Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction

Brian and I both must have fallen asleep, because my next recollection was feeling a hand lightly touch my shoulder, and looking over to see Rob sitting by the side of the bed. I gently untangled myself from Brian, who was still sound asleep, and rolled over onto my back, carefully and slowly, hoping I wouldn’t wake Brian up.

“We’re going to head over and drop off the food,” Rob whispered. “We’ll take the girls with us. Take your time. I’ll let everyone know where you are.”

“Thanks.” I nodded. “Tell them to go ahead and start without us. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Will do.” Rob paused for a moment and looked over at Brian. “He’ll be okay. You both will.” Rob gave me a small smile, apparently sensing my need for reassurance that somehow we’d both get through this, even though right now that felt like it was a long ways away.

I watched as Rob turned and left the room, then I settled back onto my back. I heard Brian’s soft snore and was grateful that at least for a few moments, he had some peace. Space where he didn’t have to think, and where he wasn’t in pain -- physical or emotional.

He woke up less than an hour later -- shortly after I’d heard the front door open and close, and Rob’s hushed voice urging the girls to be quiet because Uncle Brian was sleeping. When we came out into the living room a little while after that, I figured Rob must have given them a briefing of some sort, because neither of them touched Brian, and Sophia resisted her urge to greet him in the way she usually did, by climbing into his lap and giving him a hug.

If Brian was upset at me for letting him sleep for so long, he didn’t let it show. But I knew he wouldn’t want to waste any time in getting to Debbie’s now that he was awake, so we said a brief goodbye to Rob and Adam, thanking them for helping us all pull this dinner together, and headed over to Debbie’s house one last time.

As we pulled into the alley out back, parking in the same space we’d parked in every time we’d visited for the past eleven years, I felt the heaviness -- the finality -- of what we were about to do. Many an important conversation had been had in that backyard, and many a cigarette -- both tobacco and otherwise -- had been smoked. Many a heart-to-heart had been had in that kitchen, and many a loving smack upside the head had been delivered as well. This was the house that only a few of us had called home at one point or another, but it felt like home for the rest as well, because it was always so full of love.

And that love -- Debbie’s love -- was still there, in this house, even though her physical body was not. Her spirit remained. I could feel her presence. I hoped Brian and the others could too.

When we entered the house, everyone was in the living room, talking and laughing, no doubt telling stories and sharing memories. One by one, they got up and greeted Brian and me with hugs and kisses on the cheek.

“There’s plenty of food, if you’re hungry,” Ben said.

I was, and I eagerly made myself a plate of Debbie’s lasagna, cooked by Rob in our kitchen. I offered to make a plate for Brian too, but he shook his head and said he wasn’t hungry. I wished I could get him to eat, but for the time being, I was just going to be grateful that he’d taken a couple of hours to rest. It wasn’t everything that needed to happen, but it was something.

I sat down in the recliner by the window, balancing my plate on my lap as we all told stories and just enjoyed each other’s company. Brian sat next to Michael on the couch, looking a lot more comfortable than he had just a few short hours before, though I was so attuned to him that I still noticed when his facial expression changed a bit, no doubt against his will, as he rode a wave of nerve pain.

I was about halfway through with my lasagna when Michael got up and retrieved a box from the foot of the stairs and plopped back down next to Brian, the box in his lap.

“We were going through Ma’s will, making sure everything was in order…” Michael paused and cleared his throat. “And she had some things she wanted each of you to have.”

One by one, Michael pulled items out of the box and handed them to their intended recipients. Some of them were framed photographs, while others were little trinkets that represented a memory and obviously had special meaning to the person she’d intended them for. Mine was a sketch of her and Vic dancing in the kitchen that I’d done on a napkin one morning before school. I’d just been doodling while I ate breakfast, and I’d left it laying there when I left for St. James Academy that morning. I had no idea she’d even kept it, much less had it framed. But she had.

It made me wonder how many of my other drawings she might have, stashed away somewhere. And if she did, then she was probably the proud owner of dozens of nudes of Brian Kinney -- which made me want to laugh.

Most of all, though, the fact that she’d kept that drawing reminded me that she’d thought of me as a son, too. And that I was as special to her as she had been to me. To all of us.

I was running my fingers over the edge of the frame, my now-empty plate still sitting on my lap, when Michael removed the final item from the box and handed it to Brian. It was a small figurine of a teddy bear holding a heart-shaped pillow. It reminded me of one of those little gifts we could buy at the “Santa Shop” back in elementary school every December, that gave us kids an opportunity to buy a little something for our parents without them knowing about it.

I watched as Brian held the small figurine in his hand, staring at it wistfully, as if he was lost in a memory, while the others looked a little confused at why Debbie would have left Brian a teddy bear figurine.

“I remember when you gave that to her,” Michael said, smiling -- his expression the exact opposite of Brian’s, which was caught somewhere between deep-in-thought and heartbroken. “She loved it.”

It took Brian a few moments to speak. When he did, his voice was soft and slightly hoarse. “I paid two dollars for it at a thrift store, but it was all I had, because Pop had taken all of my allowance as a punishment. Fuck if I know what for.” Brian was still looking down at the bear in his hand. “I wanted to give her something for Christmas. I had to sneak off and buy it while Joan had her back turned, critiquing some pair of pants on Claire.” Brian paused, the tiniest hint of a smile spreading across his lips as he remembered. “I knew she loved bears. Maybe in more ways than one,” he chuckled. “But I can’t believe she kept it all these years.”

“Are you kidding? Have you seen this house?” Michael laughed. “But seriously though, she really did love it. She kept it on her dresser. I remember one time, right after you graduated from college, I asked her why she kept it there. She said it reminded her of you...where you’d come from. How proud she was of you and what you’d become.”

I saw the brightness in Brian’s eyes before he closed them. I saw the single tear fall from the corner of his left eye and make its way down his cheek, leaving behind a trail that glistened ever-so-slightly in the light. I saw his fingers tighten their grip on the bear, right as he bowed his head and his shoulders started to tremble. I knew him well enough to know that he really didn’t want to be doing this in front of anyone -- he’d merely lost the battle to hold it all back.

Michael scooted closer to Brian on the couch, pulling him into a hug, which Brian crumbled into, his sobs quickly becoming stronger as so much of the emotion he’d been trying not to show came spilling out.

The others started to whisper to each other about going upstairs to see if there was anything else they wanted to keep to remember Debbie by, then got up and made their way up the narrow staircase, until Brian and Michael were alone on the couch, and I was the only other person in the living room. I got up slowly from my chair and walked into the kitchen, placing my plate in the sink as quietly as I could, before tiptoeing upstairs to join the others, leaving Brian and Michael to mourn privately -- leaning on each other, as brothers. The way they should have been for a few days now.

As much as it hurt me to see my husband break down, at least he wasn’t holding it back anymore. He needed this time with Michael.

By the time we came back downstairs -- each of us having found a few more memorable items we wanted to keep -- Brian and Michael were talking quietly, laughing a little, still sitting next to one another on Debbie’s couch. We all gathered together again, sharing our finds and the memories that went with them. As soon as everyone else started talking, though, Brian got quiet again. I could tell he was lost in his own thoughts, and I wanted to ask him what he was thinking about. But he looked like he was okay, so I didn’t press.

The home movies came out a little while after that, providing a much-needed lightness and distraction as we all remembered sitting in that very living room watching the slideshow of David and Michael’s overly pretentious trip to Paris, and how Debbie had reinterpreted each slide in her own very non-sophisticated way. I didn’t remember a whole lot of it, because I’d spent most of the slideshow with my tongue in Brian’s mouth or his in mine -- frenching, which Brian felt was apropos.

There was a lot of footage of teenage Michael, but what these videos really did was give me an appreciation for just how inseparable Brian and Michael had been at that age, because Brian was in almost all of them. And, of course, there was a much younger Vic, for whom the worst of HIV had yet to take hold at that point. There were birthday parties and family vacations and snippets of everyday life, and Brian had been there for almost all of it. He was a part of their family. More so than I’d ever really understood or realized.

We had just started watching the tape that was labeled, “High School Graduation,” when Brian slid himself from the couch back to his wheelchair. I made eye contact with him, silently asking him if he was okay, and he nodded, giving me a small smile. He went to the bathroom first, then rummaged around for a few minutes in the kitchen, where I assumed he was making himself a plate of food from the leftovers we’d stuck into the refrigerator hours ago, since he still hadn’t eaten. Meanwhile, I was totally absorbed in the video, as well as the laughter and witty, smart-assed commentary being provided by Hunter, Emmett, and Ted while Michael rolled his eyes. We were all treated to a close up of Brian making a funny face at Vic, who was the cameraman, right before flipping him off. I turned around to tease Brian about his haircut, which I was pretty damn sure was a mullet, but my laughter quickly faded from my lips when I realized Brian wasn’t in the kitchen.

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