Title: How It’ll Happen
Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@hotmail.com)
Date: 6/5/05
Rating: R
Authors notes: For big_brian_o and brianakinney. The run-on, stream-of-consciousness style of this piece is intentional. I've fallen in love with this sort of writing, it's very freeing for me as a writer. Beta'd by my husband. Feedback is more than welcome and can be sent to phobosgirl@hotmail.com.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, never will, never wanted to.
Warnings: S5 spoilers
Complete: yes


How It’ll Happen

He’ll go to New York and we’ll make all these stupid fucking noises like we always do about how maybe we’ll see each other and maybe we won’t and we’ll both know that what we’re really saying is that it’s over. But it’s never over and we know that, too, no matter how stubborn we both are, because he can’t fucking breathe without me. Well, he can breathe and I can breathe but it doesn’t feel right, the breathing thing, when he’s not here or I’m not there, so one of us will finally break and it’ll be me.

It’ll be me because it has to be me, because what he’s doing has to be done there and not here and really, what I’m doing should be done there and not here, but like I said, we’re stubborn, me more than him, and when he said, “New York” I pretended that I hadn’t threatened to go there myself, just four years ago.

I pretended that going with him was out of the question, I tried to tell myself it was, I told everyone else it was, impossible, too hard, not cost effective, infant business, barely a year out of the starting gate, why fuck with success? I’ll act like it isn’t fear that anchors me here, fear of starting over and failing where the big boys swim in the deep end of the pool, fear of failing him, us, whatever “we” could mean to us in ten years, twenty, a lifetime. Failing and finally giving up because how much can one person take before they turn cold forever?

So I’ll let him go and I’ll let my heart break like I always do over him, just him, and I’ll act like it’s over and that he’s not mine anymore and I’ll forget he’s always been a wild thing and was never really mine except for those first few months when he would have died to be mine, almost did, while I pretended not to want him.

I’ll let him go and I’ll fuck my way through Pittsburgh’s back rooms and hate it and love it and wonder where the fire went and know secretly that it went east of the Hudson River and that the only way to recapture the fire, be captured by it like I want to be and be warmed, burned, scalded by it, is to follow.

I’ll sit in this cold loft on the nights I can’t bring myself to fuck someone not him. I’ll sit here and listen to the quiet and wonder where the comfort of that went, too, and find the same answer. East, it all went east of where I’ll sit staring into the unbroken silence, and remind myself that I don’t do self pity, it makes my dick soft, but so do other things, like waking up in the middle of the night, rolling over to fuck his perfect little ass and remembering that his perfect little ass left and took the rest of him with it.

And one day I’ll wake up and six months will have passed and I’ll suddenly remember like I remember every minute of every day that I asked him to marry me and that when I asked, I really meant it, really wanted it, really needed him. I’ll remember all at once, like I do every second, and it will occur to me that I’m too big for Pittsburgh now, that when he would say he loved me, I’d feel gigantic, and I’ll know in that instant that I’ve outgrown here.

So as Kinnetik bullies aggressively into its second year, as the money rolls in and piles up because there’s nothing to spend it on, because the one I make it for who named my son, my business, and my terror that he took away and made into something else, is there, it’ll finally dawn on me, and what the fuck have I been waiting for?

Then for a while I’ll spend time worrying and pretending not to, because pretending is in my nature, and maybe when I call and ask him if he’s still there, if he still wants me, if I’m still welcome, maybe then I’ll pretend a little bit, too, because it protects me even now, but he’s clever and he always knows. He’ll know but will he want me? It’s been a long time and he’s young, fuck, he’s so young, six months to him is like a lifetime to someone like me, has he moved on?

Finally I’ll be so sick of myself and what my dear old mom would have called ‘wallowing’ and I’ll just get off my fucking bony ass and do something about how vacant I’ve been for so long. Cynthia will get the promotion she’s always deserved and fuck me running if I won’t put Theodore directly under her as her second in command and Christ I must be getting soft in my old… my middle… my only slightly later years.

His mom will hook me up with an agent in New York, someone she met at a realtor’s convention who wanted to fuck her or some shit, and he’ll find the perfect space for a boutique branch office and yeah, so I’ll make sure it’s close to the Village, so what? I’m queer, where else would I want to be? It’s not because he’s there, it’s not because I’m thinking about commuting from where he lives or near where he lives, or because I think it might be nice to walk to work on fall mornings. Because he doesn’t know I’m coming, that won’t happen yet, not until I’m ready, not until I’m brave.

But then one night when I’m still a month from being able to make the move, make the jump, make the leap of what others who aren’t Brian-fucking-Kinney might call faith, I’ll get too tweaked, too stupid to stop, and I’ll call, ignoring the fact that I still remember his cell number by heart. And when he picks up the phone, his voice gruff and irritated because I was too wasted or just didn’t care enough or had to act while I had the balls to call and not look at the clock first, I’ll come damned close to hanging up without saying a word.

And yeah, the little fucker will know, he’ll know it’s me without guessing or checking caller I.D. because who the hell else would call him at this time of the fucking morning and I’ll be able to tell by his tone that he feels badly for me and that humiliation will almost make me think again of hanging up but it’s the loneliness and warmth in his voice that will take the sting out of my embarrassment and keep me talking.

I’ll tell him that I’m coming to New York and he’ll get quietly excited in that way he has of diplomatically being joyful and cautious at the same time in my presence, and he’ll promise to be at the airport if I’ll email him my flight schedule. Then he’ll tell me how much he’s missed me, how he can’t wait to see me and I’ll think about crying but won’t so I’ll just answer with a grunt that I hope he knows means I miss him, too.

He’ll ask me how long I can stay and I’ll stop talking for a long time until maybe he thinks I’ve fallen asleep holding the phone and he’ll say my name like it’s a question and then I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him that I’m not leaving, that I’m just staying, that Kinnetik is opening a branch, and when he gasps sharply, when I hear his hopes climbing, I’ll breathe again, just a little, and allow myself a glimmer of hope.

He’ll remember caution, how it’s always best to be really cautious with me because I can behave unexpectedly and it’s usually him who suffers the fallout, and he’ll ask me in a wary voice if I’m sending Cynthia in to open the new office and train the new staff and run things for me like she’s always done so I can return to Pittsburgh and run the home office. And then as if it’s nothing, no big deal, don’t get all excited or anything, I’ll tell him that I’ll be in charge of the new place, that I’ve finally decided it’s time I took a swim with the big boys and showed them how it’s done and I’ll close my eyes and hope to fuck he hears what I’m really saying.

But being who he is, he won't be ready to believe his ears and he'll ask me, though I’ll note with a laugh that he’s squealing a little, if that means I’ll be moving to New York and I'll assure him that I will. Then because I’m still a little high or way too lonely, I’ll sort of let on that I haven’t found a place to live yet but that I’m looking in the Village and I’ll ask him as if I didn’t already know the answer if that’s close to him.

I’ll hear disappointment in his voice when he asks why I don’t want to live with him and when I tell him I don’t want to impose, he’ll laugh nervously and tell me to stop being an asshole and then I’ll be able to breathe a lot better but just in case, I’ll remind him that it’s been six months and that I didn’t want to make any assumptions.

Then his laugh will be less forced, less nervous, less ready to crumble if I disappoint him again, and he’ll ask me the question I knew was on his lips all along, the one I hate, the one I love. He’ll ask me if I’m still in love with him and I’ll warn him with my voice and a stern accent on his name, but I’ll want him to ask me again so I’ll be forced into telling him the truth.

And he’ll tell me that he’s still in love with me and part of me always knew that, but most of me was afraid to hope, afraid to believe, and when will I learn that he’s both a constant surprise and the granite I lean on, so when he asks me again, I will grudgingly admit that I am, yeah, I am, I am still in love with him, even though he irritates the shit out of me by moving to New York without telling me where he left the dry cleaning slip for five of my best suits.

Then he'll say it again, this time with no hint of disappointment, only the iron will of the Justin who followed me for months as a 17 year old until I finally caved and let him into my life, he'll say he wants me to live with him, of course I’ll live with him, where else should I live but with him and he'll be so certain and I’ll be so ready that I'll finally agree.

But he won't be done, he'll have another little bomb to drop, so he'll ask about the rings, did you keep the rings, Brian, and his voice will be a little breathless and a lot scared and I won't bother lying about it, of course I kept them. But I won't ask, not this time, I can't be the one because maybe he'll just be curious, maybe he'll just want to know, maybe he'll want to pawn them and if it's something else, if there's another reason for him to ask, then he'll need to be the one to say why.

So just like that he'll ask, he'll propose, he'll ask me to marry him because he's always been the stronger one, the unafraid one, the one who understands everything all the time, and I'll hold my breath for real when I hear it because this will be too much, more than I expect, beyond what I've dreamed. And when I finally exhale, my yes will flow through my breath and into the phone and my heart will clench while it waits to hear if he hears but of course he hears and his laughter will be happy and filled with ease and my smile will be relieved.

And when I arrive, he’ll be there, in the airport, just like he said he would be, and the place will be packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people but I won’t see anything except a long shock of blonde hair, a wide smile of straight, white teeth and blue eyes struggling not to fill with tears. I’ll see that this is what I was waiting for, this, here in this place, with him, this is what success looks like, this is what faith feels like, this is where today begins. Right here, because there he’ll be, and he really will be mine.

The End