Thanksgiving, Part 8 (You & Me Series)

[soulmatejunkee]

Title: Thanksgiving, Part 8/? (You & Me-Series)
Author: soulmatejunkee 
Fandom: Queer as Folk US
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Timeline: Post 5.13; POV's  
Word Count: 3.313
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. It’s all CowLip and Showtime.
Beta: qafkinnetic

There's a lot of talking in that chapter, not so much thinking, so don't be disappointed! But sometimes things just have to be talked out! As always: Every comment is welcome. I Love to read what you think. Thanks!

1. Listen to me
2. Trust me
3. Babylon Part 1 | Part 2
4. Find a way Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
5. ...remember what's missing?
6. The Party
7. Thanksgiving 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7





Justin's POV

I checked my website a few times. With Christmas coming up the Rage stuff was almost sold out, especially the T-Shirts. I called Michael and he was totally euphoric about it. Unfortunately the profit wasn’t just for us, to produce all this stuff wasn’t cheap. But anyway, in the end it was enough to be happy and proud.

"We need a storyline fort he next issue," Michael said. "I was thinking about a new character, maybe someone new for Zephyr."

Huh? "Marriage crisis?"

"What?"

"Are you and Ben having a marriage crisis or is there any other reason why you want to replace him for Zephyr?" I asked.

"No and no, I do not want to replace him. I thought about someone else, not in a romantic way. I mean, you got your dream-wedding, so it’s all fair that I get my...dream...whatever."

I laughed and shook my head. The marriage issue was still the most successful of all. Why are people so fixated about happy endings and why do happy endings always have to lead into marriage and an happily ever after? "What do you want?"

"How about a foundling? He could be an insecure boy with a lot of issues and problems and in the end it turns out that he was some powers, too."

"Is he evil?"

"No."

I nodded and looked at my sketch book. I was still sketching my father, over and over again, it sucked. "What should we name him? Catcher?"

"Catcher? What kind of stupid name is that?"

"Well, I thought Hunter would be to obvious." Am I good or what?

Michael sighed. "Do you have a better idea?"

I still looked at the sketches. "Yes, maybe I have one."

"Let me hear."

"Give me a few hours, maybe a day, I’ll tell you." I couldn’t help but smile while hearing his disappointment that I didn’t fall for the lost-boy story. "And Michael...I won’t forget Zephyr, okay?"

"Okay. Come over when you’re done, it’s better and easier as on the phone."

"I will. See you."

So far everyone knew I was in Pittsburgh, no one knew why, but they knew I was and they also knew I would stay until Thanksgiving. Unfortunately I hadn’t thought about a useful occupation before I came here. Brian had to work and I had...nothing to do. Except for sitting around and pouring over my dad.

He was still in the hospital – of course – but the doctors told us – which means, my mother – that his life wasn’t in jeopardy anymore. The right side of his body was paralyzed, he could barely speak. My mom told me that his second wife had left him a few weeks ago and that – for what reason ever – he had put my mom back in as his emergency call.

I hadn't gone to the hospital so far. I was thinking about it, all the time. But I knew he didn’t ask for me and I also knew he wasn’t waiting for me.

I also knew that I totally overcharged Brian, simply because I wasn’t in the mood to talk, since I had no idea what to say. I was totally listless and I knew he was worrying a lot about that. It probably annoyed him – I knew it annoyed me a lot. I hated to be in a mood like that.

"You look like shit," was the first thing Daphne said when I opened the door and she came in. No hug, no kiss, nothing. "And that is really bad, since normally you’re a pretty guy."

I closed the door behind her and shrugged. "Nice to see you, too."

"Your mom is worrying," she said.

I frowned. "She called you?"

"Yes. Which is also a shame, Mr. best friend living in New York and coming to visit for four weeks without calling me."

I sighed and scuffled to the couch to sit down. "I would’ve called you… sooner or later."

"Now I’m here. So we can work the problem out."

I looked at her. "What is the problem?"

She took off her jacket and sat down beside me. "You’re telling me. Four weeks…?"

"Wasn’t planed for so long. But who cares?"

"Anya I guess."

I rolled my eyes. I tried not to think about New York. Of course it didn’t work, but at least I tried. "Nadya and no, she doesn’t care. She fired me."

"Why?"

"Because I’m here. Actually I just needed a few days off. Yes, it was short-term, but it was an emergency and she fired me."

"What kind of emergency?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "Shit!"

She put her hand on my thigh. "Come on, talk to me. Is it because of your father? Your mom told me about it."

"No." I blinked a few times before I looked at her. "It’s everything. New York sucks. It’s expensive and dirty and the people are horrible. No one cares about me or my work or my plans there. I asked every gallery within a radius of two miles. You’re not popular enough! You need an agent! You never sold any stuff! You don’t have any references! And when I asked Nadya...she just laughed at me. As if I were a stupid little boy who had no idea about the business."

"So, why don’t you look out for an agent? Doesn't every artist have one?" she asked, her hand still on my thigh to comfort me.

"Because the agencies are asking for my schooling and...except for St. James, I don’t have a qualification. Somehow that seems to be very important for them. And if I don’t have a qualification, they at least want some references. I already mentioned that I don’t have any, right?"

Of course she had no answer ready, no one had. She just looked at me, full of pity. Normally I do hate that, pity doesn’t help, but in that moment I kinda enjoyed it and somehow it made me feel less useless.

"I haven’t painted since I moved there. I don’t have a studio and I also don’t have the money to pay for one. So I’m just working on my computer, if I work on any art. A few months ago I started my own website, because I thought that this would be a way to sell some stuff. I looked out for online-galleries, I found some and my art pieces are on there, too. But the only thing that’s selling so far is the Rage stuff. No one really cares about the paintings."

She took my hand and stroked my arm. "I guess it needs time."

"It’s been seven months now," I answered. "Okay, maybe I was a little naive when I moved to New York, my expectations were way too high, but seven months is a really long time for doing nothing I couldn’t have done here, where I’m home, where I’m not a alone."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Stop whining. The only reason you feel alone is because you feel useless. If you would’ve any kind of success you would love New York and you know that. So the city doesn’t give you anything, fine, then just take it. Since when do you ask for givings?"

Just take it...hopefully that wasn’t a slogan she learned on college, because it was bullshit. "Did you listen to me? What am I suppose to do? Rob a bank and open my own gallery?"

"Whatever! Giving up is not an option."

"I didn’t give up...yet. I’m just complaining and actually it’s the first time I’m complaining about this bullshit, so stop attacking me."

"What does Brian say?" she asked.

"Nothing, he doesn’t know anything. What am I suppose to tell him? That I failed?"

"Oh please, Justin!" She rolled her eyes again. It’s not funny if someone’s doing that to you. "You didn’t fail. Just because you haven’t become a super hyper popular artist so far doesn’t mean that you failed. Be realistic."

"I am." I indicated my laptop. "I worked my ass off for that fucking site and it’s successful, so far I do have at least 200 visitors per day, minus the few who just clicked on it to jerk off while looking at my profile pic. And I was hoping that I would at least sell one little piece of art, so that I would have some references. But...nothing, absolutely nothing. All they care about is Rage."

She got up and walked over to the laptop. "Wow, that looks very professional. Did you do that?"

"No, I hired someone."

She clicked through the side and after a while she clapped her hands. "Done."

I turned around. "Done with what?"

"Giving you some reference."

Huh? "What?"

"By the way, you should do some more advertising for your site. Maybe Brian has some ideas, he’s a pro, isn’t he?"

"He doesn’t know about the site." I walked over to her and looked over her shoulder. "What did you do?"

"I bought one of your pieces."

"What?!"

"Why doesn’t he know about the site?" she asked.

"Daph, this is not exactly what I meant by references. Otherwise I would’ve asked my mother to buy a piece."

"It’s a start and...you don’t have to give it to me. You can keep it, maybe someone else want to have it. Of course I also won’t pay you. But you can write SOLD under the art." She smiled at me.

"I could’ve done that without you clicking on it, just to tell me that you won’t pay me and that you don’t wanna have it."

"Then why didn’t you?" She shrugged. "It’s the easiest way to make yourself and your art a little more interesting."

"Because...it’s a fake."

She turned around on the chair and looked up to me. "Why doesn’t Brian know about the site?"

"No one does. I just wanted to wait until it worked out the way I had planned it. And then I wanted to tell him and everyone else."

"Maybe he could help you," she shrugged.

"Yeah, I’m sure he could. Just like he did when he asked Debbie to take me in, when he took me in after the bashing, when he paid for my school, when he pushed me to Hollywood and don't forget when he pushed me to New York. It’s such a wonderful feeling to be independent, isn’t it?"

"I get it." She got up and took my hands. "What about your father?"

"I don’t think he would help me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Justin."

I sighed and looked down. "Nothing, I don’t know. I only know what my mom tells me. So far he’s awake."

"Did you visit him?"

I shook my head. "What for?"

"He’s your father."

"Honestly, Daph," I looked at her. "I am so sick of that stupid line. So he’s my father, what else? He only came to visit me one fucking time after the bashing, he never called to ask if I was okay or if I needed anything. He doesn’t care about me."

"But you care about him," she said. "And that’s what matters. It’s not about him, it’s about you."

"You sound like Brian."

"He’s right."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two hours later I stood in front of the door to my fathers room. I knocked and waited a few seconds before I opened the door and went in. It was a single room, no other patient was in there. I walked to the bed and stopped right behind it, just looking at him. His eyes were closed, he had a drip beside his bed and I could smell the lunch. It was musty in there.

On the nightstand was a little teddy bear, I knew it was from Molly, and some flowers, probably from my mother. I was wondering how Tucker felt about this. After everything that had happen my parents weren’t really friends anymore, but he still kept her as his emergency call? That was pathetic.

"Are you awake?" I touched his left feet, since I’ve been told that his right side was paralyzed. He jerked a little and blinked, confused, before he saw me. And then he just looked at me, it was weird, uncomfortable and I felt totally inappropriate.

"Justin," he said. It sounded more like 'Chussen.'

I nodded. "Yeah, me. Mom told me what happened and...since I was already in town for the holidays, I thought I'd come over to see...you. I wanted to know if you’re okay. But now that I’m here I have no idea why it bothered me so much."

My feelings totally changed while I was standing in front of him. I had no idea anymore why I was so afraid to see him. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t speak, so he couldn’t offend me, he couldn’t get up, so he couldn’t do anything to overpower me.

"Well, whatever." I sighed. "After the last time I never wanted to see you again. I guess that feeling was mutual."

He didn’t say anything, he just looked at me. It was really weird. Different than I expected, on the other hand, I had no idea what I expected.

"There are so many questions I want to ask you," I said. "Like, why can’t you just be my father? Why don’t you care about me? When did you stop loving me unconditionally? And how could you? Do you think about me sometimes? How could you ever blame me for destroying our family, when you were the one who not only cheated on mom, but also kicked me out? I was only 17, Dad. I was a kid. I needed you."

I looked down. I wouldn’t get any answers to those questions, I knew that. I wasn’t even sure if I really wanted any answers, I was sure I wouldn’t like them and it would hurt me even more. But for some reason I realized, right in that moment, that I didn’t need any answers from him. What for? It wouldn’t change anything anymore.

"You know, for the last six years I blamed myself for that. I’m done now. It’s not my fault, it never was."

It wasn’t fair, I knew that. He wasn’t able to answer, he wasn’t able to defend himself, he was totally helpless. Just as I always felt when he told me that I ruined his life and my way of life was wrong and that he wouldn’t accept me as the person I decided to be.

"So, the next time you blame me for your miserable life, just think about it and consider the fact that unlike you, I still have a family." I shrugged. "Good bye, Dad."


Brian's POV

I tried to concentrate on my work, I had to, because our client would be here in a few minutes and I had to convince her to take my offer – which wasn’t very reasonable, but good.

When I heard some footsteps I looked up from my laptop and raised an eyebrow when I saw Justin leaning against my desk.

"You left the loft," I said. It was worth to be mentioned since it seemed that he had decided to spent the rest of life in my one-room-apartment.

"I had some...inspiration," he answered and walked around the desk.

I closed my laptop and stood up.

"Bad timing?" he asked.

I shook my head. Actually it wasn’t the best timing, but whatever or whoever made him leave the loft was worth the last minutes I had before the client showed up. "I have ten minutes left before I have to convince Eyeconic Optics that our new, but way more expensive campaign will be much better for their volume of sales."

He smiled, satisfied. "Maybe I should come with you? I can help you. You know, she likes me."

I laughed. "To tell her what? That pink is the new orange?"

"Purple. This year it’s purple."

I won’t put a purple light above my bed. "No thanks."

He nodded and took a deep breath. "Why I’m here... I was at the hospital to see my dad."

I didn’t see that coming. I knew he was thinking about his father all the time, he was drawing him all the time, but he didn’t talk about him, he didn’t talk at all. "How did it go?"

"He can’t talk, so... he couldn’t say anything, which was my chance to tell him how I feel. I won’t get the answers I want to have, but at least I could tell him what I always wanted to tell him."

I put a hand on his cheek to comfort him and looked him straight in the eyes. He looked different, better. But I knew the power of parents. "How do you feel?"

"I’m fine," he said and took my hand in his. He even smiled at me and it looked honest. "I want to celebrate."

"Whatever you want," I said and kissed his forehead. Whatever he wanted to do. Without talking, there was barely a good fucking the last days. I was totally helpless, I hated it when he didn’t talk, I had no idea what to say or to do and so I didn’t do anything – most of time.

"Babylon, tonight," he smiled brightly.

I shrugged. "We don’t have to."

"I know that we don’t ha..." he shook his head. "Okay, what’s going on."

"Nothing."

"Every time I say that we should go out you tell me, that we don’t have to. Since when are you avoiding Babylon?"

"I'm not." I was at club almost every night – when he was in New York. It was a way to make the nights shorter, less time to think about him, less time to miss him. Of course it never worked, but it was better than sitting at home alone. I bit my lips and closed my eyes briefly. "I know it’s not your favorite place to be."

"When did I ever say that? I mean, sure, there are other places I would choose over Babylon all the time, like the Eiffel tower or the Leaning Tower of Pisa or Big Ben or...Disney Land. But that’s not an option right now, isn’t it?"

I looked at me and nodded. I wasn’t sure if he was really joking or if he just tried to please me, because he knew he had been a pain in the ass the last days. "I just thought you...prefer to not going out so often."

"So often? The last time I was there was one night after the reopening." He looked at me and then he sighed and closed his eyes while putting his arms around my waist and kissing his neck. "I told you that I’m not mad or disappointed because you kept the club."

Strike! When exactly did I become an open book to him.

"You think too much," he said. "Don’t do that, it makes things just more complicated than they have to be. I know how much you love dancing and going out, so...lets go out. Dancing, drinking, fucking..."

I still looked at him, trying to figure out if he really meant what he said. But somehow I knew that he wasn’t the problem, it was me. It was always me. It still bothered me that nothing went the way it was planned. I never made any plans before, but then I did.

"Just...stay with me and don‘t leave me alone at the bar to fuck someone else, okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "I think that’s possible."

"Good." He got up to my tip toes and kissed my lips. "Wanna order some food for dinner later?"

"Sure."

"Okay." He kissed me again and walked towards the door. "I'll be waiting for you at home...naked."

I looked after him. "Can’t wait for it."


TBC

Comments

[guavejuice.livejournal.com]

great chapter,Steffi. so beatifuly writen.
I hope Brian and Justin will have a nice evening later on. they both deserve it *sighs*
can't wait for more.
later,hon
Vered

[soulmatejunkee.livejournal.com]

Of course they will...

Thanks for reading and for your comment.