Homecoming

*19*

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Preparations for Battle

Slowly we go through everything the lawyer said to him, and what he'd told her about Lindsay and the games she's been playing - not telling us about the split with Mel, or that Mel had pretty much forbidden her to bring Gus back home. He also says that his lawyer thinks that maybe they never did go through with Mel's formal adoption of Gus, and for some reason that pisses me off more than anything.

I mean, she'd made such a big deal out of it, out of how important it was that she be Gus' legally recognized parent and she told everyone we know what an asshole Brian was for standing in the way of that happening. But then, once Brian had signed away his rights, she didn't even fucking bother.

Which means it never was about her being recognized as Gus' parent, it was just about excluding Brian. And that's just fucked. It's the sort of thing Michael would do and I can't say worse about anyone.

Brian knows I'm pissed, but he just shrugs and says, "If she hasn't, she's done us a major favor."

I bite my tongue, swallow down all the things I want to say, then sigh and nod.

"Ms. Hershell," he says in that voice he uses whenever he talks about this woman lawyer I can't wait to meet, "says that since I've been paying a shitload of cash ever since Gus was born - including all the times they were separated and Mel contributed jack shit, that most judges will be inclined to recognize that I should have some sort of rights - at least to be able to see Gus."

He sighs, and I know that whatever's coming I'm not going to like it.

"She said that …"

He takes a breath and gulps down most of the glass of wine.

"… it might be supervised visits. At least at first."

The next pause is a long one, like he really has to struggle to get the words out and when he does they're filled with the bitter, self-mocking tone that I really hate; the one that tells me that he's really hurting.

"Given my lifestyle," he spits, half-choking.

Then he takes another deep breath.

"She warned me that I'm likely to hear a lot about how my fucking "lifestyle" makes me the last person anyone would fucking trust with a child."

I feel my face flush; I'm so fucking mad I want to hit somebody. But Brian is going on …

"But if I want access to Gus, I just have to suck it up and work to prove that I'm a fit fucking father."

I try to contain my own anger. There's no point ranting about how totally un-fucking fair this is. Brian needs me to be smart, not just fly off the handle.

So I take a sip of my own wine, and then nod.

"Well, if we have to jump through some sort of hoops to make sure that we can be there to look after Gus, then that's just what we'll have to do."

He'd been looking down into the bottom of his wine glass with that horrible sneering look twisting his beautiful mouth, but his head jerks up at that. His eyes meet mine for a long long moment and then something in him seems to relax and his mouth softens and he nods.

Then he takes a mouthful of food and I refill his glass and we go on with our meal.

 

*****
 

Brian

So yet again he manages to totally blow me away. I could see his face getting red, read the angry belligerence in the way his shoulders hunched, and his jaw clenched. But he didn't let it spill, didn't feed my anger with his own.

He just cut to the chase and reminded me what all this fucking circus is about. It's not about me, or Sunshine, or what we want, or what we think is fair. It's about Gus. It's about him needing someone who is just on his side. Someone who's prepared to fight for what he wants, what he needs.

So, after I eat a few bites of my meal to keep the food warden across the table happy, I take another sip of wine.

"She's going to get an interim restraining order to prevent Gus from being taken out of the state, and she's filing for my parental rights to be restored."

He stares at me.

I shrug.

"Lindsay's a mess," I tell him. "Do you want to bet that if Mel talks to her she just won't pack up and take Gus back to fucking Toronto?"

He looks really horrified for a moment. Then he shakes his head. But he's not disagreeing with me; he's just trying to get his head around what a total fucking idiot the mother of my child is.

"So what else do we need to do?" he asks.

"She wants to meet you," I tell him. "She seems to think that having a fucking "stable relationship" must mean something."

He gives me a look that lets me know that, like always, he's onto me.

Much as it goes against the fucking grain to admit it, we do have the closest thing to a stable relationship in Gus' world. We've been together four years now, even if you count it from when he came back after the fiddler.

But that's enough of this shit. It's all in the hands of the professionals now, and all we can do is wait and take their advice, and hope that they're worth the shitloads of money they get paid.

I take another bite or two, actually enjoying the food. At the back of my mind somewhere I'm amazed at how much I'm consuming. I think I've eaten more in the week or so that he's been back than I did for months before that. I make a mental note that I'm due some time at the gym.

 

*****
 

Justin

It really kills me that you can bet that Mel is busy preparing some sort of case to argue about how Brian should never be allowed near "her" son because he's some selfish, narcissistic asshole; and Lindsay will, if Mel pushes, probably just go along with that while she plays her pathetic games trying to both pacify Melanie (instead of telling her to take a short trip to Hell) and to keep Brian on a string. Which leaves Brian as the only one who is actually thinking of Gus. He's the one trying to work out what's best for Gus in all this mess, and push towards that.

Fuck, it makes me mad!

While we clear the table, I'm quiet, trying to work out what bombshells Melanie will be willing to throw. And what we can pitch back at her. Because she's a long way from being some fucking snow white innocent, that's for sure. And if she plays dirty, well, so can I. And I will. Even if it pisses Brian off.

I'm stacking the dishwasher, when the big one hits me. The card that Mel is most likely to play to argue why Brian shouldn't be allowed any contact with his son.

I don't know whether to mention my fears to Brian. Maybe he's already mentioned this to the lawyer, and me bringing it up will do nothing but hurt him. But maybe he hasn't, and if Mel drops it on us in the hearing about his parental rights without his lawyer being prepared …

He's sitting at the computer when I go to look for him, at least pretending to work. I guess he has taken a lot of time out of the office this last week, with one thing and another. He probably does need to at least feel like he's caught up with what's been going on. I sit on the couch and wait for him to finish what he's doing. I'm deep in thought, and I jump when he suddenly speaks.

"You're too fucking quiet. I can just about hear the gerbils scurrying."

I bite my lip for a moment, sitting looking across at him. After a moment, he swings round on his chair to face me with one eyebrow raised.

I take a deep breath, trying to get my thoughts together, trying to find a way to raise this that won't bring all his fucking Kinney-centered self-doubts crashing down on him, destroying his confidence in himself, and in the rightness of what he's doing for Gus.

But there isn't one.

There just isn't.

I can only ask.

 

*****
 

Brian

"Have you told your lawyer about the thing with your nephew?"

For a moment, it's almost as if I haven't heard him, as if he's talking some other language and the words just don't make any fucking sense. There's a sort of rush of white noise through my head, and the edges of everything around me become kind of blurry. Just for a moment.

Then pain comes crashing in like a tidal wave and I feel myself drowning in it.

I can't look at him. Can't be in the same room as him. Can't be near anybody.

I'm on my feet, stumbling towards the door when he gets in my face.

"No!" he says, grabbing my arms. "No, Brian, don't you fucking do this. Don't do this to yourself."

I try to take a breath, somehow surprised that my lungs are still working. His voice comes from a long way away, and my instinct is just to push him aside and somehow get past him, get away from him, from everything. I can't fucking …

`No!" he says again, and this time his hands are on my face, forcing me to look at him. It's fucking ridiculous. He's half my size. If I wanted to I could just bull-doze past him. But somehow I don't have the strength. It's a struggle just to stand upright. All the strength there is in me is flowing from his hands. I finally give in to him and let him turn my head to meet his eyes.

For a long moment I fight against letting myself see his expression, try to find some protection from whatever's there … pity, disgust, anger … it doesn't matter … I don't want it, won't see it, won't let it affect me. I can do that, at least. It's like riding a bike … there are some lessons you learn that you just never forget.

But as usual he surprises me, he does the thing that I least expect. Without closing his eyes, keeping them fixed on mine, he wraps one hand round the back of my neck and drags me down to his kiss. It's no gentle consolation either; it's hard and fierce and demanding and somehow it pushes the pain back enough to allow me to start thinking again, not just reacting.

Once he realizes that I'm not going to run out of the loft like some hysterical little pussy, he lets me go and walks over to the counter to pick up the bottle of Beam. I watch him snatch up a couple of glasses and somehow find the strength to sink down onto the couch, just as he joins me. He hands me the glasses to hold while he pours a good measure into each of them. Then he sets down the bottle, and raises his glass.

"To us," he says. "To you and I and Gus."

Still finding it hard to look at him I stare off into the distance for a long moment.

"To us," I finally manage. And swallow down the whole glass.

Wordlessly, he picks up the bottle, and holds it out. I take it and pour another, even larger, measure.

"I just think that she needs to know," he says calmly, as if he hasn't just single-handedly waged a one man battle against years of Kinney conditioning, which by some miracle he somehow seems to have won. "So she can be prepared. In case Mel …"

In case that cunt tells the court that I was once accused of sexually molesting my nephew. A kid not a lot older than Gus.

 

*****
 

Justin

I watch the shadows of pain pass like clouds across his eyes and wish there was something I could do to stop that, to prevent all that old hurt being stirred up for him. But I can't. All I can do is try to keep him focused on what's important right now. Which is Gus. And Gus' right to have his father in his life.

For a long long time he sits there cradling his drink without saying anything, just staring off into space. Then suddenly he knocks back half the glass, stands up, drinks the rest and goes over to his computer. As I sit, trying to work out what I can do, what I can say, he types an email and sends it.

Then he comes back and pours another drink.

Well, hell! Why the fuck not? So I hold out my glass and after a moment's pause he gives a soft laugh and tips the bottle so that what's left in there spills down, splashing a little over the sides, over my fingers, although most of it makes its intended destination okay.

I start to lick at the spilled drops and all of a sudden he's on his knees in front of me, his tongue replacing mine, snaking around my fingers then tracing a path to my palm. It's warm and wet and incredibly sensual. I can feel my cock stirring, and when he starts sucking my thumb into his mouth, in and out, the tip of his tongue fluttering against the sensitive pad, I feel like I'm going to come in my pants like a fucking teenager.

I'm just about paralyzed with pure desire and can't even make a move to get my pants undone. That doesn't matter though, because he's way ahead of me, and before I can even moan out the plea that's gathering in my gut, his head is bowed over my cock, my thumb abandoned as his tongue starts a dance round the head and down across the ridges and veins, urging me to full arousal.

I would have thought that given our pre-dinner activities, it might take a while, but there's magic in Brian's mouth and right now there's some kind of need driving him - I don't know what - but I can't find it in me to complain when the results are like this; this, that is maybe the most incredible blow job in a history that includes a lot of incredible blow jobs.

It's over almost too soon, but as I am reaching for him to return the favor, he dodges, struggling to his feet.

"Bed!" he grunts out, and as he goes towards the steps, limping a little, I hear him mutter, "We are getting fucking rugs in this new fucking place."

 

*****
 

Brian

He comes quicker than I would have thought; which is fine by me, because by half way in my fucking knees are killing me. They were already sore from our earlier efforts, and … shit! they hurt. But he comes and I can get up and head towards the fucking bedroom where we can fuck in comfort. I'm over this minimalist shit. There are going to be rugs in the new place. Great thick comfortable fucking rugs.

I'm hoping he's right behind me. I trust him to be. I … I need him to be. I need to fuck him. I need to be buried deep in his tight beautiful ass and …

I have to remind myself that …

I need to remind myself who I am. I'm a faggot. I suck cock. I fuck asses. I even take it up the ass occasionally.

And anyone who doesn't like that can …

They can go to Hell … where they'd all like to send me. And him. God, and him.

I need to remember all this, because it's the only thing I'll have to hold onto when they start to flay me alive over who I fuck and who I am and what I am.

I can't even tell them to go fuck themselves, because …

It's for Gus.

For Gus I have to go through this. If they tell me that I'll never be able to be alone with my son because I'm some kind of pervert, then I'll have to swallow and take it. If they tell me that I can only have "supervised" visits and all that shit, then that's how it will have to be. Because I can't walk away. I can't say `fuck them to Hell' and walk away because if I do, Gus will have no one. No one who puts him first.

Fuck!

If I'd known being a father was going to be like this, Gus would never have been born.

Maybe it's as well I didn't know.

Or maybe I should have. Maybe it would have been better if …

I can't even tell any more.

But he's here now.

And it's up to me.

And Justin.

Thank God there's Justin.

Because I couldn't do this on my own. I just fucking couldn't. I'd have fucked things up already if it wasn't for him.

I hope he knows that, because there's no way on earth I can tell him.

 

*****
 

Justin

Brian doesn't say much when we make it to the bed. No words, at least. But he's all over me. Not just hot and urgent like it was before dinner - although that's there too - but just … all over me. His tongue in my mouth, circling my ear, teasing my nipples; his hands on my ass and my cock and in my hair and … it's like there are about five Brians and they're all focused on giving me pleasure. It's fucking incredible. I have never felt so overwhelmed by him. And that's saying a lot. It really is.

All I can do is to respond and try to give him back at least a tiny bit of what he's giving me.

Afterwards, after we're both finally exhausted and the condoms have been disposed of, and we've cleaned up at least a little with the towel we keep in the drawer, before I can turn towards him he curls into me instead, and I wrap my arms around him and just hold him.

I'm almost asleep when he says so softly it's right on the edge of hearing, "Tell me I'm right to be doing this. Tell me I shouldn't just walk away." Then, even softer, "That Gus wouldn't be better off without me."

I hold him tighter, trying not to let my voice waver and tell him.

 

*****
 

Brian

It's only a little after fucking eight o'clock when the fucking phone rings. Who the fuck calls at this hour on a Saturday morning? Once I would have known it was Mikey. But those days are past, so my bet is on Lindsay. I'm less than my charming best when I growl a `what?' into the receiver.

It's not Lindsay. It's my fucking attorney who puts on her most acidic voice and responds, "Good morning, Mr. Kinney. Did I disturb you?"

If they could capture that fucking voice they could use it to cut diamonds.

I run my hand through my hair and try to get my thoughts together. I guess she got my email. I didn't think she'd see it till Monday, but I guess I'm not the only one who puts in office hours on the weekend.

She doesn't wait for me to answer, just goes on, "I have some further information on your case, which I think we need to discuss. Can you and your partner meet me in my office some time this morning?"

I don't fucking like the sound of this, but my attempts to get her to tell me what's going on just get drowned in a wave of "I don't think we can really discuss these matters on the phone".

So I tell her we'll be there at ten, and get to work waking Justin.

That boy is either the lightest sleeper on the planet, waking up as soon as I set so much as a toe outside the sheets, or he sleeps like the dead. There's no half way with him.

Not in anything I guess.

I finally manage to get him up and moving, and into the shower, although if he thinks I'm really going down on my fucking knees on those tiles to give him a morning blow job he is seriously delusional. His knees are younger than mine anyway.

 

*****
 

Justin

He's doing his best to be Brian Fucking Kinney about the whole thing, but I can tell he's really worried, so after I blow him, I head out to make coffee. If he has coffee he might survive. If he doesn't, then he might blow and take all of us with him.

One cup and some toast and we just have time to get dressed before we have to head out.

If I'm honest, Brian's not the only one who's nervous.

Aside from being worried about what might be happening with Gus, I'm fucking shit scared of meeting this Ms. Hershell woman.

Brian acts like she's a total shark, and she clearly makes even him think twice before he gets her annoyed. Walking down the hallway to her office after she buzzes us in, I have to stop myself clinging onto Brian's hand like a little kid, but to my relief, he must feel the same because he reaches out and grabs hold of mine, so we walk into her office linked together.

Ms.Hershell asks us to sit down and gives each of us a long look. Then she takes up a piece of paper on her desk and goes to say something. Before she can, Brian says suddenly, "So … you got my email?"

She looks a little surprised, and then says, "Yes. And I appreciate you letting me know. I called this morning and spoke to the police officer involved … er Detective Horvath. He confirmed what you told me and provided assurance that it was an entirely false and malicious accusation. He said that if necessary he would be prepared to testify to that in any court that might hear the issue."

Beside me, I can feel some sort of shock wave go through Brian. Like he didn't expect that anyone would believe him, or think that anyone would take his side. Well, except me, I hope.

She doesn't seem to realize how affected he is by what she's said, because she's going on, "From what I can gather you would have very solid grounds to pursue a civil case against your nephew, or at least against your sister for the pain and psychological damage these allegations might have caused you."

He looks completely dumbstruck by that, and just waves it off.

She tilts her head on one side and looks at him, really looks at him.

"Mr. Kinney, I'm sorry if you've been worried about that issue. Believe me, I would never have let it get as far as any judge."

Brian is still side-swiped, but he clears his throat and says, "I thought that's what you wanted to talk about."

"Oh, no," she says. "No. Not at all. But I do have news for you."

At that she leans forward a little and smiles.

 

*****
 

Brian

It's fucking scary. All of a sudden she's smiling. I'm almost scared to hear what might have put a smile on that face. It can't be good news for someone.

She takes a little breath and says almost happily, "I received the results of my inquiries into the status of Ms. Marcus and Ms. Petersen as far as their Canadian visas are concerned. It seems that they have each received at least two letters from the Candadion Immigration authorities which Ms. Marcus, at least, has chosen to ignore, advising them that they were on the verge of outstaying their temporary visas and that their applications for permanent residency would not even be considered unless they left the country and re-applied.

"In that event," she pursed her lips and read from the paper, "they would face at least a twelve month waiting period before their application would be processed. In the most recent round of letters they were advised that their failure to leave the country immediately on receipt of the letter would have a deleterious effect on the outcome of any subsequent applications."

She put the paper down and this time there is no mistaking the shark quality in her bared teeth smile.

"Even if Ms. Marcus had status as Gus' parent, this puts Ms. Petersen's actions in bringing Gus back to the States in a very different light, since in doing so she was complying with a directive from the Canadian government."

I feel a deep sense of relief at those words. I don't think I was aware how worried I'd been about what legal nasties Lindsay might have stirred up by bringing Gus home without Mel's agreement, in fact, against Mel's stated wishes.

"In point of fact, however," Ms. Hershell is going on, "it would seem that Ms. Marcus does not have any legal status as Gus' parent."

I can only sit and stare at her.

What the fuck does that mean?

 

*****
 

Justin

Brian looks even more dumbstruck, and I'm sure I do too.

What does that mean? Well, I guess it means Mel didn't go ahead with the adoption. But there's still the papers Brian signed. Don't they mean something?

Ms. Hershell gives me a look for a moment and then fastens her eyes back on Brian's face. For a moment, she'd looked totally scary and I understood why she gives Brian a touch of the heebies, but now she's really smiling.

"I'm delighted to tell you, Mr. Kinney, that since Ms. Marcus neither registered the agreement she asked you to sign with the courts, nor applied for formal adoption of Gus, we don't have to petition to have your parental rights re-instated, since those rights were never legally terminated."

It takes a moment to sink in, but almost before it has, I'm turning to Brian.

He's sitting there staring at her. Just staring.

Then he puts his hand up to cover his lips, like he does sometimes, when he's just overwhelmed and can't find any words to say.

So I step into the breach.

"Does that mean that we don't have to go to court at all?" I ask.

It seems like she has to tear her eyes from Brian, but then she looks at me and smiles some more.

"I would imagine that there would be no need for the court to be involved," she says. "Providing that you can come to an agreement with Gus' birth mother about access and the like. I've already spoken to her attorney and he's suggesting that we all meet on Monday to discuss that, and hopefully to finalize all details."

I can only sort of stare at her. It sounds like it's over. Just … over. Without any sort of a fight, really.

She suddenly becomes serious again, that cold look coming back into her face, as she turns back to Brian.

"I have to advise you Mr. Kinney that in asking you to sign such a document, and in presenting it as having a legal status which she must know that it completely lacks, Ms. Marcus has behaved in a reprehensively unethical fashion. Should you wish to sue her for every cent she has to cover your costs and damages I would be most happy to prepare the case. Which, I assure you, you would win."

Brian seems to come alive then and shakes his head. "No. No. I couldn't … I couldn't do that to Gus."

She nods as if she'd expected this response.

"I understand. However, I strongly advise you not to give any assurances on this matter. It will be a very powerful negotiating tool to discourage Ms. Marcus from any further legal actions aimed in any way at getting legal rights in your son."

Brian bites his lip, but nods. He doesn't like it, but he knows that it's best for Gus that Mel, who has behaved more and more like a complete and total whacko, let alone a bitch, doesn't have any say in what happens with Gus. That we just can't trust her not to do something totally crazy just to spite Brian. Because she is not going to like this, not one little bit.

"If she should return to the States, as I believe she will have to, then you should be prepared for her to apply for access visits."

He nods. I know he thinks that it's not right to just keep Mel away from Gus completely, but the thought of having her around Gus scares me. But she won't just have Brian to deal with, she'll have me. And no matter what she might think, how much she might discount me, if she pushes, she's going to find out that, compared to me, Brian's a pussy cat.

"I have to advise that any access should be supervised visits only - and I mean supervised by either yourselves, or by an Officer of the Courts, not by Ms. Petersen. At least until Ms. Marcus' residency status has been cleared up, and until you have confidence that she won't do something extremely foolish. Her behavior, and in particular her attitude towards you, seems to me to verge on the unbalanced. I would not like to see your son hurt or imperiled in any way by her taking some extreme action."

So it's not just me being paranoid. Well, okay. Brian goes to say something, almost as if he's actually going to defend that bitch, then seems to think better of it.

"We'll make sure of it," I say.

I want him to know that I'm not putting up with any more shit from either of those women where Gus is concerned. Or where Brian's concerned either.

 

*****
 

Brian

I can tell he's in a fucking `take no prisoners' mood, and I'm so exhausted, really just completely fucking emotionally depleted, that I'm happy to let him lead the charge.

Ms. Fucking Hershell, after one quick look at me to see how I'm reacting, smiles at him like he's her favorite nephew. What is it with cute blonds and the fucking oldies? She's saying something else about the meeting with Linds and her lawyer on Monday but I can hardly take it in. I know he will, though, so it doesn't really matter.

All I can hear in my head are her words, just going round and round: I don't have to go to court to fight for my son. He's mine. Or at least part mine. And no one is going to take that away from either of us.

I can hardly fucking believe it. I want to see Gus. I want to hold him, and know that no one is ever going to rip him away from me again. I want to tell him how much his father fucking loves him. And that I'll never let anyone convince me again that being apart is better for either of us.

I want to get out of here, so we can get to the hotel and I can see him. That's all I can think about.

It's only right at the end, as we're leaving, that anything else she says really penetrates. She walks with us to the elevator and as we step inside, she holds the doors open for a moment and looking straight into my face says, "I have to tell you that Ms. Marcus' conduct has been so egregious that I intend to report her to the Bar Council. I hope you understand, Mr. Kinney, that I don't believe I have any choice."

The doors slide closed before I can respond.

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