Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction

I wake up the next morning feeling like absolute shit, and for a brief moment, I wonder if this is the fabled “morning sickness.” Is it too early for that? I don’t know. Hell, I don’t know anything about this.

It doesn’t seem like it would be though, since it’s not nausea -- it’s just an overall shitty feeling, combined with a backache that’s more than a little bit annoying before I’ve even rolled out of bed. And when I finally manage to drag myself out of bed and to the bathroom to pee, my problems compound when I realize that it hurts to pee. Great, I think to myself, now I’ve probably got a urinary tract infection. Just what I need to be the cherry on top of the pile of shit that my life is becoming.

I’d love to go back to bed and stay there, pulling the covers up over my head to shut out the world and pretend that none of this is happening. But I have to go to work, because Brian is counting on me and so is everyone else.

So I take a shower, get dressed, eat some breakfast, and make my way to the subway station, stopping at a drugstore on the way to pick up a couple of bottles of cranberry juice and some Azo, in hopes that might help me make it through until my appointment on Monday, because I don’t have time to waste half of my day sitting in the waiting room at urgent care, just to get some antibiotics.

When I get to the office, I find a post-it note from Jonathan stuck to my office door, asking me to come see him ASAP. Knowing Jonathan, I seriously doubt it’s an emergency, but I also know that if I don’t go see him, he’ll be in my office shortly, all kinds of pissed off because I didn’t, and the absolute last thing I need this morning is a queen-out from Jonathan, particularly with Brian not here to out-queen him. (Though Brian will insist that he himself isn’t a queen, he totally is. And when Jonathan gets carried away, Brian is the best person to deal with him, because my first reaction is usually to seriously consider slapping him, which HR would probably frown upon.)

I drop my bag in my chair, along with the sack from the drugstore, and walk back toward Jonathan’s desk, which sits in the reception area in front of the main elevator -- an area I typically bypass by taking the employee entrance to the building and the rear elevator instead. When I get there, I slap the post-it note down on his desk and give him a look that dares him to cross me, but he somehow doesn’t seem to give a shit, which is something that’s always amazed me about him (and made me wonder why Brian likes him so much, since he treats Brian the same way). Instead, he shoves a folder at me that contains a couple of pieces of paper with flags marking the spaces for me to initial or sign -- paperwork for the new intern I forgot about in the middle of all of the upheaval that’s been happening in the office and in my life. She’s a graphic artist, and she’ll be helping Christina, which in turn should help me as well. It’s good timing, because I’m sure I’ll probably need it.

With Jonathan’s “emergency” taken care of, I walk back to my office, wanting so badly to strut away from his desk with my heels clicking across the floor like I mean business, but I feel so shitty that I just don’t have the energy to put into that. In fact, I’m probably about to take these shoes off and not put them back on for the rest of the day. Thankfully, I don’t have any meetings with clients today, so I’m free to do whatever I please, although I really, really wish I could break into my wine stash.

Since I don’t have any meetings, I’m hoping for a relatively quiet day, in spite of Brian’s absence. However, what I end up getting is anything but. All day long, people are in and out of my office, asking inane questions about stupid shit, or otherwise needing hand-holding to get things done that they should easily be able to take care of on their own. But since Brian wants to micromanage every little thing, people are used to getting his approval on everything before they proceed. I don’t need that, nor do I want that -- and I definitely don’t want to deal with it today. Not on a day when I already feel like shit.

But somehow I manage not to bite anyone’s head off or make anyone cry -- at least for the morning hours. Still, by the time noon rolls around, I’m more than ready to escape from the office for a bit before I go insane. I’d really like to leave the building, but given that I’m exhausted, and it’s also hotter than the depths of hell outside, I choose to stay in the air conditioning and go downstairs to the cafe on the ground floor. Honestly, the only thing that cafe has going for it as far as Brian and I are concerned is its close proximity to our office and the fact that they can deliver in less than ten minutes, but in a pinch -- which is exactly what I’m in today -- it’ll do. However, I don’t get more than five feet in the door before I see a familiar face at a table in the corner -- a face that I definitely do not want to see today or any other day. I turn to leave immediately, hoping he didn’t notice me, but I hear his voice calling my name, and before I can reach for the door, he’s right behind me, reaching around me to hold it for me.

“I can get it my own damn self,” I say, my voice tight. I don’t turn around; I keep right on walking out the door and toward the elevators.

“I know you can,” Rich says, following me. “I was just trying to be polite.”

I stop right in my tracks and spin around. “Or maybe you just want a little woman to take care of, so you can feel like a big, strong man," I say. "I thought I made myself clear that isn’t what I want, and that if it’s what you want, you should look elsewhere. Although according to Brian, you already have been.”

Rich opens his mouth to say something -- probably something disparaging about Brian, whom I really think Rich is sort of jealous of -- but I cut him off.

“I have nothing else to say to you, and I don’t want to see you. We’re done here, and everywhere else, for good,” I say, shifting my gaze over to our building’s daytime security guard, Joe, who has been watching our conversation since we came out of the cafe. “That man over there--” I pause and gesture discreetly in Joe’s direction, “--will do anything I ask. So if you can’t see yourself out on your own, I have no problem asking him to assist, on a much more permanent basis.”

“Cyn, I just wanted to talk. I was hoping I could catch you--”

“Well, you did. And now you can stop. This is the only time I’m asking. We are done, for good. I’m not interested in talking, or in reconnecting, or whatever else you were after when you came here. Please don’t try to contact me again.” This is really the last thing I needed today, because I feel so physically terrible, and I’m having a terrible day to go with it. But I’m trying my best to be totally on top of my no-nonsense, I-mean-business game -- I just hope I’m succeeding.

“Look, I know I fucked up.” Rich is keeping his voice low, but I can see the desperation in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I really like you, and I think maybe we could work it out--”

“Like I said on the phone, you and I are not on the same page when it comes to what we want out of life or a relationship,” I say, cutting him off before he can voice any more of his pointless pleas. “Again, if you can’t see yourself out…” I let my voice trail off as I glance in Joe’s direction again.

“Fine,” Rich sighs, throwing his hands up in frustration. “But it doesn’t have to end this way--”

“No, it does. It’s over. It was over weeks ago. Please, just go.” I can feel my facade starting to crack a tiny bit, simply because I’m so tired and I feel like shit, and the last thing I want to do is continue arguing over this. Thankfully, Rich does turn and go, walking out the door on his own, with Joe’s eyes following him the whole way. As he walks by the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the front of our building, Rich gives me one last glance over his shoulder, with the same disappointment and regret in his eyes, before disappearing around the corner and out of sight.

As soon as he’s gone, I turn back around and take the last few steps toward the elevator and punch the button, stepping inside when the door slides open. I manage to keep my air of confidence until the doors close, but the moment they do, I find myself sagging against the back wall of the elevator, my knees feeling weak as all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through me during our little “encounter” suddenly leaves my body.

I just have to hope that it's over now -- that he's finally gotten the message, loud and clear -- and that it’s the last time we’ll ever have to interact. I’m also sort of wishing I’d listened to Brian in the first place, even though his initial objections were ridiculous and more than a little off-base, if only because it would have helped me avoid this mess entirely. Actually, it might have helped me avoid even more than that.

Maybe staying in bed and pulling the covers over my head wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all.

By the time I get upstairs, I’m feeling nauseous, and I barely make it into Brian’s and my private bathroom before I’m throwing up what little I’ve eaten today, not quite sure if my sickness is from stress or from pregnancy, or perhaps a little of both. I still can’t believe what just happened -- not that I think Rich was necessarily stalking me, or that he’s dangerous, but just the fact that he was sitting there waiting on me is enough to make me feel a little uneasy, if only because it’s just plain weird and desperate.

I know his behavior isn’t really about me -- over these last couple of weeks, it’s become abundantly clear to me that Rich’s desire to get back with me isn’t about me at all. It’s about him, and his ego. Getting what he wants. And as I sit on the bathroom floor, dry heaving, the only thing I can feel in my stomach is the heaviness of fear and anxiety, as my body reminds me of one more possible connection Rich and I have -- that I may be pregnant with his child, though even if that turns out to be the case, I have absolutely no intention of ever informing him of that, given that I’m not keeping it. I definitely don’t want to see him now. I don’t want anything to do with him, and if he tries to see me again, I won’t hesitate to have him escorted from the premises.

When it seems like the upheaval in my stomach is over, I sit back against the wall, tilting my head back against the tile. Now, I’m actually grateful Brian isn’t in the office today, because the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. I know there’s no shame in it, and that I’ve seen him in far more compromising positions, but this fear and anxiety in the face of the unknown is making me feel weak, and that’s not a feeling I want to succumb to. I pride myself on being a strong woman who doesn’t take any crap off of anybody and always gets exactly what she wants, but lately, it seems like I’m being tested, and I’m starting to feel like I’m failing miserably.

Another reason I’m glad Brian isn’t here is because I know if he was, he’d be on his way to personally kick Rich’s metaphorical ass right now, and to make sure that Rich understands his place, in no uncertain terms. But as satisfying as that would be, it wouldn’t really help matters. There’s nothing that can help me now -- I’m stuck, and there’s no escape route. Monday can’t come soon enough, if for no other reason than to answer some of the questions that are still floating out there, unanswered, keeping me from knowing exactly where I’m going. Leaving me wondering when I went from feeling like I had everything figured out to having no idea where my life is going to lead.

Finally, I manage to pick myself up off the bathroom floor, rinse my mouth out, drink some water, and get back to my desk. I decide to keep my office door shut, in hopes it might help keep out at least a few of the people who might come in, and it seems to work, as I keep seeing people pass by, glancing through the window in my office door, but they keep on walking, and that’s fine with me. The only person I do let in is Christina, because the two of us have legitimate work we need to do, but I can tell she’s concerned about me, in spite of my best efforts to pretend nothing is wrong and her own efforts to try to respect my privacy. She probably would be a good person to open up to, but I don’t feel ready for that just yet.

When six o’clock finally comes, I’m beyond ready to go home, having spent most of the afternoon in and out of the bathroom, either peeing or otherwise feeling sick, and hoping beyond hope that this isn’t what I have to look forward to over the next nine months.

Just because I want to do something that feels normal, I pick up my favorite chicken noodle soup from the deli near my apartment, since I never ate lunch, and I lost most of my breakfast and morning snack. It’s all I can do to force the soup down, but I manage it, despite the queasy feeling in my stomach. I’ve always been good at dealing with stress -- with a seemingly innate ability to keep myself grounded and focused even when things get crazy -- but right now, I feel like I’m stuck on a merry-go-round, pulling me around in a dizzying circle with no end in sight, and I can’t jump off, but I sure as hell don’t want to stay on either.

By morning, the nausea is gone, though the shitty feeling remains, and I’m not sure the juice and the over-the-counter meds are doing much for me, but it is what it is. I’ll get it all taken care of on Monday. Brian and I have an important lunch meeting today, wining and dining a potential new client, so I put on my power suit and try my best to hide the dark circles under my eyes with makeup. However, Brian sees straight through my facade almost immediately.

I’ve only been in my office for a few minutes when he comes in, bearing coffee and doughnuts, which might sound strange given his typical avoidance of carbs, but these doughnuts are apparently an exception to his rules, because he brings them in almost every Friday, just for the two of us.

“Decaf,” he says, as he lifts one of the cups out of the tray sitting in his lap and double checks the markings on the side to make sure he’s not giving me his triple shot nonfat latte, I’m sure.

“Ugh,” I groan. “Don’t remind me.”

“Sorry.” He looks up at me and shrugs. “Though you do look like you could use some caffeine.” The look in his eyes is apologetic -- an expression you don’t see out of Brian Kinney very often -- and I can tell he feels guilty for having been out of town the last two days. “I just remember Lindsay going on and on about how terrible and dangerous it was, when she was pregnant with Gus.”

“Don’t remind me about that either.”

“What, that Lindsay was pregnant with Gus?” Brian is smirking now, and I know he’s about to attempt turning my mood around with humor, though I’m not sure yet whether or not I’m ready for that today.

“No, smartass. Pregnancy in general. I don’t want to think about it.” Truthfully, I want to spend the next few days pretending that everything is a-okay, even if it’s not. “It’s already taking over my entire fucking life, and I don’t even know yet if it’s actually happening. Though the universe seems destined to remind me, over and over again.”

I never intended to tell Brian about Rich’s little “visit” yesterday, but I end up doing it anyway, perhaps because I can’t stand to keep it to myself any longer. And, just as I predicted, Brian immediately wants to know where Rich’s office is so they can have a “talk.” I do manage to talk Brian out of that, though if I were Rich, I’d steer clear of that gay bar near Brian and Justin’s apartment, at least for the foreseeable future.

“You can go home, if you want,” Brian says, once I’ve convinced him not to try to avenge my honor and we’re back to discussing how shitty I feel. “I can do that meeting on my own.”

“No.” I shake my head, knowing that there is no way in hell I’m giving in this easily. “I’ll be fine.”

Brian gives me a pointed look, and I almost laugh at the irony of him being the one trying to convince me to go home. I also know he’s about to have just as much success with me as I usually do with him -- none at all.

“If you start treating me like I’m going to break, I will kick your ass,” I say, hoping my tone conveys just how serious I am.

Brian holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry. Just trying to help.”

“I know.” I let my expression soften the tiniest bit. “And I appreciate that, but really, I’m okay. I’ll figure it out.”

He nods and sets one of the two paper bags he had in his lap on my desk. “I know you will. You always do.” With that, he turns and leaves my office, heading in the direction of his own. I open up the bag and see he’s brought me my two favorite flavors, even though I’ve never said as much -- he’s just observed it. That’s just Brian, though -- always paying attention, quietly doing nice things for the people he cares about, sometimes big and sometimes small. The selfless person underneath the aloof, seemingly self-absorbed facade.

I do manage to make it through the rest of the day, though this time it’s Brian who’s covering for me in our lunch meeting, because I’m so distracted by how awful I feel that it’s all I can do to sit there with a smile on my face for an hour. We get the account though, and we leave the restaurant with contracts signed and go back to the office together, with Brian casting me furtive looks of concern in the back of the car the whole way. We go our separate ways at the office, each working on our own projects until five o’clock, when Brian appears at my office door with his briefcase in his lap.

“I’m heading home,” he says. “Why don’t you do the same?”

It takes some convincing, and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to turn the tables on me and physically pull me out of my chair and down the hallway to the elevator, but in the end, he doesn’t have to. I’m exhausted, and I can’t deny that going home and going to bed, even before the sun sets, sounds really fucking good right now.

So I sigh and pack up my bag, following Brian out of the office, which is already deserted because Brian has made a habit lately of letting everyone leave early on most Fridays, though I’m not sure why. It actually started when Rob was at the height of his work-related crisis, and that makes me wonder if it might be part of some subconscious effort on Brian’s part to not be “that” boss who doesn’t let his employees have a life outside of the office.

When we get downstairs, I’m ready to head down the street to the subway, but Brian has a car already waiting for us. The driver drops Brian off first, because his apartment is closer to the office than mine, but as he waits for the driver to unload his wheelchair from the trunk, he turns to me, a serious expression on his face.

“I want you to take care of yourself,” he says, echoing back to me the words I’ve said to him so many times. “Rest. Take some time off if you need to. We’re okay at the office. I’ll make sure everything that needs to be done gets done. You don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to us.”

I’m not sure why his words strike me the way they do, but I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes and the lump rising in the back of my throat, in spite of my best efforts to push it all down. I’m not normally an emotional person, so I don’t know if this is pregnancy or just the fact that I’m so fucking overwhelmed right now. I look away, trying to give myself a moment to blink back the tears and regain my composure, but the second I do, I can feel Brian’s hand come to rest over mine, which is laying in my lap.

He squeezes it gently, and I turn to face him again, even though my vision is still blurred with tears. In his eyes, I can see how deeply he cares and how much he means what he’s saying, and that makes it even harder to hold myself together.

“I’m here for you, like I said I would be,” he says. “Let me.”

He squeezes my hand one more time before he lets go, then hoists himself out of the back seat of the car and into his chair. He gives me a small smile as he backs up a little, then says, “Call me if you need anything. I mean that too.”

I nod without saying anything, then watch as he closes the door and goes into the building he and Justin have called home for over a decade.

And as the driver pulls away from the curb and makes the turn to head north toward my own apartment, a single tear finds its way out of my eye and slides silently down my cheek.

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