minimumbullshit | 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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"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."

For Lucy

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