Title: Always Mine
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Era: 2005- (after QAF)
Genre: Drama, angst
Rating: M / FRM
Summary: Imaginary snippets of what might have happened after the fifth season. Short glimpses of life and love on Liberty Avenue – and the world around it.
In a way connected with “Briefly Yours”.
Warnings: Slash, language, references to violence and underage sex, death, drug abuse, drunkenness, (and a lot else not perhaps mentioned here).
Disclaimer: The characters, original story, and the places belong to the makers, creators, and producers of the series – Russell T. Davies, Ron Cowen, Daniel Lipman, Showtime, and Showcase. No harm intended; no profit made. I’m just borrowing.
Beta: Mythra (mythras_fire)
Author’s note: Justin’s POV.
It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal.
I guess that’s what everyone says at some point. In New York such a thing can be perilous. That you believe the ‘that won’t happen to me’ -excuse people give. I bet there are people rolling around in their graves all over the place at the mention of those famous last words.
I never said it, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think it. You are only invincible until you are proven wrong. I have been proven wrong plenty of times, but still I kept pushing forward. It’s not life if you sit at home – which isn’t exactly safe either, looking at the statistics – and let the world slide past you. Everyone needs to test their boundaries once in a while to know where they exist, in whatever small way.
I wasn’t testing my luck. I didn’t even feel overconfident, nor was there a need to show off – to myself or anyone else.
It just happened.
And the next time I awoke after Alan’s party I was in a hospital, familiar faces gathered all around me.
I would groan if able, but I feel too dizzy for that. My mom and Debbie start talking at once, followed by pointed looks from Michael, worry from Em and Ben, and pity from Ted. Brian looks both furious and frustrated. He is the one to empty the room before the women manage to get out more than three sentences each.
I make a mental note to thank Brian later.
Once the people are out I hear the door click shut. A few seconds later he is beside the bed again. When Brain speaks, he sounds just as disappointed as he looks. “What the fuck, Justin?”
I would flinch if my body wasn’t feeling like a pile of papier-mâche. He still knows how to make me feel like crap with one single short sentence. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.” The words coming from my mouth sound strange, but by the look on his face, he hears them alright. There is still something wrong with the whole picture… “Why am I here?”
I expect him to say ‘shit happens’, but Brian spares me from that. Instead he sits down into a chair beside the bed, forcing me to turn my head in order to see him. Bastard. “This is what can happen after using drugs not prescribed by your own doctor,” he says, not even trying to mimic my voice. He gets the point across loud and clear.
I screwed up. Big time.
Brian leans forward in his seat and I distantly have the thought that he would be more comfortable sitting on the bed. “I thought we had an agreement,” he starts talking again. “That you would not use drugs – of any sort – when I’m not around.”
“You take a fix whenever you like, alone or not,” I interject.
“Because I’m stupid,” Brain deadpans, totally serious. “You ought to be smarter than me – smarter than this.” He doesn’t have to gesture around the room to make me understand what he means.
“Alan’s a good guy. I trust him. Besides he doesn’t buy shitty stuff. Ever.” I don’t even know why I’m trying to defend myself.
Brian keeps up the calm face, his eyes telling the real story. “You’ve done this before?”
“We used to do this all the time when I lived in Pitts! It’s not like it’s my first time. I know how to be careful. I’m a big boy, and I can do just fine without a third mom.”
“You never overdosed with me.” I hate it when Brian is like this, so official. Always right – and he knows it. And yet I know he isn’t like this with anyone but me. I should be glad for this personal performance. Well, I am not: I hate it when he gets worried because it makes me feel like shit. And I have been feeling like that even before he started in with his ‘speech’.
“You can’t be with me all the time,” I finally say. “And you aren’t even supposed to! You’ve always said – with your actions – that I have to make my own mistakes. Otherwise I will never learn.” He is quiet, musing over it. I feel a little better and even dare to try moving. Yes, I can feel my arms and legs, move my fingers and wriggle my toes. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “Now stop preaching because I know I’m eventually going to get the third degree from my mom and Debbie.”
“You could have died,” Brian reminds me yet again, though he is smiling now. I guess I really scared him.
“In New York, there’s like dozen and more other things to get me killed more likely than a drug overdose. I’m aware of that.”
“You should be.”
“And you know I am.”
“So, stop fucking worrying and some sit closer. My neck’s starting to cramp.”
He doesn’t, still smiling, and when my mom decides it is time to enter the scene, Brian stays where he is. The only difference is that he slides his hand over to hold mine, which tells me he really understands. That doesn’t mean he approves, but that’s okay. That’s how it should be. Now I just needed to get us some time alone so I can show him how fine I really am…
Also check out a Queer as Folk role play game, "Proud to be... me" at proud_rpg