A Day Without Sunshine

Author's Note: A B/J Story, for the Moonshadow Tribe “Things to Think About” Challenge, dedicated to Thyme and Sabina, my fanfiction mentors and idols.

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The gang could tell as soon as Brian reached the catwalk at Babylon that he was, (a) in a piss-awful mood, (b) already halfway to drunk, and (c), likely to deny he was in either condition.  Ted looked to Michael, who looked to Ben, who looked to Emmett, who sighed and put his head on the chopping block.

“And how is the once and forever King of Liberty Avenue this fine summer night?” Em asked brightly, even as he sidled back a bit so he would be in a better position to duck behind Ben’s muscular frame should Brian’s mood take an especially nasty, and physical, tone. Brian didn’t react at all, however.  He merely took another long drink out of his glass of scotch and then braced himself on the railing.

Michael decided to take an ill-advised stab at cheering up his best friend, which was always enough to make the rest of the gang flinch.

Ted muttered to Em under his breath, “Open mouth, insert foot time.”

“Have you heard from Justin lately? Mom was saying just yesterday that a day without Sunshine is like....”

“Is like night, Mikey.  No more, no less. And I like the night.”

That comment was followed by another swig of scotch. Mikey bit his lip, uncertain how, or if, to continue.  Seeing his husband’s worried face, gentle Ben stepped into the breach.

“Brian, if you’re feeling depressed, and it is understandable, maybe you should consider seeing someone. There are many treatments for depression.”

Brian turned and stared at Ben.  Taking a deep breath, he said, “Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm. I’ve never had any problem being enthusiastically angry, have I?”

The guys had to agree, Brian was especially good at doing angry.  While they were still looking at each other, trying to figure out what approach to take next, Brian finished his drink and turned to face them.

“I appreciate the poorly executed attempts to evidence concern – I actually do, though I don’t show it. But, there is nothing any of you can do for me and all I want is to get very, very drunk. If I cannot do that in the company of my, for want of a better word, friends, I can leave. But please spare me any more efforts at cheering me up or finding out what is wrong. Nothing is wrong, at least, to the extent that wrong implies that there is a right. And you’re all remarkably bad at being cheery. With the exception of you, Honeycutt, but your brand of cheeriness is enough to make me slit my wrists.”

With that, Brian walked over to the bar for another scotch.  Taking advantage of his temporary absence, Ted whispered, “I think someone should call Justin.” 

The others all nodded.

It was the least they could do.

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“Hey.”  The familiar voice on the phone was enough to cut through Brian’s post-binge stupor. After his brief visit to Babylon, where he drank quite a lot but passed on the backroom, Brian had gone directly home, alone, to drink some more. He wasn’t used to imbibing to this degree anymore; he wondered if hangovers always hurt this much in the old days.

“Hey yourself,” he managed to get out, his voice hoarse from being too dry. He reached for the remains of the last scotch, still sitting on the nightstand next to the condom bowl. After a quick swallow, he tried again.  “Hi. You’re up....” Brian looked at the time on his cell phone, “early. What’s up...besides both of us, that is.”

“What’s wrong?”  Justin’s voice was soft, but firm. Brian sighed. He knew there was no way he could fool the blond.  But, he tried anyway.

“What makes you think something is wrong? Who called, Rosencrantz or Guildenstern?”

Justin laughed. “I can never remember which is which, but both called and left messages. Michael did too, but he reached me.  They care a lot about you, Brian.”

“If you ever think no one cares....” Brian began.

And Justin finished, “…just try missing a few payments. Yeah, I know. But in this case, I don’t think any of them want anything from you. They’re just worried. You were more morose than usual last night, and from what I gather, you didn’t even bite anyone’s head off. So, spill. What’s wrong?”

“You know, inside every old person is a young one wondering what the fuck happened?” Brian leaned back against the pillows.

“That is pretty fucking profound, Brian, but since you’re not old, I can’t understand why you’re mentioning it.”

“I have another lump.”

There was silence for all of ten seconds. Brian could imagine how Justin looked, his face still, as he tried to take in the news that Brian hadn’t told anyone else, tried to hold back the tears so that he could be strong for the man he loved.

“I can be there by this afternoon.”

“You don’t have to....”

“Yes. I do. I’ll text you with my arrival time. When do you see a doctor?” Justin didn’t need to ask if Brian had already seen one. He knew Brian.

“I was thinking maybe Monday, if I can get an appointment.”

“I’ll call the doctor and make it for you. It’s Saturday but I might be able to reach him.”

“I should probably go to the same one.”

“I know his name. I’ll be sure to get the appointment with him....Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll deal with this. No matter what, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They ended the call there. There really wasn’t anything else to say. Brian got up to take a shower, suddenly feeling a lot better.

In his Village apartment in New York, Justin put his head down on his sketch pad and cried. But, within a couple of minutes, he was taking a deep breath and sitting upright. He had things to do, so no more time for tears. He went on-line to buy a plane ticket for the earliest flight he could reasonably expect to catch. Then, he googled the name of Brian’s oncologist – he knew he’d never forget the man’s name, but at least now it was coming in handy. 

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Justin scanned the crowd of waiting people and zeroed in on Brian immediately. He looked as beautiful as ever. Maybe a little tired, but a drunken binge and no sleep will do that to even God-like looks, Justin thought, smiling broadly as Brian caught sight of him. He ran forward into the arms that opened wide to receive him. 

“Thanks,” Brian murmured into Justin’s hair, after a lengthy kiss between the two men that attracted a fair number of envious looks – from both sexes.

“Thanks for telling me,” Justin retorted, reaching up to catch Brian’s face in his hands. He spoke earnestly. “It’s going to be okay.”

Brian nodded, his throat too tight to answer.  He threw Justin’s larger bag over his shoulder while he put his free arm over Justin’s.  For the first time in a week – ever since a trick mentioned the lump near his remaining testicle – Brian felt like the sun was shining again.

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Justin had worked a miracle and got the oncologist to see Brian first thing Monday morning. He handled contacting Cynthia and letting her know that Brian was taking a “mental health” day off so they could spend the day together, and he even joked about what a bear Brian had been without his daily dose of “Sunshine.” 

Brian allowed Justin to stay in the room while the doctor did his examination. Justin handled asking all the obvious questions and being the nervous, worried one so that Brian could maintain a stoic demeanor. They knew it was bullshit but there was no need for the doctor to know it.

Losing a ball was tough – losing both of them would be unimaginable.  Brian didn’t say it to Justin, he didn’t have to, but he wasn’t sure he could cope with a second surgery and what it would mean. Justin didn’t say it, he didn’t have to, but there was no fucking way he would allow Brian to give up.

Despite an humiliatingly thorough exam, the doctor told them he wouldn’t be able to be sure of anything without further tests.

“There is a good chance this is nothing, Brian, a hematoma that is causing there to be a small lump in that area. But, I must tell you, there is a twenty-three percent chance that the cancer has returned. We have to be ready to be aggressive if that is the case.”               

“Twenty-three percent,” Brian echoed numbly.

Justin rolled his eyes and squeezed Brian’s hand...hard.  “Forty-two point seven percent of all statistics are made up on the spot,” Justin said, in his best, PSA voice. Brian laughed at the doctor’s expression.  But then he agreed to go forward. Justin wasn’t going to give him any other choice.

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Wednesday night found the usual gang gathered at the catwalk again. They compared notes on whether anyone had seen or heard from Brian all week, or, for that matter, from Justin, but they all drew a blank,

“Something’s got to be really wrong,” Ted insisted. “Cynthia wouldn’t tell me a thing – all she did was reschedule Brian’s appointments for the week.”

“Maybe we should go over to the Loft?” Michael said. “You know, force him to tell us what is wrong.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to do that,” Ben said, a smile breaking out over his face. Emmett, being as tall, also was able to see what had Ben smiling, and he started squealing loudly enough to be heard over the thumpa-thumpa.

“What? What is it?” Michael asked, leaning up to try to see what had them both looking so happy.

“The Sunshine has come back to Babylon!” Emmett told him excitedly.  Ben helped Michael see over the crowd, to where Brian and Justin were dancing the way only they could, wrapped up in each other to the exclusion of anything else.

That didn’t stop the four friends, who pushed their way through the crowd and started hugging Justin.

“We are so glad you’re back!” Michael enthused.

“Yeah, Brian was a total dick without you to mellow him,” Ted chimed in.

“Good to see you,” was Ben’s contribution.

Emmett clapped his hands and said, “Now that his Prince is back, everything will be okay with our King!”

Brian and Justin caught each other’s eyes. Justin turned to Em and said, “That’s right. Everything is okay – and I’m back.”

Sometimes you need to see the night to appreciate the sunshine, Brian thought. But he didn’t say such a ridiculously romantic thing. It was enough that Justin knew it.

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