Title: Resurfaced

Pairing: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: Post Episode 513. It had been years since prom…

It had been years since Prom. Since the night everything in his world, well practically everything, got flipped upside down, inside out, and backwards. So many things in his life had changed that night, forever. He'd lost partial use of his hand, something that still caused issues to this day. He'd lost months of his life to hospital rooms and rehab. He'd lost his youthful sense of freedom and invincibility. That innocent teenage immortality they all walked around with before experiencing death or mortal danger for the first time. Daphne had lost it too, and Justin knew he'd always regret that she'd been so affected by that night. But he also knew she hadn't been affected nearly as much as he had been, as Brian had been.

Brian didn't like to talk about it. They rarely, if ever, discussed it. But Justin knew he thought about it on occasion. Could see the way it washed over his face when some seemingly random image or topic of conversation would remind him. There'd been the first time they'd seen the new ad for Turner Sportswear, Brown's biggest competition. It had featured a young blond baseball player swinging a baseball bat directly at the camera. The bat swinging through the visual field, accompanied by a loud whacking sound, that of a bat meeting a ball. It had an effect that was jarring for anyone watching it. Justin and Brian had both flinched where they sat on the couch together, and Brian had blinked several times, face blank before turning off the television, and getting up for another beer. Justin had taken a moment to breathe before turning to watch Brian's progress to the loft fridge, his almost hesitant steps so unlike Brian's usual gait they'd been like a flashing red light screaming 'something's wrong!' They hadn't talked about it. But Brian's renewed attention to Brown had led to a bigger and better contract to go with the bigger and more aggressive ad campaign he'd designed a few weeks later.

That was just one example. But there had been countless others. Any talk about gay bashings, or about beatings in general could be triggers. But those caused less visceral reactions. You could often tell when a conversation was headed in that direction beforehand. Usually only Justin noticed the change in Brian; a tightening around his mouth, in the line of his shoulders. It was when it surprised him that Brian reacted most noticeably. Once they'd been walking in a parking garage, a type of place they both tended to avoid more often than not, it was close to Christmas and parking was at a premium. They were just headed to the mall to pick up a special ordered toy for Gus at the toy store, and a new easel for Justin from the Art supply place a few store fronts down. There had been no other places to park, so they'd been forced to park in the garage. Justin had kept close to Brian, latent feelings of anxiety making him crave just a bit of reassurance. He'd mumbled something about the frigid temperatures, and his dick freezing off, and Brian's arm had slid around him, comfortingly warm and pulling him against Brian's side.

"We wouldn't want that. I have plans for your dick later, Sunshine," he'd said with a grin. Justin had laughed, the sound warm and loud in the quiet of the cement structure. Brian was looking at his happy face when the man ran past, feet pounding on the pavement as he jogged by. Brian had jerked, looking up and away, eyes following the man suspiciously, before tugging Justin closer, and picking up his own pace toward the entrance to the mall. So yes, it still affected them both on occasion.

But by the time 5 years had passed Justin was mostly over the worst of those involuntary reactions. His adventures with Cody had proved him stronger than Hobbs would ever be, and while he still got pissed off when he thought too long about the aftermath of the bashing, or his hand cramped up on him in the middle of a flow of creative genius, he didn't let himself think about it too often. He would always hate Chris Hobbs for what he'd done and why he'd done it. He would always hate his father's non-reaction, the schools non-action, the justice systems half-assed sentencing, yet he didn't let it rule his life. He was in fucking New York City. He was still with Brian and he was happy.

Life wasn't perfect. He missed Pittsburgh. He missed his Mom and Molly, Lindsay, Mel, and the kids. He missed the boys and Debbie, and especially Daphne. He missed being with Brian fulltime… But he was doing what he loved. And he was damn good at it too.

So when it happens it catches him off guard. And it's just dumb luck that Brian is there when it does. He's in town for a business meeting. He swears it has nothing to do with it being Valentine's Day weekend. He tells Justin this repeatedly, proving to the younger man that it's at least, in part, a charade.

"It's nothing, Justin. I don't want you getting some crazy overly-romantic lezzy notions about why I'm here, ok?" Brian had said. Justin had grinned and nodded.

"Sure, Brian. You just happened to randomly schedule two meetings in New York City. One for the 12th and one for the 15th, necessitating that you be here, with me over the weekend of the one holiday of the year dedicated to showing the person you care about the most how much you love them. I totally buy that," he'd said, nodding assertively, and watching Brian's face pucker with annoyance.

"Think what you want. I can't stop you. But don't think you're getting any roses or chocolate out of me. I tried to be a romantic once and it totally fucking backfired, remember?" He'd said, turning away. "Besides flowers make your eyes itch, and your ass is already big enough, without adding a few thousand more calories onto it." Justin's smile had been huge.

"You liar! You love my fabulously round ass. You think it's fucking perfect!" he had teased, playing along. Brian hadn't objected. He'd just let Justin twine himself around him and had eventually kissed back with equal enthusiasm.

It had been Justin's idea to go for a walk. They'd been holed up in his crappy little apartment fucking for two solid days, and on Sunday afternoon Justin had insisted they get out for a little while. They'd showered, dressed, and opened the windows a crack to air out some of the musky scent of sex while they went out for a late lunch. Justin had almost forgotten it WAS Valentine's Day until they got to his favorite Bistro and found a line out the door and almost around the corner, all couples of various ages, genders, and races, lined up two by two.

"Oh fuck no," Brian had grumbled. Justin just shook his head.

"Shit. Ok. There's a deli up two blocks this way. They have excellent turkey sandwiches. We'll just get something to go and take it back to the apartment. That'll be faster and cheaper," he'd said, tugging on Brian's coat sleeve in the appropriate direction. Brian had nodded, his arm folding around Justin's shoulders and tugging him close as they started the short walk.

It was 15 minutes later that they stepped back out of the deli, a brown bag and two cups of coffee in their gloved hands.

"You want to take a cab back?" Justin had offered, sipping from his cup. Brian had looked thoughtful.

"No, let's take a walk. I don't know if I can eat with all the paint thinner in the air at your shit hole of the month," he'd said. Justin had stifled a smile. He doesn't mention the 5 meals they'd already had in his apartment since Brian had gotten to New York, or how the windows had been open for an hour already, airing out any lingering paint thinner fumes along with the smell of sex. Justin knew from experience that by now the smell was probably long gone. He figured Brian was probably up to something, but he'd gone along with Brian's idea, letting himself be led into the nearby park anyway. They found a bench to sit on. It was unusually warm for February in New York, but still cool enough to warrant gloves and coats, and to encourage sitting close for warmth. They'd eaten there, letting the winter sun beat weakly down on them, glad for a nearby tree that was doing quite an effective job of acting as a wind breaker.

Brian had finished first, relaxing against the bench; his head tipping back to face the sun, sunglasses covering his eyes. Justin had finished the last bite of his own meal, crumpling up the trash in the bag and sipping the last of his coffee. He'd slumped against Brian, loving the way Brian's arm had draped itself around his shoulders to tug him closer. He'd rested his head on Brian's shoulder, not wanting to talk and disrupt the moment. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, synching his breathing to Brian's, and when he had opened his eyes he'd seen them.

They were really nothing like him and Brian. Yes the man was tall, but he had dark almost black hair, and the girl was extremely petite, barely reaching the man's shoulder, with red hair flowing out from under her knit winter hat. Yet there was something about them that had transfixed him. They were dancing, nothing too planned or rehearsed. She had her arms around him, and he was holding her close, and they were turning in slow circles, swaying from side to side, to music that was too low for Justin to hear from so far away. It was probably nothing like what he and Brian had done at prom. Daphne had always said it had looked like ballroom dancing when they did it. Like it had been perfectly choreographed to the last dip and kiss. But there was something…

He must have gone rigid, physically reacting in some way, because Brian had quickly lifted his head, eyes focusing solely on Justin's face in concern. But Justin didn't turn to look at the sudden movement, his eyes had remained glued to the dancing couple. They were laughing, so in love it hurt to look at them, even from this distance. Then the man tightened his grip on her, leaning back and sweeping her up into the air. She laughed in delight, her feet flying out behind her as he spun her in tight circles, her head thrown back to accept his kiss. It was perfect.

"Justin!" Brian's voice cut through the white noise buzzing in his head, and he blinked, coming back from wherever he'd gone. He turned to look at Brian. There had been fear in his eyes, concern written in every inch of his face. "You ok? You're crying," Brian said. Justin reached up, touching his own cheeks and looking at the tips of his leather gloves. They were wet. He sniffed, his whole body shaking.

"I'm fine," he whispered. Brian turned to face him on the bench.

"Justin, what the fuck? People don't just start crying out of nowhere. At least not sane people…" Justin should have laughed at the joke, but instead he closed his eyes, more tears squeezing free. He shook his head, his hand moving up to press to his forehead, to the spot that still ached from time to time, to the raised scar that he could find in his sleep. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut, and bent over at the waist, resting his head between his knees, arms curling around his thighs. "Justin, fucking talk to me," Brian said, one hand sliding up his spine to grip the back of his neck. But Justin couldn't. He was lost in the new memory. The one he'd once been desperate to have back, and that he'd somewhere along the way given up every having returned to him.

He could suddenly remember it all. The color of the green and blue lights illuminating the hotel ballroom, the pink color of Daphne's dress. The taste of bad punch and the cold puff pastry wrapped cocktail wieners they'd laughed about for five minutes straight. ("Here, have another wiener!") He remembered the bad music, and the way pieces of Daphne's hair had curled in its up-do and the way her face had glowed as they danced together on the edge of the floor. He remembers how she'd frozen, her eyes widening as she spotted Brian first, and pointed him out. The unexpected surge of joy at turning and seeing him there. How beautiful he'd looked, with his black suit, and the white scarf.

The white scarf. His brain stuttered forward and he remembered pulling it from Brian's neck, the night of Gus' birthday party, stiff and stained with dried blood. His blood. He gagged and Brian's arms gripped him tightly.

"Fuck, Justin!" he growled. And then Brian was there, kneeling in front of him, heedless of his designer jeans on dirty pavement, his eyes desperate. "You're scaring the shit out of me!" he said, and Justin launched himself off the bench and into Brian's arms, burying his face in Brian's smooth neck and breathing in his scent. It was familiar and it grounded him, even as Brian rocked backward to catch him, Justin's knees hit the asphalt and sent a jolt of pain up his legs. Brian fell back onto his ass, but he didn't seem to care. He just squeezed Justin closer.

"I remember," Justin breathed.

"Remember what?" Brian asked. Justin pulled back to look at him, eyes searching.

"Prom. The dance. Everything." Justin whispered. He watched realization sweep across Brian's face. Hope, fear, excitement, and then anguish, and worry.

"Everything?" he asked. Justin nodded.

"You looked so beautiful, and I was so happy to see you. So surprised," he rubbed one hand through the hair on the back of Brian's head. He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor of the newly awakened memory. "You twirled me around and around. Spinning me until I was dizzy with it and then you picked me up and you kissed me. It was perfect. It was a dream made reality. We laughed, and we flirted. And I was so fucking in love," more tears streamed down his face, and he let out a sound that was half sob half laugh. "It really was the best night of my life." He opened his eyes, looked at Brian through blurry eyes. "I remember it. All of it."

He couldn't tell if he was shaking or if it was Brian, and right then he didn't care. He clutched Brian closer and held on tight.

They sat there on the cold ground for what seemed like a long time. But Justin's knees started to scream at him, and he eventually urged Brian to get up off the ground. It was tricky standing up without relinquishing their grip on each other but somehow they managed it. They ended up taking a cab back to the apartment, and they spent the whole ride, and the climb up to Justin's floor, in silence.

Brian finally let him go when Justin insisted on going to the bathroom alone. He pissed, washed his hands, and then rinsed his face clean of dried the tears. Stood there a minute leaning on the porcelain sink and staring at himself in the mirror. He didn't jump when Brian stepped up behind him, just leaned back into Brian's chest, and let long arms wrap around him, catching Brian's eyes in the cracked mirror. Brian didn't have to ask, his expression made it clear.

"I'm ok, Brian," Justin whispered, his voice cracking. Brian raised an eyebrow, and Justin let out a broken laugh. He turned in Brian's arms. "I am. I just need to process for a little bit. I've wanted to remember for so long, and it just all flooded back so quickly." He closed his eyes, rested his forehead on Brian's chest and took a shaky breath. Brian nodded, mouth tight. He guided Justin out of the bedroom, and across the main room to the bed. He pushed him down and Justin went willingly. He stared up at Brian as he stripped off his clothes and then stripped Justin's clothes off of him.

This he knew. This was comforting, but not sexual. Justin curled up under the blankets, facing Brian and just stared at him. Brian's hand rested on his hip, keeping him close, but not pulling him into his body. Justin wiggled closer on his own.

"I thought I wouldn't ever remember it," Justin whispered. "I'd given up on ever getting it back." His smile was huge, and he saw some of the tension melt out of Brian's features, felt Brian's hand flex on his hip in reaction. Justin pressed closer. "Am I remembering it correctly? Were we really that perfect? Was everyone really staring like that?" he asked. Brian blinked slowly.

"We were fucking fabulous," his smile was hesitant. "We blew their minds. I led and you followed and we spun and spun. And I kissed you."

"You dipped me and then lifted me and kissed me. And before that I threw your jacket to Daphne?" Justin asked, almost begging for confirmation.

"Yes. It's real," Brian replied, his hand sliding up Justin's side to cup the back of his head. "You remembered." He smiled back and then frowned. And Justin realized there were tears on his cheeks again. He shook his head.

"It's… it's just it was better than I could have pictured. I couldn't have imagined it being that good. I'm just a little..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "It's just fresh still. It's bringing back everything again." He frowned. "Fucking Hobbs. He stole it from me. I hate him even more now, knowing exactly what he took from me," his voice is urgent, pained. Brian's brow furrowed.

"You have it back now. He can't take it away again. You're still drawing, painting better than ever before. We're still together and you can remember. He hasn't got anything of yours. Not anymore. He isn't worth even your hate." Justin rolled closer, pressing his forehead to Brian's.

"I'm glad to have it back," Justin said. "I'm glad I was with you when it came back." He pressed forward to press his mouth to Brian's. He pulled back to see Brian's questioning expression. "Tell me how that night would have ended. How it should have ended." He kissed across Brian's cheekbone. "We danced and I walked you to the jeep. We laughed and kissed, and said goodbye. And I went inside and collected Daphne. I took her home, and then I came to the loft. And you were waiting for me. Then what happened?" he asked. Brian grinned at him and it was so open and tender that it made Justin's gut clench in reaction.

"Why don't I show you instead?" he asked. Justin wasn't about to argue with that.