It Takes One to Know One


Justin

We're both really conscious that all this must have been kind of scary for Gus so when we leave the court, before we do anything else, we take him to the park for a while and let him just run around. He has a great time "hiding" behind the swings and the slide and stuff and having his Dad chase him. I guess it helps both the Kinney guys work off some of the nervous energy that's been building up ever since we knew we had to go back to court today.

They're both a lot less wired when we head back to the loft.

Once Gus is settled down at the counter with some lunch in front of him, Brian starts making phone calls – to Cynthia to give her a heads up about what happened this morning so that if Lindsay or Mel call the office, everyone knows that the only contact is to be through the lawyers; to a builder to see if he can do an emergency revamp of the small upstairs bathroom, starting yesterday; to a fencing contractor to get something put up across the end of the property so that Gus can't get down to the river; to a furniture store to set up an appointment (!) to select some stuff; and to Ted, because he's going to need him to project manage this stuff for him. I cannot believe that he's planning to buy our furniture from a store where you need to make a fucking appointment. Well, I can, but only because it's Brian.

We're going to move into the house as soon as Gus has a door from his bedroom into the bathroom. Brian doesn't want him to have to go onto the landing if he wakes up in the night and needs to use the toilet We debated about just moving in and letting Gus sleep with us till the work was done, but then we realized that knocking a doorway through, not to mention moving all the fixtures, is going to mean major mess and dust and shit, and it's not really very practical.

There are major changes that we want to make downstairs too; or at least one major change. We want to knock out the wall between the kitchen and the little front room on that side of the house, and make it into a single space, a combined cooking and dining area with maybe a counter across to give it some definition and give us an informal place to eat if we don't want to sit at a table. Of course, knocking through that wall might not be structurally possible, so we need to get architects and maybe engineers involved; which gives me an idea.

I open the filing drawer in the desk and dig out the file that holds all the papers for the house. It's quite thick, but it doesn't take me long to find what I'd hoped was there – the original plans for the major work they'd had done - taking out all the back rooms and opening up that space - with all the engineering specifications attached.

Brian gives me a smacking kiss and I think I hear him mutter something about 'my own little genius' as he bends over them. We peer at them together, but honestly, not a lot of it makes sense to the uninitiated, except the concept drawings which are beautiful – works of art in themselves. My guess would be that Dan's Billy did those.

Brian calls the architect who designed the loft for him and it's a really weird conversation – at least from my end, given that I can only hear half of it, and not all of that because I'm trying to get Gus to sit down and watch a video. I'm hoping it will put him out, because I suspect that he's pretty worn out by everything and that if he doesn't get a nap he'll be Kinney-cranky by the end of the day.

 

*****
 

Brian

By the time I get off the phone Gus is curled up on the futon supposedly watching the Wiggles or Waggles or whatever the fuck they're called, but actually I think he's pretty much asleep.

Stephane seemed almost fucking delirious with excitement when I told him that I needed him to work on some plans for me. I'd no sooner started to describe the house when he squealed, "You don't mean the Arkwright-Dickinson house?" and sounded as if he was fucking hyper-ventilating all over the phone.

Turns out he'd wangled an invitation to some party there a few years ago and had just been blown away by the place. The thought that he was going to get a chance to do some work there seemed to be all the incentive he needed to agree to drop anything else he's got going and start work on the project immediately. He's going to meet with us there tomorrow.

So everything else is pretty much under control, now I just have to work out how the fuck we're going to manage to look after Gus full time without Justin losing anymore fucking time out from his painting. He's got to have the piece ready for the Warhol, and prepare for his own show. He can't afford to be running around after Gus every day.

 

*****
 

Justin

I just can't believe the fucker.

Gus finally fell asleep, and Brian carried him up to the bedroom and then told me I should leave, go to my studio and get on with some work.

He hasn't even told me what went on with all the phone calls yet, and we haven't had a chance to discuss how we're going to manage looking after Gus and all he wants to do is fucking shove me out the door.

I try to reassure him that things will be okay with Gus at least; I mean, the good thing about not having a nine to five job is that I can set my own working hours and make sure I can pick Gus up every day from school.

He just looks down his nose at me like he's fucking King Kinney or something and I'm just an idiot menial, and more or less tells me not to bother my pretty little head about it, just to go and paint some pretty pictures.

He actually has the nerve to tell me that Gus is his problem, and he'll fix it.

Then he sits down at the computer and logs on and makes like I'm not even there.

Well, fuck him!

He gets me so mad sometimes when he just refuses to listen to me. He gets in this space where he totally believes he's the only one who knows what should be done, how things should be, and he completely ignores me.

So I do leave.

First I think about going to see Daphne, then I remember she has classes all day Thursday, so I think about going to see Mom, but in the end I head for the studio and start a new painting.

I think I'll call it "Asshole".

 

*****
 

Brian

I guess I should have handled that better, but fuck it. The fucked up mess that I've created with Lindsay shouldn't be allowed to affect Justin's future. These two shows that are coming up could really open doors for him and he needs to be free to work, not worrying about my bullshit.

I know he thinks that being partners means that he gets to have a share in all the fucking problems as well as the good stuff, but …

Shit!

Of course that's what he thinks, and I've just fucking told him that I don't think of us that way, that I don't really see him as my partner, as someone whose wants and needs and opinions carry equal weight in this … relationship, fuck it.

I've just told him that if he has a role it's as a very junior fucking partner who can't be counted on to pull his weight.

Like he doesn't carry more than his fair share; fuck it – he's the one doing most of the fucking work.

I am such a dickhead.

One of these days I'm going to get this stuff.

But it doesn't look like it's going to be today.

I try calling his cell, but he doesn't answer.

Big surprise.

I'm debating what else I can do when Jenn calls. She wants to know how things went this morning. I tell her, and she sounds like she's over the moon.

I mumble something about needing to find someone to take care of Gus. He starts school on Monday, but someone will need to pick him up and …

"I don't want it to be Justin," I find myself telling her. Then I realize how that sounds. "Not that he isn't great with Gus, but … he has to get on with …"

Then I remember that we haven't told her, haven't told anyone, about his New York show in October, so I can't use that to explain.

"He needs to finish the piece he wants to submit for the Warhol show," I say. "In fact, he should probably have a couple of pieces ready in case they're not happy with the first. He needs to be getting on with that."

"He needs to know that he's supporting his partner," Jenn tells me firmly.

I sigh.

"That's what he said. He wants to pick Gus up every day after school, but …"

I don't get a chance to finish, because she cuts in.

"What you both seem to be forgetting is that Gus has a grandmother. And grandmothers get to have a role in childcare."

I sigh more deeply. What is it with these fucking Taylors? Jenn has a full time job; she can't …

"Mondays and Tuesdays I spend the day mainly doing paperwork," she goes on before I get a chance to respond. "You know the sort of thing – arranging ads to hit the papers on Thursday and Friday in time for weekend viewings, catching up on the results of sales and auctions from last weekend. I can do that stuff at home. I'll just leave work early, pick Gus up and bring him to my place and I can get the paperwork done while he's napping, or even after he goes home. It will be worth it if I can spend some time with him and get to know him."

For some reason I'm having trouble getting my voice to work.

The thing is, I can tell that she means it. She really does want to spend time with Gus. I'm surprised at how much that means to me.

"And on Fridays," she says happily, "I get a half day off because I work Saturdays. So that means that you only have to worry about picking Gus up on Wednesday and Thursday and I'm sure that if you split that between you it won't interfere with either of your work responsibilities too much."

"Mother Taylor," I start, intending to protest, I guess … but what can I fucking say?

This is something Jenn obviously wants to do, and it's the perfect solution. Even the courts couldn't argue with Gus spending time with Justin's perfect-lady WASP mother, especially since she is technically Gus's grandmother.

"Jenn," I try again. "Are you sure?"

It sounds so fucking wimpy.

She laughs. "Of course I'm sure, Brian. I'm delighted. Why don't you bring Gus over for lunch on Saturday so that we can spend a little time together before I pick him up on Monday. And don't forget that you'll have to advise the school."

"Yeah," I say. "I'll do that."

Then some last shred of fucking self-preservation kicks in and I hear myself saying, "I'll need to discuss it with Justin, but …"

She gives a little giggle then, and says, still fucking laughing, "I bet you never thought you'd hear yourself saying anything like that."

She's fucking right, of course, but …

Somehow it's not as horrible as I once might have thought.

Now if I can just figure out how to get the little twat to actually take my calls.

Well, I'd better figure something out fast, because if I know Gus as soon as he wakes up he's going to be demanding his fucking "Dus" and I don't want to have to face the consequences if Dus isn't here. Or at least, on his way back here.

But before I can work out what to do, he calls me.

"I'm going to be heading home soon. Do you need me to pick up anything at the corner store on the way?"

I can tell by his voice that he's pissed at me still, but at least he's on his way home. I should probably wait till he gets here and do this face to face.

"No, I think we're okay till the weekend."

I swallow and get a grip on my remaining ball. "I guess we need to talk … work out how we're going to handle things."

"I thought that was your fucking problem," he snipes.

Little shit!

"Well, yeah, kind of … but …"

"Well, there's nothing to talk about then is there?"

"Justin, don't … you know …"

"I don't know fuck, Brian. I'm just some idiot kid who has a great ass and gives great head."

"Sunshine, you left out the fact that you're a bigger fucking drama queen than Emmett," I can't resist retorting.

I hear his gasp of outrage and realize that wasn't the smartest thing to say if I want him to come home so I can make up to him for being such a shit earlier. Fuck! Now I suppose I'm going to have more payback to face for that crack. I hurry on before I can dig myself even deeper into the shit pit, "But you're also the only fucking person I trust to always put Gus' needs first, so you're the only one who can help me decide what's the best thing to do for the next few weeks, or however long he's with us."

There's silence for a moment, and then he says quietly, "You made me feel like shit, Brian. I fucking hate it when you pull that 'I don't need you to help me with anything' bullshit."

I sigh. I've been doing a lot of that this afternoon. This is one of the reasons I avoided fucking relationships for so long. I'm no fucking good at them. I'm okay with the big stuff, pretty much. But the small day to day stuff … I get caught up in my own shit and kind of lose the fucking plot.

"I know," I tell him. "I … it was a stupid thing to say. I just …"

The truth is that I’m not used to having someone to help share the load. Not used to having someone to rely on that way.

I mean, yeah, sure, Justin, when he's been around. But between being bashed in the head, and the fiddler, and LA and New York, there's been a lot of time when he hasn't been around. Either he's been kind of … damaged, or not there, or else he's about to leave, or he's just gotten back … There hasn't been a lot of time that we've felt really solid. I mean, there have been times … the Stockwell time, and in Chicago, and these last few weeks. But not time enough for me to get into the habit of relying on him. Not time enough to break the fucking habit of a lifetime of thinking I could only rely on myself.

He sighs.

It must be catching.

"You drive me totally nuts, Mr. Kinney," he tells me. "It's a damned good thing you've got a nine inch cock and can suck like a Hoover."

I find myself laughing, with relief, probably. Sounds like his hissy fit is over. Sounds like I might not have to grovel too fucking much when he gets home.

"I love you," I offer.

That makes him laugh too, the little twat.

I know exactly how he looks at the moment. He's shaking his head with that 'for someone so smart, you can be so fucking dumb' look on his face.

But his voice is soft and … fuck me, tender, when he says the words right back to me.
 

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