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Adrian to Brian, Brian to Adrian Chapter 8 (finale)

WARNING: SIGNIFICANT SEASON FIVE SPOILERS IN THIS CHAPTER!

B,

Shit, I just heard about the explosion at Babylon. They're saying it was a deliberate plant, a bombing. Are you alright? Are all of your friends safe? Please respond as soon as possible. I tried calling and got no answer. I now understand why you never arrived in Sydney. I'm sorry I was such a bitch about it. Please respond!

A

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A,

I heard about the bombing while I was on my way to the airport, so I went right over there. Mikey was hurt pretty badly, but he'll make it. Side note, at the hospital, they wouldn't take my blood for Mikey because I'm gay. I was busting a gut over it and then I was told it didn't matter anyway, because they couldn't take my blood since I had cancer. Felt so useless and contaminated. Everyone else in my posse is alright, but seven people died, Adrian, and I knew them all. This is what it's come to, now. We kill fags en masse in this country, now, instead of just bashing us to death, one at a time. I found Justin helping out in the rubble, and I told him, for the first time, that I love him. I want to make a life with him. I have to try to make this work. I had this vision of mortality, of seeing myself in a coffin, and I realized how empty my life is. I want to make him happy. I asked him to marry me, but he thinks I'm kidding. I'm not. The breeders think they can kill us for wanting equal rights? Fuck that. In their face, I want to get married. I want to rub their noses in the image of two faggots getting married! I want to show them that we will survive whatever they try to do to us and we'll defy their attempts to limit our options. Babylon was insured, but I really don't care about rebuilding it in this environment. I'm still in shock. I never really believed you would be in Sydney, but then my mind just wasn't on anything but what was happening here.

B

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B,

I'm so very sorry for the loss of your comrades, Brian. Horrible doings. I'm glad your close friends made it out alive. If this marriage is what it takes to make you happy, if you're doing it for all the right reasons, then I wish you well. I don't know what else to say. I worry for you. I worry that it's your rage that is pushing you to make a statement, combined with your fear that something terrible could have happened to Justin, and your relief over finding him well. You seem determined to give him what he needs to be happy, but what do you need, Brian? Anyway, you'll do what you will. Take care, beautiful Brian. Be happy,

A

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A,

I put a contract on a house, okay a mansion, in the country. For him. And because I want to out-breeder the breeders, beat them at their game of what's so important in their ideal societal scheme. He loved it. He agreed to marry me. We're going to do it. We picked out rings and invitations and we've been fitted for suits, and we've even planned a rehearsal dinner. They're having a stag party for us at Woody's. That should be fun. Not. Strange thing, I feel like an observer in my own life. Like I'm watching all this unfold from a safe distance. This can't be me, I think, this can't be happening. But it is me. And I'm doing it. For him. And for all the dead and wounded faggots and dykes who paid for the prejudices against us. He got mad at me for not fucking the hot guy they chose for me at the stag party, but I told him I wanted to make him happy. I thought that didn't make him happy when I did those things. Confusing signals. Justin participated in an art show and got great reviews. Some critic said he needs to go to New York and conquer that scene. I worry that I'm holding him back. He says no, but... others have made it clear that I am. The dykes want to move to Toronto where munchers are welcome and of course, take my son with them. My heart is breaking over that. Not only do I lose Gus, but I lose my friend, Lindsay. This hurts. I don't want Gus to forget me. So much going on. I feel like I'm living outside my skin. Very odd sensation.

B

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B,

Gus will never forget you, Brian. You're his Dad and you can travel, as can he as he gets older. I wonder if your sensation is really some instinct demanding to be heard. Stop thinking about how you're impeding Justin's brilliant career for once and ask yourself if this is what you want for you? God, I wish I could slap some sense into you from time to time. Is this what you want, Brian? Is it really?

A

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A,

Yes, this is what I want. To be with him. Married? Not so sure, but I guess I'll do anything to make him happy, and to shove the haters' faces in the pile.

B

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B,

And with that, I'm shutting the fuck up.

A

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Two weeks later:

A,

Marriage is off. He needs to be in New York after all, it would appear. He was giving that up for me. More to the point, he says I'm no longer the man he fell in love with, that the closer we got to getting married, the less he knew me. I don't know how I can win this one, Adrian. He tells me he doesn't want to be with me if I want to remain a wild and crazy club stud, that's clear. Then, when I make the big gesture, try to give him what I think he wants, he tells me I'm no longer the man he loved. Which man is that? Not the club stud but not the new and improved version of Brian Kinney, either. I think he's telling me that he just doesn't love... me. In whatever guise I come wrapped. And so he goes to New York. There was no discussion of my tagging along or opening an office there or anything like that. I understand. It's an adventure for him and if I'm there the whole adventure changes. He says we'll still see each other, but we won't. What's the point? I'll never be right for him. He left. Not sure where he'll stay, but he'll figure it out. His friend Daphne has a friend with a place in the East Village, you know the drill. He has his Rage money. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts. I'm feeling very old and very alone right now. I put my son in a car with his moms and watched them drive him out of my life. My best friend is living in Breederville, in a life that doesn't dovetail with mine. I'm 34. Too old to party, party, party. I can't try a different life, because then I'm not being myself. I don't even know who I am anymore. Much less why I am. What now?

B

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B,

I'm sorry for you, my beautiful Brian. I don't understand why he couldn't stay in Pittsburgh, with you, and paint. Painters paint all over the world. He could still travel to New York to exhibit. Why does he do this? How can he keep leaving you? God, let it end, Brian. Don't keep doing this to yourself.

A

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A,

It's ended. I mean it this time. It's over, for good. If he tried to come back, I wouldn't allow it. It's turned toxic for me, this ludicrous dependence on him, emotionally. And he won't try to come back, Adrian. He's moved on with this life and good for him. Now, I just want to heal.

B

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Later:

B,

How are you holding up?

A

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A,

Surviving. Every day, maybe a little better. Time helps. Rebuilt Babylon. Party on.

B

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Time passes. (You decide how much.)

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A,

Adrian, remember what you said when we first met? Well guess what? "I get it". I didn't before, but I do now. I get it, Adrian. Happy birthday.

B

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B,

What can I do to help?

A

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A,

You could be here. You could put your arms around me. You could tell me that you love me to my fucking face! You could be here with me. Here, not London. How about that? You talk about how he runs. What about you? You've kept your distance for how long now? What about that? You're not exactly here for me, are you? Sorry, but I'm mad today. I get that way from time to time. Not your fault. Or is it? I have feelings too, you know? You think I would have poured my heart out to you for almost five years if I didn't love and respect you? You think you haven't been in the back of my mind as a comparison point with Justin? How fair was that to him? Not at all! But that's the ugly truth. I was the image with Justin for so long. When I tried to be real with him, it was too late. He didn't want anything real from me, but he no longer wanted the image either. How about you? You like the real me, Adrian? The bleeding part of me? The damaged part? The cut up, insecure, scarred up part? Or do you just love the bitch boy you buggered a few years ago? Because that boy is GONE.

B

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B,

I love every inch, every corner, every scar, every hang up, every element that makes you the man you are today, Brian. I've loved you from afar for almost five years. I've never gotten over you. You're the reason Owen and the Movie Star and all the others never worked for me. They weren't YOU. I've been waiting for you to "get it". You are the great love of my life. I have known that from the first I saw you in that movie theatre. I've waited for you to "get it" and now you have.

A

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Twenty-four hours later:

A,

Yeah, but now that I have, where the fuck are you? Still a safe cyber space away.

B

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B,

Open your door. I'm sending you this message from my Blackberry. I'm standing in your hallway.

A

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A,

Is that supposed to be funny? It isn't.

B

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B,

Open your fucking door.

A

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Brian crossed the loft, feeling like a fool, and threw open the door. Adrian, looking older, but no worse for wear, leaned in the threshold as he slipped his Blackberry into a pocket of his leather jacket.

"You look tired, old sod," Adrian said with a smile.

Brian stared at him as if trying to convince himself he wasn't seeing a ghost. "You can't be here."

"Tell me again, what you said in that email."

"I get it, Adrian," Brian whispered and Adrian pulled him into his arms and held onto him with the firm belief that no matter what happened in the future, he would never let him go.

The End