minimumbullshit | For Lucy

For Lucy

If he had his way, he would've slept sprawled across the waiting room chairs, harassing the night nurses and generally making an ass of himself. Apparently, the detox program that Max had signed himself over to wasn't in the habit of allowing hovering visitors, despite their status as partners or boyfriends or lovers or whatever fucking label was foisted onto them. So, he went home to wait for Max's discharge, and more importantly, to figure out how they put their lives back together after something so catastrophic. Unfortunately, Brian Kinney was the world's worst at sitting around and waiting for things to happen to him.

So, he took Gus and left the quiet of their apartment, driving across town to Lucy's shitty little apartment, the one she seemed to be punishing herself with, after whatever transgressions she thought she'd committed last year. There was a chance she wasn't even home, but he had a feeling she would be.

On her floor, he let Gus run ahead. "Down the hall, sonny boy. Last door on your right," Brian said, pointing his son in the right direction. Gus beat on the door with his tiny fists, calling out, "Luce! Luce!" Brian hung back, arms folded, his expression carefully blank, but his jaw twitched, full of tension. If she looked closely enough, which he knew she would, she'd be sure to notice.

He couldn't hide a damn thing from these Carrigans anymore.

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She hasn't slept in days, and it shows, dark circles under her eyes and her appearance generally disheveled. Maybe the worst part is, it doesn't feel all that unfamiliar. This isn't the first time since they've both been in Darrow that Max has spent several days missing, the fact that his phone is still connected the only proof that he isn't gone for good. I't's just that, this time, there hasn't been anything else to point to, no disappearances and stories of people having been in some other version of Darrow. Nothing, of course, except what she's been seeing for months, what she'd known she needed to do something about and didn't. It might not have made a difference, but there's every chance it would have. Now, she'll never know.

It's taking just about everything Lucy has in her now not to collapse, but she has a feeling that even if she tried to get some rest, she wouldn't be able to. She needs to see Max for herself, be assured like that that he's alright. That it's taking everything she has in her not to fall apart only adds to her exhaustion, but it gives her all the more reason to keep going, too. She has to. There's no alternative.

So she paces, and she smokes, and she tries, futilely, to think of anything fucking else, even tries turning the TV on for a little while, only to decide that the noise doesn't help at all. There isn't exactly much else she can do now. What pulls her out of her head — and prompts a smile from her for what feels like the first time in ages — is the sound of a familiar voice on the other side of the door. That smile stays in place as she goes to open it, looking down at Gus like there's nothing wrong at all. "Hey, Gus," she says. "Well, you sound excited to be here."

Her expression softens a little as she looks up at Brian, letting out a heavy exhale. "You guys want to come in?"

Gus had already pushed his way inside, darting between her legs and the door frame with a bright grin and a laugh.

"I think that's a yes," Brian said, smirking as he stepped forward. His arms unfolded and he reached out, his hand resting briefly against her jaw, his thumb gentle against her cheek. For someone who apparently hated even admitting the possibility that he gave a shit about anyone, he had always been affectionate when it mattered, with the people who mattered.

It's not like it's even all that unexpected, not really. As much as he might like to act otherwise, Lucy knows that Brian cares a lot more than he likes to let on. She's seen it firsthand, the night McCormick's was broken into; for that matter, the fact that he's stuck around through everything going on with Max says a lot on that front. Still, she's been so tired, so on edge, that for a split second, she worries it might be enough to undo her composure, which she hasn't had a very firm grasp on as it is. The moment passes, and after leaning instinctively into his hand, she nods Brian inside as well.

"At least one of us is in a good mood," she says of Gus, her expression fond as she does. "Better than nothing."

"Must be all those uppers I've been sneaking into his cereal," Brian said flatly, walking across the room to help Gus unzip the little backpack he wore. Inside, he'd stuffed a few cars, a coloring book, crayons, a snack. It would keep him entertained for no more than five minutes, but like she'd said, it was better than nothing.

"What am I interrupting? No offense, but you look like hell."

"Thanks," Lucy says dryly, with a tight smile, though it fades after all of a moment. He's right, and she knows it, and coming from him, she doesn't mind hearing it so much, even if she is pretty sure that he already knows why that might be the case. "You know, the usual. Pacing, worrying, trying not to lose my mind and mostly failing."

"Now, why would that be?" He said it wide-eyed, playing innocent, maybe a bit cruelly. "I must be missing something, because I can't think of a single thing to be worried about."

He collapsed onto her couch, reaching for a little plastic truck Gus had discarded.

"The next couple of days are the easy part, Luce," he said, without any of his usual bullshit. "He's finally got his head out of his ass. At least now we can stop watching him pretend like everything's fine."

"Yeah," Lucy says with a sigh, then slumps down onto the couch beside Brian. "I guess." Logically speaking, she knows that this is a good thing, that she should be able to relax now. Logic doesn't have much of a place when it comes to something like this, though, and try as she might, she can't get herself any less tightly wound. It doesn't help that she can't be there, not even to stop and see for herself that he's alright after all this shit. Even if she could, though, there's only so much difference that could make. For everything Max has going on, there's shit she has to wrestle with, too, that's been eating at her for some time and is finally coming to a head. Maybe if she'd done more, if she hadn't sat back and watched her brother's downward spiral, if she'd tried to step in sooner, none of this would be happening now. "And at least we know he's safe now."

"At least there's that," Brian said, with a sarcastic edge of optimism. Luckily, Gus seemed mostly oblivious to their mood, his crayons and action figures a decent distraction.

With somewhat of an awkward sigh, Brian curled an arm around Lucy's shoulders and drew her in closer against his side.

"I want to know when the fuck this became my life," he said to no one in particular, scrubbing a hand across his face and snickering helplessly.

"I'd tell you if I knew," Lucy says, instinctively leaning her head against his shoulder when he pulls her closer. She's not sure, really, how any of this happened, even as she feels like she should have seen it coming. Even this — the fact that Brian has come to feel almost as much like family as her own brother does — she couldn't pinpoint a cause or a time for. With as much of a fucking mess as everything is, she's more grateful for that, too, than she would have expected to be. "I don't know where we go from here, either."

Blowing a slow breath, he said, "Yeah, well, that's not really up to us, is it?"

And that was the fucking rub, wasn't it? Because Brian Kinney hated feeling out of control. Unfortunately, love had a tendency to fuck with your plans and your rhetoric and bullshit. All his mantras, his life lessons, his little grains of wisdom -- no apologies, no regrets -- didn't really mean shit.

"No," Lucy says, "it's probably not." Just because she knows that, though, doesn't mean she likes the idea of it any. Sitting back and waiting and watching has never been a strong suit of hers, and she thinks that's a big part of why she's felt half-crazy lately, anxiously pacing around her apartment like it's her goddamn job, unable to keep still. Now, though, she stays put, Brian's arm around her shoulders like an anchor, as quietly comforting as anything is likely to be. "I fucking hate it, you know? Not being able to do anything."

"It's not your responsibility to do anything. And before you say, but he's my brother," he said, pitching his voice higher in mocking parody of hers, "He is your brother, but it's his life to fuck up. At the end of the day, the only life you have control over is you own. Otherwise, you end up feeling helpless, he ends up being resentful, and you both end up fucking miserable."

"Yeah, 'cause we're both so far from that already," Lucy says dryly, though she knows he's not wrong. It's a hell of a lot easier said than done, when she's always had trouble backing away from things anyway, something in her innately compelled to try to step in and help, and even more so where Max is concerned. When it comes to this, though, it is outside of her control, as much as she hates that that's the case. It might not be quite so hard to deal with if it weren't. "I mean, you're right, I know you're right, I just..." Trailing off, she cracks what she can of a smile, though it's still halfhearted. "Kind of wish you weren't."

"You'd be surprised how exhausting it is, being right all the time, but I've learned to live with it," he said, and his smile was sharp, but it wasn't quite as mocking as it might've been.

Whatever bullshit jokes he might've made were overshadowed when he tightened his arm around her and turned to press a kiss to her temple.

"Oh, yeah, I bet," Lucy says, deadpan, though the edge in her voice is distinctly lacking. As much as she wouldn't wish having to go through this on anyone else, having Brian here has helped her more than she knows how to tell him. She has a feeling, though, that he probably already knows. "What a burden to have to carry."

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For Lucy

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