Acknowledging Fears

Chapter 3

As Justin began to flip through the pages of the rather lengthy insurance policy, Brian sent the email he'd been working on for the past fifteen minutes and shut his laptop. Standing, he said rather quietly, "I'm going to take a shower. Then we can go eat." And talk. Figure out what the hell we're going to do next. He was too tired to dissect when he and Justin had coalesced into a "we" entity. That thought alone should have bothered him more. It bothered him that it didn't bother him more.

Justin's blue eyes had lost some of their sparkle, though they were still bright with emotion. It didn't escape Brian's attention that Justin didn't ask to join him in the shower, simply nodded assent. Maybe this is finally sinking in, he thought. God knew he was having a rough enough time accepting it himself. It just wasn't something he thought he'd be dealing with at the age of thirty-two. But the fates seemed determined to fuck with him and his perceptions of things.

The words he'd once spoken to Michael came back to him in a rush. Life not worth living if not take risks. It had taken him brushing fingertips with his own mortality to realize that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to die young or alone. He wanted more. He wanted time to be a real father to Gus, not just one who dropped in occasionally with gifts and money for his mommy. God only knew how he was going to break the news to Lindsay. The blonde was as likely to dissolve in tears as she was to go off on him. He remembered a rather memorable occasion when she'd grabbed him by his balls, ordering him to go to the GLC Awards. Then he'd ignored her. But now the cost was just a little higher. He wanted to be able to give Justin more. Maybe, in time, give him what he really wanted. And what Brian so desperately wanted to tell him.

So with those thoughts scrambling for purchase in Brian's mind, he turned the water on as hot as it would go, a nearly scalding temperature that only he could tolerate. He relished the heat, hated the cold. The water pelted him and Brian let his mind go places it didn't really want to go. Like the insurance policy. That was the tip of the iceberg. There was the will. And, fuck me, the domestic partnership agreement, he reminded himself. That was one decision that had taken him drinking a bottle of Jim Beam and a lot of critical self-examination to make. Needless to say, Michael knew about none of this. He could just imagine Michael's reaction. "You're doing what?! Have you lost your mind?" He loved his best friend but, at times, he was very, very glad that they were only friends. He knew that Michael would think Justin had tried to brainwash him into something that was the closest thing to a marital commitment that two men in Pittsburgh could legally make. In truth, Brian had thought long and hard, deliberated over facts and feelings, before looking into the agreement and talking to his lawyer.

He tilted his head back, letting the water pelt his face with needle-like precision. As he soaped himself, his fingertips brushed the hairline scar on his sac, a reminder of what he'd lost. Even though he'd paid for a top-of-the-line prosthetic testicle, he still felt less than whole. So much of his identity was tied up in his sexual persona that it was difficult to separate one from the other. It had taken him a long time to accept himself, to make the metamorphosis into the sleek, powerful sexual machine he was. To remind himself that he was not Jack Kinney; that he would never be his father. But, in so doing, there was a large part of Brian that was still left unexplored, untapped potential. So much raw potential to be explored. Michael and Lindsay had just barely tapped the surface. It was Justin who came the closest to getting the real Brian. The person who lived behind the mask, the person behind the arrogance and confidence and charisma.

Justin hadn't yet seen him naked and Brian didn't really want him to. At least not yet. It wasn't so much that Brian minded the naked part. Hell, more than 90% of Gay PA had seen him naked. Justin's mom had seen him naked. But now it was so much more than simple nudity. It was leaving him in a position where he was very, very vulnerable. Brian didn't do vulnerability well. At times, he wondered if Jack Kinney was laughing at him. "See, Sonny Boy, you aren't Mr. High-and-Mighty. You got cancer, just like me. Though it should be AIDS, you fuckin' fairy. You're not young anymore. Not perfect." Brian could practically hear Jack's voice in his head and smell the ever-present whiskey. "Fuck you! You son of a bitch. You're dead. You can't hurt me anymore." he shouted, hoping the water and closed bathroom door would muffle the words. He hadn't cried, wouldn't cry. The closest he'd come to tears was when he woke up in the hospital room in Baltimore, alone. He could do anger and denial. Those were easy emotions, familiar emotions. He hadn't hit depression yet though he knew that would come. It was why he'd tried to send Justin away. Black moods were just part of the territory. The last time they'd hit him, he'd crawled into a bottle and it had only been because Justin needed him that he'd crawled back out. Now he wondered if they were strong enough to stand together against this thing that was eating away inside him.

Justin looked up from the insurance policy, cocked his head, and then dismissed the sound as unimportant. Silent tears felt hot and scalding, unchecked by him. His tears obscured the words he was supposed to be reading. Most was technical jargon that he figured Brian would end up having to explain. Sign? Justin asked himself. Yeah, I guess I'm gonna sign. It wasn't the money. He'd never been with Brian for the money. He knew there were more than a few people on Liberty Ave who thought of Brian as his "sugar daddy," including Lindsay at one point. And Michael. Justin heard the water cut off and picked up the silver Mont Blanc pen to initial where indicated and sign.

With every day that passed, his life and Brian's were more intertwined. They were becoming inextricably linked, more like Brian-and-Justin than ever before, though each still held their identities intact. He wiped his eyes as he carefully put the policy on the desk they shared. He heard a muttered curse from the direction of the bedroom and saw Brian putting up a struggle with his jeans. It was a struggle the jeans seemed to be winning.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" With each fuck, Brian's voice increased in volume. He threw the offending garment into the living room, glaring after it as if it were a very annoying insect.

Standing, Justin crossed to the bottom of the stairs, standing there cautiously. Brian had used him as target practice more than once, though Justin tended to give as good as he got. Barely acknowledging his presence, Brian snapped, "What the fuck do you want?" He realized it came out harsher than he intended but he made no effort to lessen the severity of the words.

Completely understanding his lover's frustration, Justin said, carefully, "Came to see if you needed help. Sorry I bothered." He knew now was not the time to tell Brian he'd signed the insurance policy. Brian's hazel eyes flashed with fury. And Justin knew he was on the razor's edge between fury and melancholia. Fury seemed to be winning out.

"Can't even put on my fucking jeans," Brian snarled, his blood pressure lowering a little, though he was still extremely frustrated.

"So wear something else?" Justin suggested, ever the practical one. He conveniently ignored the fact that he took nearly as long as Brian to get dressed when they were heading out to the clubs. So Brian was in full drama queen mode. Lovely, he thought.

"Fuck you."

Although he could understand the place where Brian was coming from, having been there himself after the bashing, there was a limit to what Justin was willing to take. Brian was rapidly approaching that line. He crossed to the upright dresser and removed a pair of olive green cargo pants. Initially Brian had refused to wear them but once he'd seen how easy it was to get Justin out of them, he'd revised his opinion. "Wear those," he said, tossing them to Brian.

"I want the jeans," Brian said, pouting a bit before rolling his bottom lip in. It was an expression Gus wore on occasion when he wasn't getting his way. Justin wondered briefly who'd taught it to whom or if it was hereditary. Who's the adult here? He wondered, not for the first time. Brian might have a decade on him but Justin was still the one who was more mature, even if he wasn't able to control his emotions as tightly as the other man.

"Brian, you can't wear the fucking jeans. Put those on. I'm going out," Justin informed him. Before I strangle you.

He heard the huff and, as he started down the stairs, he heard Brian say, "Sorry. Thanks."

For what? Talking you off the cliff or staying? But he simply said, "Uh huh." And I'm the infant in this relationship?

"Where do you want to eat?" Brian said, pulling on one of his comfortable black wife-beaters. He seemed to buy them in stock.

Nice segue, Kinney, Justin thought, amused despite himself. It was a good sign that Brian was hungry. Too many times he simply forgot to eat.

So he smiled as he responded. "Anywhere but the diner." He didn't want to face the gang and Deb with a cranky Brian in tow. He could be worse than Gus. Gus, at least, had an excuse. He was three. Brian was most definitely not three.

"How 'bout the market and then we come back here and hang out? Maybe watch a few movies," he suggested hopefully. Seeing the gang wasn't high on Brian's list of things he wanted to do.

"You just want my egg-white omelet," he teased.

"And the chef," Brian acknowledged with a smirk.

It amazed him how a simple comment could turn into sexual innuendo with so little effort. It continually amazed him that their sexual chemistry still burned as hotly as it did. But for now, sex was not an option. So whatever fights/arguments/disagreements they had had to be solved without fucking the hell out of each other. He supposed other people would say they were growing up; Brian hoped they weren't getting boring. Boring and predictable was bad. Very bad. He missed makeup sex. Hell, he missed sex period. End of story. Even his hand wasn't useful for release cause it seemed the wind had gone out of his sails. He'd tried to achieve erection through every means possible to no avail. For someone as innately sexual as Brian Kinney this was an untenable situation. The doctors had warned him that his sexual performance might be inhibited for a period of time but he'd ignored them. Now, he wished he hadn't. He returned his focus to the blond standing half-dressed in front of him. There, he thought, that was much better.

"You ready?" Justin asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

Brian snorted. "Uh, Sunshine. Even I'm not into exhibitionism that much." He leered at Justin, eyes lingering at his groin.

Justin looked down, realized his state of undress, and glared at Brian. "You enjoyed that," he accused.

"Kind of," Brian admitted. He always enjoyed the view.

"Asshole," Justin said, as he pulled on an outfit Brian called "starving artist" chic. Justin had reminded him, at the time, that not everyone could afford Armani or Zegna. Brian had snorted, reminding him that he'd grown up with the WASPs of the country-club sort. They'd come to a detente, neither willing to concede.

"Now, now, Sunshine. Someone's cranky."

"Shut up," Justin said, pulling on sneakers. "Now, I'm ready."

Brian simply smirked as they left the loft, earlier harsh words forgotten for the moment.

Meanwhile, at the diner, Emmett, Ted, and Michael were eating breakfast. Hunter had gone on to school, and the professor had gone in early to a faculty breakfast. "So is His Big and Badness going to grace us with his presence this morning?" Emmett asked.

Ted and Michael exchanged glances. They were the only ones to know of Brian's cancer. It wasn't that they didn't trust Emmett not to say anything. Oh yeah, that was exactly it. They loved Emmett but he couldn't keep a secret to save his fucking life. "Uh, I don't think so," Michael responded.

"He hasn't been at the gym much lately," Emmett observed.

Why's he so fucking observant all of a sudden? Michael wondered. Drop it, he willed him.

"Or the baths. In fact, our illustrious Mr. Kinney has been absent quite a lot lately. Teddy, honey, do you know why?"

Ted had just taken a sip of coffee and choked as he tried to swallow. He'd read the email from Brian earlier letting him know that he wasn't coming in to the office. Ted had secretly been happy that Brian was taking care of his body, for once, not abusing it. It couldn't possibly be that he got a rush out of running the office in the absence of Brian and liked the attention Cynthia gave him, even though it was obvious the blonde lusted after Brian. "No, I think he's just busy with Kinnetik. It's really taking a lot out of him. Hard starting a business. You know that, Em."

Just then Debbie swung by, balancing a heavy tray of dishes. "Hey, honey, where's the Fourth Musketeer? And Sunshine?"

Michael suppressed a groan. "Don't know, Ma. Brian doesn't clear his schedule with me. He's entitled to his own life."

"Honey, you feelin' okay?" It wasn't like Michael to acknowledge Brian's right to his own independence. Ergo, something must be wrong.

"Ma, I'm fine," he said. "I've gotta go. New shipment coming in at ten." He tossed a couple of bills on the table and made his escape. Some secret, Brian. It's getting harder not saying anything. Everyone's curious as to why the most fabulous top on Liberty Ave is staying so low-profile. Keep your own fucking secret, Kinney. Sad thing was Michael knew that he wouldn't say anything. He knew Brian had to handle this in his own way, that he didn't want people's perceptions of him to change.

He slammed out of the diner, leaving Emmett, Ted (who knew why Michael was behaving the way he was), and Debbie staring after him, wondering what the hell that was all about.

Brian looked at the grocery cart with a mixture of disbelief and fascination. "What the fuck is all this shit?"

Justin looked at the items his lover was scrutinizing and suppressed a smile. Brian truly looked confused. "Ingredients for hot-and-sour-soup."

An eyebrow arched. "Yes, but why all the rabbit food?"

"It's healthy. The soup will help cleanse your system of any toxins. And vegetables are good for you."

Suddenly Brian paled, unable to keep from wincing with pain. He inhaled sharply. Immediately concerned but not wishing to draw attention from other shoppers, Justin asked, "Do you need to sit?"

Brian shook his head, the sharp pain knifing through him. "This is worse than I thought. Pay for that stuff. I need to go home." And lie down. More and more, he was glad Justin was with him, hadn't bought into the whole "I don't want to see you again" act. Even though he despised needing anyone.

"Brian, you OK?" Stupid question, Taylor, Justin chided himself.

"No," he admitted. "Justin, let's go," he ground out, visibly in pain.

It was then that Brian knew he'd tried to do too much. His body was protesting the strain. He concentrated on remaining standing as they made their way to the front of the market. Handing Justin his wallet, he waited as Justin paid. Once outside, Brian tossed him the keys. "You drive. Quickly." Then he said, "Try not to kill us on the way home."

He sank down in the passenger side, knowing full well how worried his lover was. He also figured that Justin was just a little pissed off at him. Understandably so, Brian thought. He was glad that Justin concentrated on driving instead of berating him or inquiring into his condition.

It was only when they turned onto Tremont and made their way into the parking garage that Brian spoke dryly, "Well, that was fun, Sunshine."

"Yeah, loads," Justin avoided meeting Brian's eyes. Stubborn fucker. With anger came guilt. Guilt that he hadn't noticed the lump himself, and guilt that he'd allowed Brian to go out when he so clearly wasn't up to the task.

Shit, Brian thought, ignoring the next flash of pain. "Sunshine," he started.

"Don't fucking call me that," Justin snapped. His blue eyes were glacial. "Why the hell do you do that?"

"What? Try to go on without feeling like a fucking invalid? Oh, I don't know. Survival maybe. Or are you talking about me calling you Sunshine?" Brian was angry himself now. He'd learned years ago how to manage the pain, how to hide the pain, and he was damn good at it. At hiding how he really felt. It was rare that people saw the emotions that he kept buried.

Justin sighed. Fighting with Brian wasn't healthy for either of them. He handed Brian the keys and grabbed the few grocery bags. He'd gotten enough to last them the rest of the week. At least, enough so he wouldn't starve. Brian, on the other hand, ate like a bird. Silently they walked to the elevator. There wasn't any way Brian was going to attempt to negotiate the stairs. The tense silence lasted until they reached the loft.

They each headed to neutral and safe areas; Justin to the kitchen, and Brian to the sofa. As he unloaded the groceries, Justin began to cool down. "Bri?"

"Yeah," Brian's voice was husky.

"You hungry?"

"Not really." Code for I'll eat because you asked. "Justin," he said, quietly.

"Yeah," Justin's voice was tentative.

"I need a pain pill. And I can't take it on an empty stomach." It was as close to an apology for behaving like a jackass that he could make. He hoped it'd be enough. Then he said, "This shit makes me moody and grumpy. Don't take it personally." Justin was just the closest target within range, easy to lock on.

"How is that different from how you normally are?" Justin asked, fatigue creeping into his voice. Taking care of Brian was exhausting.

Brian's head popped up into view. Their eyes met. "If I'm really that bad, why the fuck are you with me?"

Oh hell, Justin thought. "Brian, don't---" he started.

"No, I want an honest answer. No bullshit," Brian said, moving into a more comfortable position on the sofa.

He so didn't want to do this. This was bound to end badly. But Brian had given him an opening. Justin felt the need to go through the opening even if it opened into an abyss.

"Why do you think I'm with you? Maturity, sparkling wit, your amazing sexual prowess?" His words were icy, but the emotion was hot.

"You could have other guys. Hell, you have had other guys. I need to know that you don't just feel sorry for me. There are easier men out there, Justin."

Rolling his eyes, Justin said, "I didn't fall in love with them. I fell in love with you. With Brian Kinney. Cancer's not going to make me walk away from you."

"You have before," Brian reminded himself. Always comes back to the fucking fiddler.

"I thought we weren't going to talk about him. It was a mistake. Brian, it was a big fucking mistake." Please, God, don't let him do this.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't good enough for you then."

Justin crossed the room, blue eyes flaring with rage. "You've always been good enough for me. Sick or healthy, you've always been the ideal."

"I'm no one's ideal."

"Everyone in the back room at Babylon would disagree with you. Do you know how many guys would kill for the chance to be with you?"

"And yet you left." He couldn't hide the plaintive note in his voice and it pissed him off, sounding so goddamn vulnerable.

"Brian," Justin said. "Finding our own way is scarier than doing what's expected. Would you have respected me if I'd stayed, knowing that neither of us was happy?"

"I was happy," Brian said, knowing even as he said it that it was a lie.

"Bullshit. I'm with you because I see the person who lies underneath. I get the real you. I don't think even Michael knows you like I do."

"That's true." Brian said. "But beside the point." It took him a long moment before he said, "I hate being fucking vulnerable. I hate needing someone to take care of me. It's humiliating to know that you'll be there when I vomit up everything in my stomach. This is not pretty. It's not fun. And it fucking sucks."

"I'm up to the task."

"I've always taken care of everyone else. Lindsay, Michael, Gus---" Fuck, even Melanie.

"Me," Justin said, finally beginning to understand just where Brian was coming from.

"Yeah," Brian's voice was soft. That one word conveyed so much meaning.

"Remember when I moved in after the bashing?" Justin asked. Brian nodded so he continued, "I'd wake up in the middle of the night, absolutely fucking terrified that Hobbes was standing over me with that bat again. You'd hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. If I had a migraine that kicked my ass you'd give me one of my pills and wait with me until it kicked in. You know, I measured your heartbeats and that helped me fall asleep."

Brian hadn't known that; he'd simply thought Justin liked falling asleep on his chest. But Justin continued, "I remember waking up in the morning with our legs tangled with the sheets. You never complained but I know you didn't enjoy having your sleep disrupted by my nightmares." Brian had had his own nightmares. "But you did it. And even though we aren't traditional partners, I made a promise. Let me help you, Brian. I love you. I need you to know that. I'm not with you out of pity. I'm with you because I understand you. Even if you frustrate the shit out of me, I understand why you do things the way you do. Even pushing me off a fucking cliff to prove a point."

Brian was quiet for so long Justin thought he'd lost him. Then Brian finally spoke in a voice with all the fight gone out of it. "I need you." God help me, I need you.

"Really?" Justin's tone was skeptical.

Hazel eyes met blue eyes. Brian was relieved to see that some of the warmth had seeped back into Justin's. He spoke quietly, "Sometimes a man needs to know when to ask for help. Sometimes a man needs to take a leap of faith."

Justin inhaled sharply. "I'm not going to drop you."

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