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Allie
Disclaimer: All things QAF belong to CowLip. I take
liberties but they own them, I don’t.
Characters: All Queer As Folk characters
Pairing: Brian and Justin
Warning: Entire Thing will be NC-17. Spoilers for
like all Five Seasons.
XVIII - We Are Not Heroes (Those Of Us That Save Lives)
"There are things that we don't
want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to
learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go."
~ Author Unknown ~
June 19, 2019 12:38pm
Gus' POV
I can't breathe.
I can't think. I can't move. Ice runs through my veins. My heart pounds in my
chest. Cold beads of sweat slither down my back. It feels the same, but
different. I'm not in motion this time. I'm perfectly still, a frozen figure
standing in the middle of a busy street. There is no laughter, no anticipation
of being inside of him. There's no sexual banter as I drive along the city
streets, no hand rubbing my thigh. No kisses. There is nothing but the pounding
of my own heart in my chest. Wait…Ash? Ash, calling my name. Screaming it. It
can't be Ash. He's not here. He's gone. He's…
"Gus!"
Ash…not Ash. Someone else. Someone different.
A yellow ocher blur of metal and speed barrels toward me. I should move. I want
to move. I don't because I can't. The heat from the sun bounces off my skin but
doesn't penetrate it. My mind slows to barely functioning. Random thoughts
shoot through it like bullets from an automatic machine gun: will this hurt,
will I suffer, move, what
happens to a person when they die, nothing but bones under dirt, nothing left
but a name etched in stone, move,
nothing but memories in the minds of all the people my life has touched, who
will cry, who will be damaged beyond control, move, who will my death destroy like his death destroyed me,
my parents, move, my family, my
everything, my sister, move,
JR, she can't be without me, not like this, who will mourn me like I've mourned
him, who loves me that much, move,
what does death smell like, metal, blood, move,
smoke, fire, move, burned
flesh, move, bone, move, dirt, move, death, move,
move, move, move,
death, dying, dead.
Solid warmth slithers around my waist and tightens around me like a Boa
Constrictor. My feet leave the ground and I think this is it. This is it. My
eyes close and my breathing stops. I feel a solid wall of heat behind me, the
pounding of a heart against my back. No pain. No nothing. A sharp breeze and
then…
"Watch where the fuck you're walking asshole." A blare of a horn and
angry words my mind hears but doesn't process.
"Breathe." A soft calm whisper against my ear. "Breathe."
Hot, warm breath against my skin. "Breathe."
I open my mouth and gasp. I suck in air. My lungs are greedy for it. Alive. Not
dead. Breath, air, warmth, not dead, not even hurt. Alive. The world spins and
tilts like I'm on a cheap carnival ride after having six hot dogs and a bag of
cotton candy. I close my eyes only to find darkness so thick I can smell it.
It's like the air before a storm, thick, heavy, hard to breathe in.
"Just breathe." The words follow me into the darkness. They race to
catch up to me. "Breathe." The word catches me, wraps itself around
me, and holds on tight. I suck in deep breaths. "That's it." I'm
pulled back. Lowered down. Warmth encases me like a blanket on a cold night.
I'm shaking or crying, I'm not sure which. Maybe both. "It's okay."
Soft lips breathe whispered words on my skin. Warm words. Calm words. The right
words. "You're safe now." Words that wrap themselves around me, seep
into my skin, and melt the ice in my veins. Beautiful, calming words I never
realized I needed or wanted. "I'm here." The last of the coldness
drains from my body and I burn.
*********************************************
June 19, 2019 12:52pm
Gus' POV
My eyes snap
open. My heart pounds in my chest. As if I've just outrun a nightmare that felt
too real to be a dream. It takes me a second to get my bearings. People pass by
me like I'm not there. Cars weave in and out of each other on the street like a
river of yellow with flecks of browns, reds, blacks, and blues. Noise of the
city is all around me, loud and obnoxious. I replay what happened in my head.
Anger, fear, panic, all in a matter of second entrapped me someplace between
where I was and where I am. I feel languid, muddled, and listless as if my mind
has not yet woken up from a deep sleep. I feel him behind me, all around me.
His arms are circled around my waist, and his legs are pressed against the outside
of mine. My face is wet, my throat is sore, my mouth is dry, and my eyes feel
puffy and swollen. Heat rises to my face because I'm embarrassed that he's seen
this. The worst of it. The worst of me. It shouldn't matter. I don't know him.
He doesn't know me. It matters in a way in which I never thought it could. I
feel stupid and pathetic. I want it to be his fault, but it isn't. He didn't
know. He had no way of knowing. I panicked at his question. It wasn't anger
that drove me from him, not really. It was fear, sadness, and a loneliness that
has buried itself in my skin like a piece of shrapnel.
I struggle to
clear my head, to gain some control over my thoughts. Words weave themselves
through my brain trying to form a sentence, any sentence, to explain this to
him. I try to find the words, I grasp at them, but they slip through my
fingers. A clear thought forms, not of what to say, but of what happened, he
saved me.
"Go, let me." The words scrape against my throat, raw, rough, and
disjointed.
"No." His word is unyielding and cogent.
I run my tongue over my dry lips and twist my body in his arms. I search for my
voice, the one that can demand him to do as I ask. "Let me go." His
arms tighten, then loosen, then tighten again as if he's fighting an internal
battle with himself. "Grady." Just
let me go. My mind begs what my voice will not. Please let me go. Another minute passes
before his arms drop from my waist in a move so quick it leaves me unsettled. I
place my hands on his thighs and push myself to my feet. Everything tilts to
the left. I close my eyes but that only makes it worse so I open them. I feel
the warmth of his hand on my lower back. It's the only thing that keeps me from
falling.
I take a deep breath as if I haven't breathed properly in hours. I move away
from his touch and turn to face him. I search those eyes, deep gold with flecks
of brown, trying to decipher what I see there. Stepping back I tell him,
"I'm fine."
His brow furrows and the look of concern in his eyes is replaced by anger.
"You are so fucking far from fine it's not even funny." His face
twists from anger, to shock at his own words, to regret, and finally to
something softer, something warmer. "Were you trying to get yourself
killed?" There is no heat behind the question. It's not an accusation,
because I feel the fear in his voice.
"No." My mind won't allow me to throw a sarcastic comment at him.
It's never been like this. Usually after a panic attack I feel erratic and
flustered. Right now I feel calm, fatigued, and unprotected. Everything in me
is motionless.
He runs a hand through his hair and looks away from me. He takes a deep breath
before his eyes come back to mine. "I'm sorry." I don't want that. I
don't need that. I shake my head. He doesn't have to do that. He didn't know.
He just didn't know. "What happened in the café-"
I shake my head. "Forget it."
"How can I…you almost-"
I step toward him. My inhabitations are gone. My defenses temporarily
disengaged. I place my fingers on his lips. "Don't." In that one word
I beg him to stop. I don't want to talk about it now, not here. I need… "I
want to get back…to the gallery." I remove my fingers from his lips and
shove my hands into my pockets. I turn and start walking back toward the
building. It isn't long before he falls in step beside me, taking the outer
side of the sidewalk closest to the street. It's impossible to hear silence on
a busy street like this one, but I can feel it just like I feel his eyes on me.
I ignore both. Whether he can sense that I don't want to talk or not, I don't
know, but he doesn't say anything as we walk back and for that I'm grateful.
****************************************
June 19, 2019 1:15pm
Justin's
POV
I'm in the middle
of hanging a painting when I see Gus and Grady walk into the gallery. I didn't
even know Gus left. My brow furrows as I take in Gus' body language. Something
is off, way off. I set the painting against the wall and walk over to him. He
doesn't say anything, just looks me right in the eyes. Working on instinct
alone I open my arms. He steps forward wrapping his arms around my waist. His
hands clutch the fabric of my shirt. He's shaking…not crying, just shaking. I
lift my head up just enough to see Grady over Gus' shoulder. What the fuck
happened? I try to read Grady's body language; he's slumping, yet tense, his
body a contradiction in motion.
Gus takes a deep
breath and steps back from me. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me for a
moment, then turns and walks upstairs. I notice that he glances at Grady
quickly as he goes, as if asking him for something, or maybe even giving his
permission for something. When Gus is gone I turn back to Grady. "What the
fuck happened?"
He runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the wall as though he
might fall down otherwise. He stares straight ahead for a minute before looking
at me. "He almost got hit by a car."
My eyes widen. "What?" The word cracks from the pitch of my voice.
He shakes his head. "We were at that cafe down the street. You know the
one with the really good coffee?" I nod even though he isn't looking at
me. "We were talking about nothing really and…" He closes his eyes.
"And I guess I said something wrong or I don't know. He just got this look
in his eyes and he ran out of the café before I could even process what
happened." He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I dropped some
money on the table and followed him. When I got to the corner he was just
there, standing in the middle of the street." He swallows hard. "He
wasn't moving and this taxi wasn't stopping so I…ran out there and grabbed
him."
Holy fuck. Fuck. "What happened after
that?" I sound rational but I'm anything but, on the inside I'm a chaotic
storm of emotion.
He shakes his
head. "I've never seen anything like that in my life. I've never heard
anything like that ever. He was so still when he was in the middle of the
street, and when I pulled him back it was like I unplugged him. He was shaking
and crying and…" He shakes his head again. "Screaming." He turns
to look at me. "Screaming, Justin, at the top of his lungs. I don't even
think he knows he was doing that." He looks away from me. "He just
kept screaming and screaming until his voice gave out."
I take a minute and wrap my mind around what Grady's telling me. Gus obviously
had a panic attack-but not just that. The way Grady described how Gus was
acting almost sounds like he was reliving… "When he was screaming was he
saying anything?"
He slowly lifts his eyes to meet mine. "Yes." It's almost a whisper.
I step closer to him. "Don't make me dig it out of you, tell me what he
said." Grady presses back against the wall, almost as if he is threatened
by me. I change the tone of my voice. "What did he say?"
He looks over my shoulder. "He just kept saying, don't die, don't you
fucking die on me, don't go, don't die." He swallows back the emotion that
creeps into his voice. He looks back at me, holding my gaze. "He said, I
fucking love you Ash, don't you dare fucking die."
I look down as Grady crosses his arms over his chest. There are dark red marks
on his forearms, small cuts, and half-moon shaped indentions that will soon
turn into bruises. "He did that?" I look back up at him.
He looks down at his arms, uncrosses them, and drops them to his sides.
"He wouldn't let me go."
I look toward the stairs wondering what I should do. Should I go up to him?
Does he want to be alone? I look back at Grady. "Are you okay?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know." His eyes meet mine. "Will he
be okay?"
I answer with the truth because it's all I have. "I don't know."
*******************************************
June 19, 2019 1:26pm
Brian's
POV
"…it says no
apologies, no regrets. Give into your des-" Cynthia charges into the
conference room without knocking. She scans the room almost frantically until
her eyes find me. My stomach contorts into a knot that gets tighter as she
approaches. "What's wrong?" I ignore everyone in the room as if
they've suddenly disappeared.
She stops a few
feet from me. "Justin-he's on the phone-he-"
I don't wait for her to finish. I race out of the conference room and rush into
my office. I forgo walking around my desk and reach for the phone.
"Justin?" Nothing. I shake my head and press the blinking light on
the phone. "Justin?"
"Brian." He sighs my name, almost in relief. "I know you're in a
meeting-" His voice is off. The knot in my stomach constricts.
"What happened? What's wrong? Are you okay? Gus?" I fire questions at
him without taking a breath.
"Gus." The tightness moves into my chest. "I think you should
come here."
I walk around my desk, reach for my briefcase, and throw it on the table.
"The gallery?"
"Yes." His voice is tight and low.
"Is he hurt?" I shove papers into my briefcase, not even sure what
I'm putting in there. I check my pockets: keys, cell phone, PDA.
"He almost got hit by a car."
I freeze. All rationality leaves me. My grip tightens on the phone.
"Christ."
"Just get here Brian."
"On my way." I hang up the phone, grab my briefcase, and leave my
office. Cynthia is in the hallway. She falls in step with me as I make my way
down the hall. The exit feels miles away. "I'm leaving." I tell her
as my mind switches to autopilot. "Get Jones to cover the rest of the
meeting. Make my apologies to the clients. Cancel the rest of my day. If you
can't cancel get someone to cover-you, Jones, or Mac."
She touches my arm. "I'll take care of it Brian." She pauses.
"Is everything alright?"
I pass the elevators and shrug off her hand. When I push open the door to the
stairwell, our eyes meet. "I don't know." I just don't fucking know.
*************************************
January 1, 2017 (Time Unknown)
Gus' POV
My eyes flutter
open. I move. A sharp pain courses through me. It's dark. I don't know where I
am. I smell-
"Gus?"
A raspy voice, low and breathless, calls out to me.
I turn my head toward it. Ash. I can barely make out his face, but I know it's
him. Images assault my brain as the event replays itself behind my eyes. I try
to move but I'm locked in place, held captive by my seatbelt. I yank at it,
frantically trying to free myself from its hold. It takes a second for common
sense to find me. I stop yanking and press the release button. It disengages
and I'm free. I twist toward Ash. My body protests my every move. I ignore the
sharp stabs of pain, not giving in to my mind's plea to stay perfectly still.
My only thought is to get to him. I reach out and curl my fingers around his forearm.
A warm sticky substance coats it. His skin is cold.
"Ash?" Tears roll down my face uninhibited. I grip his arm as tight
as I can. "Ashley."
"It's dark." He whispers. "So cold."
Panic seizes me and coils itself around me like a vice. The strong smell of
gasoline drifts into the car. I lift my head and stare out the passenger window
as the car that hit us goes up in flames. Smoke fills the inside of the car.
It's heavy and thick. I don't have time. We don't have time. We have to get out
now. Now, now, now. Adrenaline courses through my veins. I release Ash's arm to
undo his seatbelt. I twist my body around and jerk at the handle of my door. It
doesn't budge. Panic settles under my skin and boils to the surface as a cold
sweat. I pull at the handle with one hand and push at the door with the other.
Finally, it opens. A blast of the cold night air rushes into the cab of the
car. I suck in my breath from the shock of the cold against my damp skin.
I turn in the
seat back to him. "Ash we gotta get out of here."
"I can't."
I shake my head unwilling to hear that. He can. He will even if I have to drag
him out of here myself. I grab his arm. The light of the fire illuminates him.
He's covered in blood. The impact has manipulated his body in a way that's not
natural. A bone protrudes from his leg. I swallow the bile that rises in my
throat. I twist my body forcing my legs out the door while pulling him with me.
I release him for just a minute as I stand. I stumble forward. A sharp pain
races up my leg and I fall hard to the ground. A cry escapes my lips as my face
comes in contact with the asphalt. I taste blood in my mouth. I allow myself a
moment to breathe past the ache that throbs through my body, giving myself over
to the pain as it holds me captive in its embrace…a moment of tasting blood,
and inhaling the repugnant smell of tar. I hear him cough behind me and
suddenly feeling no pain. The adrenaline that was expelled out of me when I
fell returns full force. I push myself up. My knees won't bend, so I'm forced
to drag my body across the asphalt. Ash's hand dangles out the door, limp and,
oh god, lifeless. I claw my way toward him. My hands bleed and burn as I drag
myself over to him across tiny shards of glass. I reach the car and grab hold
of the door to pull myself up to my knees. Pain haunts my every move. Leaning
forward, I grip his hand and bring my face close to his.
His eyes are closed but he must feel me. "Gus." His voice is fading.
"Let me go."
I shake my head and grip his hand tighter. "No way. No fucking way."
His eyes open. Those aren't his eyes. His eyes are bright and brown like the
color of dark roasted coffee beans. These eyes are dull, like the color of the
faded leather jacket that hangs in my closet at home. I touch his cheek. My fingers
make clear paths to his flesh beneath the blood.
"Just let me go." Fading. Fading fast.
Tears spring to my eyes and slide down my cheeks in silent mourning. Sobs
escape my lips as I hold onto him. I pull myself up enough to wrap my arms
around him. "No."
"Gus, please let me go." His voice is low. I strain to hear it.
I bury my head into his matted hair. "Don't die. Don't you fucking die on
me. Don't go. Don't die." I kiss his face, his lips. I taste his blood in
my mouth mixing with my own. "I fucking love you Ash." I sob into his
neck. "Don't you dare fucking die on me."
I feel him move
his hands and push at me. I look into his eyes. They're clear just the way I've
always remembered them. He looks at me. He sees me. "I know." He
shoves me back with a strength I didn't think he had. My legs fold under me as
I fall back against the pavement. My back smacks to the ground, the air in my
lungs escapes, and my neck snaps as my head hits the asphalt. My eyes close
momentarily but I force them back open. I try to push myself up, wanting only
to get back to him. I'm leaning on my elbows when my car is engulfed in flames.
I scream. "No! No! No!" I fall back against the pavement. My mind
shuts down. The smell of his burning flesh chases me into the darkness.
******************************************
June 19, 2019 2:07 pm
Brian's
POV
I curse at the
traffic. I yell at the taxi driver. Forty-one minutes after Justin called me, I
finally arrive at the gallery. I throw money at the driver, a fifty, a hundred,
I don't know, and get out. I take the steps two at a time. The moment the door
swings open, my eyes are scanning the room for Justin. I see him kneeling in
front of Grady, who is sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his
knees. When my briefcase hits the floor they both turn their faces toward me.
Justin comes over to me and I hold open my arms to him. His hands slide around
my waist as I bring him to my chest.
"What
happened?" I ask softly in a voice that came out much calmer than I
thought it would.
He shakes his head against my chest and pulls away. Taking my hand he leads me
over to Grady, who is now standing. When we get to him Justin says, "Tell
him everything."
As I listen to Grady recount the event my emotions race from anger, to fear, to
some unknown mixture of both. When he stops talking I look down at Justin. His
eyes meet mine and we think the same thing. He remembers.
After the accident, after Gus woke up from the coma, he was plagued by amnesia,
just as Justin had been. His memory of the event had been locked away in some
part of his mind. Possibly, like Justin, it had been lost forever. He
remembered driving toward Ashley's house after the party but couldn't remember
what happened after the cars collided. The doctors thought he might have been
unconscious the entire time but the police report confirmed that wasn't
possible. Gus had gotten out of the car sometime before it caught fire. If he'd
been unconscious he wouldn't be here right now. The fucker that hit them hadn't
been wearing a seatbelt and got ejected out of his car, escaping with nothing
more than some lacerations and a broken arm.
When Gus woke up from the coma, the doctors asked him repeatedly what he
remembered. They asked him everyday for a week, sometimes several times a day,
until Gus finally said, in a voice that was calm when it should have been
filled with frustration and anger, "I don't remember. Stop asking
me."
"Where is he?" I ask Justin.
He squeezes my hand. "Upstairs." He looks away, then back at me.
"I just thought he might need you."
I squeeze his hand back, release it, and kiss his temple. I turn to Grady,
giving him the once over. He pushes himself up against the wall as if he's
afraid I'm going to attack him, or yell at him, or berate him.
"Thanks." I don't wait for his reaction or for any words he might
have to say. I turn toward the stairs and take them two at a time.
I take a deep breath before pushing open the door to his studio. My eyes scan
the room for him. When I don't see him I walk further into the room. My eyes
land on the sliver of red light that's coming out from under the darkroom door.
I approach it cautiously and knock, not knowing if he's developing film or just
hiding in there.
"Sonnyboy?"
"Dad?" His voice is small, mirroring that of a child, a scared child.
"I'm coming in." My hand rests on the knob waiting for him to tell me
okay, or wait, or something. When he doesn't say anything I open the door.
After my eyes adjust to the dimness of the red-lit room I see him, curled into
a ball in the corner. He's crying and shaking. I approach him slowly.
His eyes are shut
tight and his face is contorted in pain that seems to come from something
buried deep inside him. I lower myself until I'm sitting in front of him and I
reach out, but stop myself before touching him. I'm not sure if that's what he
wants so I drop my hand to my lap.
"Sonnyboy,"
I say softly, my voice barely a whisper.
His eyes open and he looks up at me. "Dad." He uncurls himself and
slides his head into my lap as his arms circle around my waist.
"Daddy." I blink back my own tears as I stroke his hair. Gus hasn't
called me Daddy since he was eight years old. He balls my suit jacket in his
fists. He cries harder, pressing his face into my leg. His tears soak through
the fabric of my dress pants, and I can feel the coolness on my skin. I stroke
his hair back from his face and rub his back with my other hand. "I
remem…remember Daddy. I rem…remember ever…everything." His words hiccup
out of his mouth, soaked in tears. "I tried. I…re…really…tired. I tried to
save him. I…tried…to…pu…pull him out." A tear escapes my eyes but I don't
wipe it away. "I had him. I al…almost had…him…out…" His sobs halt his
words momentarily. "I…told…to…told him not to…die. I told…h…him…that
I…l…loved…him." I pull him closer to me, bending my body over his in an
awkward hug. "He… he save…saved me. He…pushed me away." His voice
gets louder. "He said…he knew…Daddy…then he…pushed…pushed me….away…and
saved me." His sobs shake my body. Tears roll down my face, drip off my
chin, and drop onto the back of his shirt. I feel his pain all the way to the
core of my body. I feel his loss and it gets mixed in with my own what if's and
could-have- beens. He cries for minutes but it feels like hours. His tears are
like the wick of a slow burning candle. Finally he takes a deep ragged breath
and whispers. "He's dead." And I know it's the first time he's ever
said it out loud.