The Sidekick's Quest
Summary: Michael flies to New York on a personal mission, and he's not heading back until he saves the day. M/J friendship.
Rating: PG-13 for mild language.
A/N: A dual-purpose fic! This fic can serve as a stand-alone, or as filler for my other QAF story, "What You Can't Have" (change a few details here, and it fits in nicely between Chapters 1 and 2).
As the elevator moved up to the ninth floor, Justin wondered whether his turning down that art critic for a date at the Olive Garden was going to hurt his career in the art world. He was but a young upstart and the critic was a prominent figure in New York. Hot, too, and it wasn't like Justin was averse to older men. Hopefully, though, Mr. Franco would buy into Justin's excuse:
"Um, I only date outside my profession. But thank you for asking."
Truth be told, he hadn't dated anyone since he moved to New York a month ago. It wasn't that he didn't want to move on -- he would give anything to be able to move on -- it was just that dating led to sex, and sex led to thoughts of Brian. He tried three separate times at a swanky NYC club, and the moment a hot guy went for his pants, he invariably remembered Brian and the things Brian would do to him. Then he would feel a sort of ache in the hollow of his chest, and just bail.
It saddened him to think of Brian. He had probably moved on, as Brian Kinney was wont to do. Of course Justin would be happy for him, in that case, but he wondered how often he crossed Brian's mind. If at all. Perhaps he'd realized that Justin was easily replaceable.
Justin channeled his feelings of loneliness and insecurity into his artwork, producing pieces that the aforementioned art critic fawned over. Perhaps if he persevered long enough, he'd eventually forget about Brian.
His thoughts were interrupted by a small "Ding!" and the elevator's doors sliding open. He walks over to the kitchen to fix himself a pint of Haagen-Dazs, but stops. His roommate was a blonde girl of about twenty-five, not a little dark-haired man of thirtysomething. Said brunet was facing the TV, which was tuned in to Cartoon Network re-runs.
"AAH! Just take what you want, but please don't hurt me!" Justin screamed as he ducked behind the counter. This guy could be dangerous -- although the fact that he was watching Cartoon Network didn't support that theory.
"Hey, relax," came a familiar, nasally voice. The brunet stood up and faced him.
"Jesus, Michael, you could have called first! Or my roommate, at least. Where's Sophie? And how did you get in here?"
"I called her yesterday."
He runs his hands through his blond hair., incredulous at what he's hearing. "And she didn't tell me?"
"Told her not to. She's on a hot date, so now, I've got you all to myself."
He stares at the cup of ice cream in his hand, slowly numbing his fingers with the cold. "Uh. Okay. Please don't rape me?"
"When you're married to an irresistible, hunky professor with thighs of steel, it kinda makes you above looking to get your rocks off with some scrawny blond kid."
Justin laughs a little and joins Michael on the sofa. "I'm not scrawny, my ass is to die for." He digs into the cup -- blueberry cheesecake flavor, low fat. "So why are you here?"
"To bring you home."
"But I am home."
Michael scoffs, taking the spoon from Justin and helping himself to some Haagen-Dazs. "No, you're not." At Justin's puzzled look, he continues. "Brian misses you."
Justin is secretly delighted, but tries not to let it show. "He told you that?"
"No, but I can tell. There are moments when his eyes go all vacant and he's sort of out of it."
"He doesn't miss me. He's probably just experiencing that thing...what did he call it? Possession Withdrawal Syndrome."
"Oh, it's a lot more than that."
"How would you know?"
"How would I know?" he laughs. "We've been best friends for twenty years, how wouldn't I know? Sure, he tries to make it look like he's moved on, you know, typical back room activity --"
"Well, that's good." There is a tinge of sadness in Justin's tone.
"No, it's like, he's just going through the motions. And he only shows up at Babylon every other day. He doesn't do any of the prowling, either, he just waits for someone hot enough to come to him. And on days when none of the guys meet his standards, he just...goes home." He whispers the last part, as if even he is surprised by it.
"That is strange," Justin agrees. "But you know what else is? You showing up here. The whole time I've known you, I always knew you thought I was bad for Brian. Not that I blame you or whatever, I mean, you loved him too."
"Yeah, I love him. In fact, I love him enough to know what's good for him."
"Exactly. So help him get over it. You can do it, Michael. Convince him that he doesn't need me." Although saying the last sentence was particularly difficult for Justin.
"When I said 'what's good for him,' I was referring to you." Michael reaches over and takes a picture frame off the adjacent table. It's a snapshot from their first few months together: Brian is playfully biting on Justin's earlobe as Justin laughs, slightly embarrassed. "And obviously, you still care about him as well."
"Of course I do. But I think this is good for him and I. He was turning into one of those Stepford fags -- no offense -- that he so despises. I didn't want that for him."
"People change," Michael counters. "He was growing up, which is quite a feat to accomplish for The Face of Perpetual Immaturity."
"He's Brian Kinney, for fuck's sake," they both concur, laughing.
"Exactly. And he wouldn't do that if he didn't want to. If he didn't love you. What more could you possibly ask for to prove that you're the only one he wants?"
"I just want him to be happy, not codependent," Justin says.
"Who said anything about codependency? It doesn't matter what the arrangement is, as long as you're there." He gets up and looks around at some of Justin's artwork, hanging from the walls. "I'm sure you can make it as an artist here. Your work is excellent. But are you happy?"
"Sure," is all he can manage to say. Pretentious artists, snobby socialites, overpriced rent, and his meager artist's salary aside, New York wasn't that bad.
"Look, I'm not asking you to give up your fabulous New York life for Brian. All I'm asking for is one weekend, back at un-glamorous Pittsburgh. I just want to see my best friend happy, even for a couple of days. You're the only one he's ever said 'I love you' to in that way, and I'm betting that's not going to change. You mean the world to him, Justin."
"I..."
"If you're going to break his heart by never seeing him again, at least delay it a little. Couldn't hurt."
Justin mulls it over while placing the unfinished cup of ice cream back in the freezer. Of course he would love to see Brian again. But to see him again would be a painful, punch-in-the stomach reminder of how much he missed him. And right when the wounds were starting to heal, too!
In the process of thinking, he is shocked out of his stupor when Michael grabs him by the collar of his jacket. "Listen here, you little twat!" he grits. "You're gonna head back with me to Pittsburgh, and then you're going to visit Brian at the loft and give him the time of his life, because I fucking said so! I am half-Italian and half-drag queen, and you do not want to mess with me!" He shoots a fierce glare at Justin, only momentarily distracted by the sound of a car honking below.
Justin throws his hands up in resignation. "Okay! You win!" When Michael lets go, he heads to his bedroom. "Let me just pack up a few things."
However, another surprise is in store for him, as his wardrobe is totally empty. "Shit! Where did all my stuff go?"
Michael grabs him by the wrist and drags him towards the elevator before he can protest. "I packed it all up and put it in the trunk of the cab. I told the driver to come back in an hour, and --" The honking outside continues. "Yep, that's him."
"You had this all planned out before I even got here?"
"Yup." He grins proudly as he holds up two plane tickets to Pittsburgh.
"Why, Michael," Justin marvels. "I didn't know you had it in you! Debbie would be so proud."
"Hey, I learned from the best." They get into the car, and it speeds towards the airport.
"Oh, and I forgot to mention: If you can spare a little time, a lot of Rage fans have been bugging me through e-mail for another installment," he says, the excitement present in his tone. "What do you think? Rage and Zephyr save JT from a mind-altering virus he contracted from the beautiful but deadly aliens in Planet Onyx..."
"Or we could do a Zephyr spin-off!" Justin gamely suggests. "While protecting the streets of Gayopolis from countless evil-doers, Zephyr's biggest challenge yet is handling the reckless but good-natured Blizzard, whom he rescued and adopted with Professor Kirschner after defeating the wicked Ice-Tina."
"Hey, we might even get a nice Zephyr/Professor fuck-fest in there!"
Justin mock-grimaces. "Don't push your luck."
And so Michael and Justin made time fly by on the cab and on the plane discussing even more story ideas for Rage. When Brian saw Justin upon sliding open the door to his loft, he pulled him in and slammed the door shut without batting an eyelash. They didn't leave the loft for days.
But would Rage's super-powers of seduction be enough to convince JT to stay in Gayopolis for good? That's not a very hard question to answer.
As for Zephyr, he couldn't help being incredibly proud of himself. For once, it's the sidekick that saved the day.
FIN.