal agreement about me still being able to see him. That was just fucking stupid. But I was still reeling from Justin being gone, as well as dealing with the whole fucking mess over Ben, not to mention all the crap that was involved just with trying to clear away the ruins of Babylon, and I couldn't … I couldn't argue with their insistence that Gus would be better away from here.

I mean, it's like Mikey says, at best I was a drop-in father. I might have been seeing Gus more for a while, but the fact is that Linds and Mel are his parents. They have to be seen as his parents or what the fuck are all the battles about? What was I fucking about when I signed away my rights to him? So, between them yammering on about his safety, and my own fucking principles at the time it seemed like I was doing the right thing to let him go.

It was only after all the dust settled, after Ben accepted his plea bargain for simple assault (which at least saved him from being charged with anything worse) and we finally got the site cleared and the plans accepted for the new club and all the other businesses there (and thanks to Ted and, to my fucking amazement, to Mayor Deakin that all happened months earlier than anyone - especially me - expected), that I had time to realize that there is a huge fucking difference between being a drop-in Dad, and being a Dad who never sees his fucking kid at all.

The phone calls were the worst. He's a smart little fucker, and he figured out how to use the speed dial on Lindsay's cell to reach me. I'd hear his voice and my heart would fucking squeeze so hard I felt like I was having a heart attack and he'd be saying shit like, "When are you coming to see me?" and even fucking worse, "When can I come home?"

I wanted to go up there, but Lindsay kept on about how it would be better if he was given a chance to settle, and all that shit, and I was so fucking busy, with Kinnetic, and trying to get the new place built - and with heading off to New York to see the little blond twat who's over there trying to sweet talk Lindsay and at least get her to agree to let me see my son …

But I should have gone. I should have fucking ignored her, and just gone. Justin could have flown up and met me there. We could have spent a few days up there instead of in New York …

But I didn't. And the phone calls stopped coming - guess he finally gave up on me. Smart kid.

And even though I've rung him at least once a week, every week, gradually, he's seemed to get quieter and quieter and to want to talk less and less.

Sometimes I think I should just fucking let go. Let him go. Let him get used to a life without me.

The only thing that stops me is … of all fucking things, Jack.

Michael grew up without a father, so he's been fucking free all his life to idealize what a father is, could be, should be, would be. Forgetting that fathers are just guys - most of them are dumb as shit, a good percentage of them are assholes and there are damned few that qualify for any sort of father of the year award, let alone sainthood.

Justin … Justin's father was busy making out like he was the perfect Dad - until the day he stood in an alleyway and told his 17 year old son that he had to choose - he had to turn his back on everything he was learning about himself, walk away from the man he was growing into, or never go home again. Fuck! I have never been so fucking proud of anything in my life, as I was of Justin that night. Because he'd done what I'd never had the fucking guts to do - lay on the line for his father just who he was.

And you can fucking bet that that played into why I wound up telling good ol' Jack about me. And look how well that went.

But the thing is … it didn't end that day in Jack's fucking garage.

Because Jack did the fucking amazing thing, and came to me. Came to me bringing that damned photo. So much like the one that still sits on my desk in the loft. Pathetic attempt as it might have been, he at least tried, at the end to reach out to me. (And as someone who has a long history of making pathetic attempts at any sort of emotional connection, I could hardly fucking fault Jack for being no better at it than I am.)

So I told him about Gus. Introduced him to his grandson.

And that makes some sort of fucking difference.

Nothing could ever make right the fucking things that happened when I was a kid. Nothing.

But at least he didn't die with us completely hating each other, it didn't end with me believing that all he felt for me was hatred and loathing.

At least, at the end, Jack gave me that.

Now I want the chance to give Gus more than that.

I don't fucking want him to hate me for just going missing from his life. I want him to know me, to at least know that I love him, that I want to be there for him if ever he needs me. At least that.

I …

People die every day.

I have a lover who was nearly killed in front of me - twice.

I've had cancer.

I don't want to die with Gus not knowing me; not knowing, not being sure, that I love him. I want the chance to makes sure that he knows that. And that I miss him; that it wasn't my idea to separate us so completely; that his father might be a fucking idiot, because I should never have let him go, but that it didn't happen because I just didn't give a shit.

But thank fucking God, Sunshine is off the phone and he's smiling.

I might still have that chance.

 

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Justin

I make sure that I'm smiling when I go to Brian. He's standing in the kitchen area, sort of frozen with his empty coffee cup in his hand, like he doesn't know what to do with it.

I come close and say the best thing first. The thing that he needs to hear. The rest is just shit that we'll deal with later.

"She says she can't take the whole week off, but she's going to fly in on your birthday and stay for the weekend."

I can almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he calculates it. His birthday is a week from next Wednesday. Today is Saturday - so that means that if you don't count today which is nearly over, he's just ten days away from seeing his son.

As that sinks in I see some shadow that had been haunting his eyes for months start to lift, although all he does is suck his lips in and nod.

He seems to finally notice the cup in his hand and turns to put it in the dishwasher.

"She give you any grief?" he asks and I can hear his struggle to keep his voice even.

I say nothing for a moment, trying to work out how to answer and something in my silence sets off his alarms, so he turns to me, eyes now sharp as rapiers.

"What?" he asks, the word not loud, or even sharp, but still somehow cutting through any possible temptation to try to hide things from him. Which I wouldn't anyway. Where it's about Gus, I would never try to hide anything from him.

It's just that it's hard working out how to put into words the feeling I had on the phone.

I describe Lindsay's initial surprise (I'm not sure she was all that thrilled to hear I was home although all I'd told her was that I was here till after Brian's birthday), and her hesitation over my original suggestion that she fly down for the week - from the Saturday before Brian's birthday to the Sunday afterwards. I'd told her I'd pay for their flights, and arrange accommodation. I'd made it clear the invitation was for Mel and JR as well as her and Gus, and that's when … I can't explain it clearly but, I tell Brian, I'd just had the feeling that something changed. She'd gone quiet for a moment, then she'd said that she couldn't make a whole week. Maybe for a weekend. I'd told her that I really wanted Brian to be able to see Gus on his birthday, so perhaps we could fly up and bring Gus and maybe JR back with us.

She'd gone absolutely silent for a moment - I thought the connection had dropped.

Then her voice had gone very soft, but at the same time sounded really intense. "No. No, that wouldn't be a good idea. But I think I could get a few days off, so I could fly down on Brian's birthday."

She'd gone quiet again for just a moment, and then said in that same soft, intense voice, almost as if to herself, "Yes. That's what I could do. I'll bring Gus down with me on Brian's birthday."

"And JR," I'd reminded her.

"Oh," she'd said, almost sounding surprised. "Oh, well, that's up to Mel. But maybe … maybe."

Then she'd seemed to pull herself together and we'd agreed that I'd book the flights for her and Gus straight away, to make sure that they could make it on the day at least, and she'd let me know about Mel and JR and when they could get away.

"I don't know, Brian," I tell him. "It was just … strange."

He nods. Then says slowly, "Yeah, she's been like that sometimes when I've called - like there's something fucking going on that … she just doesn't want me to know about."

He bites his lips for a moment, and then says, "But you do think she's coming?"

I think about that for a moment and then nod.

"Yeah, yeah, I do. She sounded … almost relieved. Like she really wanted an excuse to come home for a while or something.'

He nods, looking relieved himself.

Then his cell rings.

I pick up the other dirty cup off the counter to put it in the dishwasher while he answers.

I know who it is even before I hear the excited chirping coming from the phone. Only Gus can bring that look to Brian's face.

 

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Brian

Whatever has been wrong with my Sonnyboy in our last few phone calls sure as hell isn't bothering him now. He talks for nearly five minutes hardly fucking drawing breath, telling me about how he's coming down to see me, and how he'll be on a plane this time, and that he's going to bring me something he's made in school for my birthday present, but he can't tell me what because it has to be a surprise and how he's going to help me blow out my birthday candles and all sorts of other shit before he finally slows down and asks me how long it will be before he comes. So we work out how many sleeps it is, and he gets all fucking choky because it's more than he can count on both hands, but I promise I'll call him tomorrow night and then it will be one less sleep and he'll be able to use his fingers to count how many are left. He makes me fucking promise to call him every night, so I tell him I'll try and he tells me, "Don't try, Daddy. Just do it."

Demanding little shit thinks he's fucking Yoda.

His mother finally gets the phone out of his clutches and then does her own version of the "so much looking forward to seeing you" shit. But by the time she hangs up, I'm at least fucking convinced that she plans to come. She wouldn't put Gus through the disappointment if she was planning to back out. For that matter, she wouldn't put herself through the grief he'd obviously give her, because the kid is fucking over the moon at the thought of coming back here - and of seeing his old man.

I just sit for a moment, perched on the stool at the kitchen counter where I'd propped myself during Gus' onslaught of words, to savor that fact. For once I don't shrug it off, or push it away, I just let myself absorb and appreciate the fact that my son misses me, that he hasn't forgotten me, that he's fucking over the moon excited at the thought of seeing me. Well, and at the thought of going on a plane, and of my birthday cake - but I know he meant it when he said, just before Lindsay took the phone and shooed him off to get into his pyjamas, "I love you, Daddy. I wish I was there tomorrow. I wish I was there with you right now."

And I hope he knows I meant it when I whispered back to him, "Me too."

 

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