Chapter Text
His afternoon…evening, night, morning…with Mia was amazing. Which, cliche. But. Like, holy shit. His girl had moves and even his semi broken body couldn’t slow things down too much.
But then it was later in the morning and even though the sun drifted in through the window and made the cheap hotel room soft, Brian lazy and warm in the bed, Mia had a shift and then a study group-she was on break until next week, but that seemed to be a technicality only in her world. So, Brian dragged his ass back to his stupid apartment. What else was he going to do? He’d expected to be riding a high, but it was like he’d fallen right off a rollercoaster doing a loop de loop and smashed on the tracks below.
Shit sucked ass, was what he was saying.
It was back to waiting. For two whole days Brian did that. Talked to Tanner or Mia or his mom and went on walks because he was gonna die if he just sat around in his apartment, window shopped at the places around his neighborhood like the world’s cheapest tourist.
His calling Ricky and practically begging the guy to go out with him was a natural progression of events. Bound to happen.
But right now the bar just seemed like another place to wait.
“You don’t have to baby me, cuz,” Brian groused, slouching down and taking another drink of his second beer, “it’s been more than two weeks, I’m fine.” Ricky eyed him for a long moment, then shrugged. Dropping it.
“I’m getting nachos. You want anything?”
Shifting a shoulder, he kind of wanted to say nothing, but he could eat. “Chicken wings.” Ricky eyed him again, eyebrow raising, but then he was off to flag down the bartender. Fine. Maybe this night out had been Brian’s idea and maybe he’d developed a pissy ass mood since the plans had been made. Whatever. He kept trying to figure out what came after the waiting. It made his head hurt. And, no it wasn’t the concussion, which was essentially gone. Just.
What the hell was he supposed to do? When they did eventually catch Earl? Go visit his mom? Quit his job? Find some secret way to get into the Toretto house so he could hang out like it was before any of this shit ever happened?
Because that last one was possible.
He hated Belkins and he hated himself for ever thinking this would somehow be easy. Head in the damn clouds, wishing for the world to just hand him everything at once. He knew better than that. He’d always known better than that. What the hell had changed?
Well. Maybe he knew that too. The Team, the way they took care of each other, took care of him. The hope that somehow it would all just work out, fall into place. Stupid. It had been stupid the whole time, and he’d known it and ignored it because he wanted some TV show finale type happy ending, everything wrapped up in a bow. Tipping his beer bottle back, Brian waited for the next mouthful and only got a trickle. Huh. Okay, maybe he’d finished that a little fast. They’d only been here about twenty minutes. Shifting back on his creaky stool, there was a part of him that wanted to grab another one, because why not? Maybe switch to something harder.
But he’d invited Ricky out to hang, not to haul him home after he got plastered before the night had really started. His cousin had been excited and Brian was being an ass. With a sigh, he looked around for Ricky, not surprised when he saw him talking to a guy by the bartender, not in any particular hurry back to their part of the counter. Not like he could blame him. Brian glued his eyes to a screen with basketball on it, determined to be less bitchy. Tapped his empty beer bottle on the counter until he saw a guy a few stools down shooting him annoyed looks.
“Hey, the food shouldn’t be too long. Maybe twenty minutes.” Ricky slipped onto his stool, looking hopeful.
“Cool. Thanks.” Brian struggled for a second with what to say, then managed, “the Clippers still your team? They’re winning.”
Ricky grinned. “Yeah, though I mostly just picked them as a kid ‘cause Chris was so nuts about the Lakers. It pissed him off good when I’d cheer for the ‘wrong’ team.”
Snorting, Brian nodded, “I remember his fits about that. He’d try to be all hard man, stoic even when he was pissed, but you always did know how to get him going.”
“Little brother privilege. I could still do it if I tried, but he’s less of an asshole these days. Good ace in a hole, though.” His smile, easy and pleased with himself, had Brian curious, wondering if Chris had escaped more than Barstow, the family, if he’d left behind the shit that came with it too. He was pretty sure Ricky had, until him. Was that where that easiness came from?
“What’s he doing now, anyway?”
“He got himself in some trouble, wound up joining the Navy to get out of it. Been maybe four years? It’s good for him, after leaving Barstow he wound up in another crappy town, pissed that he couldn’t seem to get anywhere different. He’s in Europe now, big into hang gliding, sends me postcards sometimes.”
And huh. That kind of structure, something to climb towards-while, obviously Brian got the desire for that. Had the badge to prove it. For now. Much as he’d tried to avoid Chris as a kid, knowing he didn’t like him, he still knew him well enough to see how it’d be kind of perfect. Something important, with clear goals and duties, but he got to see the world? Shit, Brian had never been able to toe the line even as a cop, always pushed, getting praised one minute and bitched out the next, sometimes for the same thing. But he could see the appeal. He’d been thinking about the Army before he joined the police academy.
“Never really thought any of us would wind up so cosmopolitan.”
Ricky gave him a blank stare. “I know the magazine and the drink, but…” Laughing, Brian shook his head.
“Nah, it means someone who goes all over the world. I think. Not like I looked it up.” He shrugged, and, since the bartender had finally made his way back to this end of the U shaped counter, was considering getting another beer. Not sure what to say again, but at least not feeling like a dick this time. “What’s your favorite drink?”
“Uh, rum and coke, I guess. Generally just get beer, and I’m not picky.” Brian ordered a couple rum and cokes, Ricky shaking his head at him, but grinning when he took the drink. “Guess my girl knew what she was doing when she made me leave the car.”
“Yep.” Brian held his out for a toast, something satisfying in the click of glass against glass. Didn’t chug his drink and wasn’t expecting Ricky to, but he did. Brian laughed again. “Here I was, worried I was going too fast.”
“Figured I ought to catch up a little. I was on my first beer, cuz.” They watched the Clippers until their food came, Brian mowing down his chicken wings and celery sticks. Kind of wished he’d ordered something bigger, but Ricky shoved his plate of nachos in between them after a while.
Then it was time for more drinks. And pool, and then another drink, and then there was a foosball table in the back and they may have gotten loud enough over it that a group yelled at them to shut up and Brian got all smart mouthed back before he remembered that getting in a bar fight was probably a bad idea and let Ricky drag him away.
They spilled out of the bar, laughing, leaning on each other and kept walking until they found a bridge to stand on, looking down at the cars zooming on the road below it. Just talking about random shit and cracking stupid jokes. And then Brian told him. About just why he hadn’t been using Earl’s last name. Blurted it out like it was nothing, and maybe it was-Ricky had to know. Right?
“After I found out you were still a cop, I wondered if it was for a case. Figured it was that or maybe you trying to race without getting shot. I always liked your grandad,” Ricky gave him a rueful grin, “I was jealous, for a while.”
“‘Course you were, he was awesome.” He wobbled a little and leaned forward onto the railing for a second, just to rock back. Tried to make it look like he'd meant to do that. “And yeah, I mean, they let me pick and it shouldn’t’ve meant nothing to anybody but me. Still doesn't seem real. Even with what you told him, the bastard finding me in a city this size is bizarre. Bizarre.” He swiped at his face, certain for a second that he could feel hands on it. Rolled his shoulders, baffled that they didn't twinge until he realized it was probably just the booze.
Ricky frowned. “The cops should put a protective thing, order on you. So someone’s around to do something if he shows up again.”
“Nooo, don’t go giving Tanner any ideas,” Brian's face felt red hot all of a sudden, so he shifted forward until he was bent over the railing, arms weaved around it so he couldn’t lean too far, begging for a breeze, “anything else happens and he’d do it. And my life would end and I wouldn’t be able to see Mia ever, and-”
“Who’s Mia? Your girl? Why couldn't you see her?” Not caring about how filthy the sidewalk was, Ricky slid down the railing and plopped himself onto the ground.
Biting his lip, Brian stared down at the traffic. Then he opened his mouth. Not at all sure if he should. But he did. “Uh…well…it’s like this.”
It was the too many drinks, too fast, sure, but also he wanted to tell, wanted someone from outside all of this to tell him he wasn’t crazy. And he should be spitballing like mad, should’ve made something up, but…he just couldn’t anymore. There were too many lies in his head. He needed truth. Needed someone outside of this to know. Ricky listened, nodding along, gasping a couple times, which was gratifying, more than it should’ve been, and finally at the end, when Brian had told him everything, he point blank said, “Damn. How are you not dead?”
Which. Wasn’t saying he wasn’t crazy.
“I’m lucky like that. Always seem to scrape by.” He shrugged, leaning forward a little more, staring at the headlights. Moved his feet up onto the bottom of the railing. The road looked all blurry and smoothed out, liquid filled with stars, and Brian hummed, mood shifting, worry still underneath, but content on top. Until Ricky’s hand tugged at his leg, urging him down, and reluctantly he shifted back. Feet on the sidewalk. Straightened up.
“Careful, cuz.”
“I was fine.” Brian shrugged. He was. He’d have had to lean over like another foot for it to be risky and nobody was that dumb. Ricky didn’t look too reassured. “Just buzzed, man. You don’t have to worry.” More like drunk, close to it anyway, but still upright. So, it didn’t count.
“Yeah…you just told me a long ass story that gave me a whole lot of reasons to worry. You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Nah. I’m winging it.” Brian reached down a hand and Ricky took it, letting him pull him to his feet. There was only a tiny bit of staggering involved. “Wanna try another bar?” The look Ricky gave him said he was only considering it because he thought Brian’d go anyway and really get into a bar fight this time. Torn between reassuring him again he was fine and wanting company anyway he could get it, he rocked back on his heels and didn’t say anything. Waiting.
“Yeah, fine-how are you a cop and still a bad influence?”
Ricky was joking, grinning conspiratorially. Brian still flinched a little at the words. “It’s a gift.” He didn’t even have to work at it. It came natural. “C’mon, do we wanna walk and find a place or get a cab somewhere?” He shook his head to try and clear it, forcing himself to think through his buzz.
“Cab. There’s nowhere else good close.” No cab was going to stop in the middle of the bridge, so they trudged back the way they came. Quiet for now. The chance of any of the guys they’d-okay Brian’d-pissed off being outside was close to nil, but he still kept an eye out, kept a step ahead of Ricky who was telling him about something his wife, Marta, and Lara had done, relieved when a cab was already there, hoping for a fare.
He let his head fall back against the seat until Ricky leaned over, rolling it towards his cousin. “Man…you sure those, uh, friends of yours are gonna keep trusting you?” He half-hissed it, but Brian still gestured to the cabby with his shoulder and shook his head. Not the kind of talking they could do around other people.
And, yeah. Of course he was sure. It hadn’t been that long. The regular contact with Mia would help with that too. And…they had to know. They were Brian’s family now. He needed them.
Ricky was stubborn, persistent, lots of words like that, because he ignored Brian’s shaking head to add, “just, be careful. When people get scared, real scared, man, you never know what they'll do.” Brian got that. Of course he did. Had seen it, first growing up and then so many times as a cop. But he knew how to read people too. It was possible, if things went really wrong, if they thought he’d betrayed them after all, but the evidence would have to be overwhelming. After everything they’d think twice before doubting him.
Before trusting him entirely too, but he’d earned that.
Ricky hadn’t seen what he had. The way they’d taken care of him. Brian couldn’t expect him to understand it. But he knew.
He did. He had to.
Brian swallowed. Realizing, head swimming, that he’d fucked up. Bad. That he should’ve kept his mouth shut…it wasn’t right or fair to put that on Ricky, that secret. It was too big. And there were those rumors going around Barstow that only Ricky could’ve caused. But he couldn’t take it back, knew even when he said it that he shouldn't be, but he couldn’t change it now, and after racking his brain, well, dealing with it by drinking more and forgetting seemed like as solid a plan as any. Maybe it wouldn’t even seem important to Ricky in the morning. It’d just slip his mind and the FBI wouldn’t go near him anyway, so it was fine.
It had to be.
Jesus, what was he doing?
They pulled up to a place with flashing lights and video game music pumping out and he was distracted enough that forgetting about it was something that happened, not a choice. Ricky had picked this bar since Brian picked the last one, and he saw why when they walked in and it was more arcade than bar. An arcade with a bar, basically. There were strings of lights hanging down the walls, some of them changing colors. Brian blinked, clapped his cousin on the back, and headed straight for an empty Donkey Kong machine. Planning to demolish the high score.
Then he saw it and yeah, no. But still, Donkey Kong and Ricky on his heels, crowding against the side of the machine and watching, reminded him of the best parts of being a kid, long summer days practically lived at the arcade, sneaking sodas from the cooler while Miss Lacey pretended not to notice.
Jamming buttons and sliding the joystick didn’t get him as close to the top of the construction site as he wanted the first time. He may have swatted the screen in frustration. But that was what the change machine was for, more quarters. Ricky eventually wasn’t there and Brian looked up long enough to see he’d found a Pac-Man machine nearby, and was happily occupied with it. He’d always been good. A few quarters was a babysitter when Ricky had been his tag along for the day, the kid could go so long without dying. The too-still-familiar game over sound chimed and Brian whipped his head back to the screen, groaning at himself for getting distracted. Lame. Deciding playing another game wasn’t worth it, he ambled over to watch Ricky do ridiculously well at Pac-Man. Ten minutes later and the screen still showed all his lives left and Brian went to go get them a round of fancy shots. Shooters, whatever the fuck you called them. Not with jello. Jello was disgusting.
Okay, Brian had a couple at the bar before he made it back to Ricky. “Hey, you gotta try this. The bartender called it a scooby snack.” Ricky grunted but didn’t look away from his game and after a minute Brian decided that there were still a few on the tray, so…
He saved the last one for Ricky.
Even his luck couldn’t last forever and eventually all the Pac-Man died, and shit, even that didn’t get him on the top ten list. Brian cheered him up with the shot. Then a couple more, just to even things up.
“Oh, let’s find a two player game!” Loping away from the bar, Ricky looked back over his shoulder to make sure he was being followed and Brian grabbed his drink, only wobbling a little bit. They found one of those racing games two people could sit in, and it was all enclosed like a car too. The arcade in Barstow sure as hell hadn’t had one of these.
“Ricky, you know I’m gonna kick your ass at this right?” Brian smirked, cockiness dripping off and enjoying it. Ricky leaned in and rolled his eyes right in his face and it might have been the funniest thing to happen to him in months.
Teasing, he told him, “it’s a video game not a car. I’ve been to your place, didn’t see a console.”
Brian scoffed and they put their quarters where their mouths were…and Ricky beat him. And wasn’t even smug about it, the jerk. Then he beat him again.
“This game is broke.”
“Spoilsport.” They were grinning at each other, but also shoving at each other’s shoulders and when the fake car/video game thing rocked more than it probably should’ve decided together to get out before they broke it.
Which meant it was time for more drinks, of course.
The best idea. Exactly what they needed.
His head totally wasn't swimming. And the ground was not just slightly unsteady. It wasn't-not really.
Even being half supported by Brian up his driveway, Ricky was all smiles, wasted, but happy drunk wasted. “We should do this again, right? I kicked your ass at Contra, never could do that before.”
“Contra’s co-op, the bad guys kicked our asses,” he wasn’t exactly too steady himself, may have nearly dropped Ricky in the gutter when they got out of the cab, twice, but he was pretty sure he knew what game they were talking about. Mostly sure. Sure it was one they played. “Whoever invented an arcade you can drink at is’a genius…I bet they make baaank.”
“We should open one.” Ricky grinned after he said it, wide and big, looking maybe about 10 for a second. Then he turned and puked all over the lawn.
At least he missed both his and Brian’s shoes? “Gross.”’
It was…all over.
“Marta’s gonna be pissed,” Ricky’s voice was mournful and he sighed, deep and long. “...Wait, help me get the hose, I can clean it up.”
“Uh, won’t she be more pissed if we wake her and your kid up at three in the morning?” Brian rubbed at his head and looked around blearily for a hose anyway, but it didn’t seem like a super great idea.
“...probably. Shit.”
The guilty look on his face had Brian feeling bad, knowing he was definitely the reason for the last three or four drinks his cousin had downed, and he surged forward, reaching out to grab his shoulder, shake it a little. “Hey, no worries, not like she didn’t know you were drinking. You’re fine, cuz.” He’d been treated to a long list of Marta’s good qualities while they’d been waiting for a ride, it was a while ‘cause even cabbies slept eventually, and yeah, Ricky was trashed, but she sounded pretty cool. Like, she’d definitely leave hosing off the lawn for Ricky, but probably he’d get to sleep off the hangover first.
Brian’s mind took a side trip then, about a Toretto BBQ where his cousin and his family came and-and Ricky was kneeling on the ground farther up his walk, looking in his pockets for something and he was supposed to be helping him. “Hey, why are you down there?” The face turned up at him looked like it very much did not have a clue. “C’mon, you’re okay, I gotcha.” His balance slipped for a second when he was pulling Ricky up, but they just rocked a bit. His stomach also lurched, but a hard swallow took care of that.
“Where’s my keys?”
Shit, how was Brian supposed to know that? “They’re not in your pockets?”
“Nope. I checked.” Shiiiiiit. He let go of Ricky long enough to check his own pockets, and could not’ve said why. Grabbed him again when it looked like his cousin was gonna make a return journey to the ground.
“Uh, you got a spare key hidden somewhere? A window we can jimmy?”
“Marta knows karate.” Brian blinked. Processed.
“Okay, that’s badass, but she’d recognize you…probably. Also, really? Karate?”
Ricky waved his arm in a sloppy imitation of a karate chop, nodding with a grin. “She’s a black belt. Total badass.”
They both turned, Brian’s eyes going wide for basically no reason, as the front door opened and a tired, cranky voice said, “Ricky, what are you doing? Come inside, I wanna go back to bed.”
“My keys are gone.”
“The door’s open now,” Marta leaned her head out, hair wrapped up in a scarf or something, frowning a little, “jeez, babe, you’re trashed, c’mere,” she held out a hand and, like an overgrown puppy, Ricky trotted to her and let her pull him inside. Brian wasn’t sure if she hadn’t seen him or if he was being ignored, but was deciding he should leave when she turned to him and asked, “are you okay to get home?”
Nodding, and not sure why he felt a little intimidated, Brian threw a thumb over his shoulder at the cab just out of sight. “Yeah, asked the cabby to wait. Sorry, he’s uh, loaded.”
“I kind of expected it.” She was short, a lot shorter than Ricky, but that didn’t stop his cousin from burying his face in the top of her scarf and telling her she smelled good. “Yeah…you’re sweet, but you smell like puke, go brush your teeth.”
Awkward. Trying not to laugh and kinda failing, Brian started stumbling back down the walk to the driveway. “Uh, bye…it was cool to meet you, Marta.”
Home. It sounded perfect. Exactly where he wanted to go.
Climbing in, he told the cabby the address and laid his head back against the seat. Watching the lights out the window.
Home. He needed to be there. He’d be careful, avoid the cameras. Oh-leaning forward he changed the address he gave the cabby to one a block over and behind the Toretto house. Discretion. That was the key. Brian would just be very discreet and sneaky and careful and then he could go home. Just for now. He paid the bored driver and got out, wandering very slowly up the driveway of the house in front of him until the cab was out of sight.
Several trips over fences and down side alleys later, a couple new scrapes on his hands, (and okay, puke on some random family’s garbage can) because discretion, Brian hopped the fence into the Toretto backyard, happy as hell to see it. Happy as hell he hadn’t fallen on his ass. Careful to avoid spots cameras had been pointing at and grimacing over not knowing if they’d been moved, he made his way to the back door.
Which was locked, duh. Brian didn’t want to bang on it and wake everybody up, especially not when they’d be up in a couple hours to go to the garage anyway.
Then he heard a guitar playing, the decent but not great sound telling him it was Vince before he thought about it, and he half-slid, half-rolled off the porch and over to where the tiny window just above the dirt line looked into the basement bedroom. Figuring he was about to get bitched out and deciding it was worth it, Brian knocked on the cracked open window and called, “Vince? Man, can you let me in?” The guitar playing stopped happening, but Brian couldn’t see Vince, so he called again, “it’s me, Bri-”
“Buster, what the fuck are you doing? It’s four in the morning!” There he was, red, annoyed face really close to Brian’s. He must’ve been standing on a stool or something, the basement windows were up high.
“Uh, I was in the neighborhood, so-”
“You’re trashed. Moron. Aren’t you not supposed to be here?” His face disappeared and Brian saw him walking across his room, hissing over his shoulder before he was out of sight, “I’ll let you in the back door, try not to bring the FBI with you!” There was more cussing and bitching, but Brian couldn’t actually make it out, so he ignored it in favor of slinking back over to the porch. He slid right inside when Vince opened it, dodging the hand he reached out to yank Brian in.
“What’s up?” Vince’s incredulous stare was completely deserved, but also completely funny and Brian couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.
“I already couldn’t sleep,” turning away like he was too done to handle Brian, Vince bitched his way out of the kitchen, “and now there’s a drunk ass Buster in my house, being a douche, that’s what’s up.” Brian may have started actually laughing at that, but he wasn’t dumb enough to follow Vince and invite himself to an ass kicking. He just turned around, fought with the lock on the back door, got himself a glass of water, and sank onto the couch in the living room. Chugged it and curled up.
Woke up to a throw pillow smacking his head and Letty asking him point blank, “What the fuck? Are you dumb?”
“No, but you’re mean,” he snarked back, grabbing the pillow and covering up his head with it. His aching, aching head. Was it swollen? Deciding beating him up for that wasn’t worth it, at least not before coffee, she left.
Silence. Not bliss, but better than getting bitched at. Then the pillow got pulled away and when he cracked his eyes open Dom was looking down at him. Not happy. “If I ask Mia if you should be getting drunk, what will she say?”
Ooohhhh. Uh. Huh.
Still half asleep and very hung over, Brian decided to go with his specialty. Avoidance. “I’m gonna hurl.”
It wasn’t even a lie.
Nachos and chicken wings didn’t taste very good on the way back up. At least he’d made it to the bathroom. After, he let his head lay on the cool porcelain and shivered, sweat soaking him. Head pounding.
Still pretty sure last night was worth it.
Nobody came to check on him and he might have felt sorry for himself over it. Despite showing up here unexpectedly when he was drunk as shit. Fuck.
Get over yourself, Brian.
Pulling himself up he headed for the sink, scrubbing his face and rinsing his mouth. Very glad when a search of the drawers revealed a toothbrush still in the package. He hesitated, then decided he’d just replace it. Stopped and stared at himself in the mirror after. The face looking back at him showed the night of drinking and the maybe two hours of sleep he’d gotten. Deep circles under his eyes. He needed a shave, but it wasn’t too obvious yet with his light hair. Still. He looked like shit to go along with feeling like shit. And…
This had been stupid. Showing up here. So stupid.
The problem was, the regret that should’ve been in his stomach…it wasn’t there. Or more, he was so damn relieved to be here even with everybody pissed at him that it was pushing the regret for what he knew was a reckless, unnecessary risk down.
Okay. That thought had let it bubble up. Ouch.
And the worst part…the worst part he couldn’t even think about it. Keeping his mouth shut should’ve been simple, was his most important job right now, but he’d spilled everything to Ricky before he’d even been that trashed.
Couldn’t think about it.
And he couldn’t stay in here all day, either. Hell, he waited much longer everybody was gonna be gone to the garage or store and Brian would’ve risked screwing them all over for nothing. Trying not to attract attention leaving the bathroom didn’t work when it was right off the kitchen, everyone turning and looking as he slunk out the door. “Hey.”
Nobody looked impressed. Vince just went right back to eating. Mia was definitely, definitely pissed and Brian had a hard time meeting her eyes. “Sit down.” Dom. He sounded more neutral than expected and, not wanting to change that, Brian did as he was told.
A distant part of his mind chimed in that a month ago Dom had just been a perp, and now Brian thought of himself as part of his crew, his team. That possibly wasn't healthy.
There was fruit salad and toast this morning, nothing fancy, and when no one said anything else for a minute, he grabbed a piece of toast and a couple strawberries. Ate slowly, testing his stomach with the toast first. Mia got up and washed her own plate, Brian watching out of the corner of his eye while she put it in the drain rack and then got a glass out and filled it with water, setting it by his plate and then two aspirin. He picked up the water, but ignored the pills. Hadn’t taken any since-he hadn’t taken any. Couldn’t swallow them.
“I have an early lab, but I’ll be home by ten.”
“Uh, I don’t have anywhere else to be.” Brian didn’t have to try and look sheepish, and Mia petted his hair, but almost reluctantly, like she kind of thought he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t, so that was fair.
“Good. We can talk then.” Letty whistled under her breath, just for a second, as he tried not to cringe. Doghouse. Those five words made it very, very clear he was in the doghouse. Mia left the kitchen to finish getting ready and he gnawed at a strawberry and tried to act nonchalant. The way Vince kept grinning at him, delighted Brian was in the shit, didn’t help. But his banging on the guy’s window at four in the morning was an embarrassing enough memory that he wasn’t gonna push it.
Jesus. Vince not punching him was massive levels of restraint for the guy.
Eventually Letty got up and yanked on Vince’s arm, demanding he leave with a sharp, “come on.” He swatted at her hand, but let her pull him while he did it.
Then there were two.
Brian carefully shredded his last crust of toast into layers. Not ignoring Dom. Just. Delaying.
“Did something change with the feds?”
He looked up. Shook his head. Dom’s face tightened, an eyebrow raised, but he didn’t say a word. Waiting for Brian to ‘fess up, to man up. “Honestly, I was wasted, no good reason, drunk me wanted to come ho-here.” Dom kept looking at him. Studying him like Brian was one of those hidden picture puzzles and if he stared long enough things would make sense.
They wouldn’t. Nothing made sense right now. He’d quit caring.
“Brian. We want you here. But if the FBI is still watching, you can’t be.”
“I know.” He raised his head and tried to flash a grin at Dom. Couldn’t. Shrugging, he said again, “I know.”
Dom watched him carefully for another minute and then sighed. “You’re already here today. After this-”
“I know!”
There was a terrible pause. Then a finger pointing at him. “Enough. You hear me? I get that things are shit. You don’t risk everybody’s asses because of it. You do not.”
Brian, feeling about two inches tall and not sure exactly what was wrong with him, nodded. “It was stupid. I…I fucked up,” he laughed a little, not a happy sound and not the time for it, “again. I'm sorry. Really.” There was a lot more he should say. More Dom should hear. He should know about Ricky. But if they talked about it they’d have to talk about the case and then he’d be pissed too and it was even more not the time for that.
He knew he was lucky any of them would look at him. He knew that.
“Come on.” Without waiting for Brian, Dom stood up and left the kitchen. Reluctant, pretty sure there couldn’t be anything good waiting at the end of that hard sounding ‘come on’, he pushed himself up and followed. Followed him up the stairs and waited outside his room while Dom grabbed something and followed him down the stairs to the living room. Plopping the box down while Brian watched warily, Dom pulled the flaps open to reveal a whole shit ton of rusted, corroded, dirty parts. “I was going to clean these while watching TV, no time at the garage. It’s your job now.”
Just do it. He should just shut up and do it. “Dude, I’m not a kid.”
“No, you’re a Buster who went out drinking by yourself and then showed up here even though it could bring the FBI down on all our heads. Sit down.”
Brian sat. Immediately blurted, “I wasn’t by myself, I was with my cousin,” like he was a kid, giving excuses for something that was a screw-up either way. He was still annoyed, resentful at being given this bullshit job. Why not just buy new parts?
Not like he didn’t have the money.
Dom met his annoyed glare head on. Staring like he was trying to figure out whether Brian was full of shit or not. And Brian knew that was fair. After so many lies, it couldn’t be anything else.
It burned anyway.
“Good. I still want those cleaned.”
Sulking now, and knowing it, Brian leaned back and nodded, but crossed his arms. “You want me to get rust all over the couch too?” Dom looked at him, not saying anything. Then he marched out of the room. “Okay, then…”
Was he leaving? Mia would kill them both if he ruined the couch, but it wasn’t like Brian could haul this out to the garage without risking getting seen. But no, his footsteps didn’t go out the door, but up the stairs. So, he was either getting something or Brian had pissed him off so much he was cooling down. He’d give it about a fifty/fifty possibility. Still listening, he shifted forward to the edge of the couch without thinking about it. It was only when his shoeless feet moved so he could spring up quickly that Brian realized what he was doing.
And it was so dumb. Everything he’d done, everything, and Dom’s idea of how to handle him was to give him a boring pain-in-the-ass chore to keep him busy and make sure he knew he fucked up?
Dom owed Brian an ass kicking, he wouldn’t even be able to begrudge it too much if it happened. But it wasn’t going to. It wasn’t going to happen and he knew that too.
Now to convince his stupid ass body.
He made himself sit back on the couch and then Dom was there with a couple old sheets, clearing off the coffee table, handing him the box, before he tossed the sheet over it, then gestured for Brian to stand and did the same with the couch, tugging the sheet so it covered the whole front and overlapped with the one covering the table. Dom left the room immediately after and Brian stood there waiting, holding the box, feeling completely nonplussed, even though really the sheets made perfect sense. He heard him go out the back door and maybe into the garage? Sitting down, he put the box on the table and wondered just a little what would happen if he left once Dom went to D.T.’s. Brian wouldn’t actually do it. There was impulsive and there was plain stupid asshole. But he wondered.
When Dom finally came back in he had a big handful of cleaning rags, gloves, a wire brush and a bottle of rust remover. He sat it all on the table and then stood back and just looked at Brian. Waiting. Feeling absurdly stupid, Brian said, “thanks?” and then winced, because it wasn’t supposed to come out a question.
“Should be everything you need.”
After that there was just the sounds of Dom getting ready to leave and taking off. Brian flipped on the TV and went through the channels for a while. Not so much feeling stubborn, he’d do the work to keep the peace, he just…he didn’t know.
Finally stopped on a Jerry Springer rerun because it was on and less mind numbing than soaps or kiddy TV. Let himself zone into spraying and scrubbing and wiping until he wasn’t really thinking about what he was doing. Some dude on the show was begging his wife to come back to him after he got her sister pregnant. Her 16 year old baby sister. Who he called a whore twice during his ‘apology’. When she started beating him over the head security definitely took their time pulling her off.
Bitching at assholes on the TV in his head was something to do while his hands worked, though, so he didn’t switch it. Not until his stomach started rumbling for more than half a piece of toast and two strawberries and he got up to rummage through the fridge.
Carefully. If he got busted by the FBI because he was grabbing leftover tortellini Tanner and Dom would, like, call a temporary truce so they could take turns kicking his ass. Slinking back to the couch with his mouth already full, he plopped down and switched to cartoons. Mia walked in about ten minutes later, when he was halfway through the entire tupperware and sighed at him. Then she took in the now rusty and grimy sheets and the box of parts, the clean ones strewed across the table and looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “It was Dom’s idea, I told him you’d freak if the couch got ruined. I was careful. And the sheets are pretty thick,” he said, immediately selling Dom out.
To the cops? Never. To save his own ass from Mia? Different story.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Shaking her head and calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be down in a sec, save me some tortellini,” she headed upstairs. Feeling guilty for a whole lot of things, most of which were his fault, he set the bowl down on the coffee table and waited. His chest unclenched a little when Mia came back down maybe five minutes later in the most casual outfit he’d seen her in besides pajamas, an old t-shirt that looked like maybe it’d been Dom’s first and sweatpants. Curling into Brian’s side, she grabbed the tortellini and started poking at it with his fork. “What are you watching?”
“Some kinda cartoon about aliens, Something Zim. It’s pretty good.”
It was only after she finished eating that Mia reached out one foot and poked a part on the table. “So…you do realize this was the punishment my dad gave Dom an-when he was a pissy teenager, right? Well, he didn’t get to watch TV.” Brian groaned, but honestly that sounded about right. Dom had been Done with him with a capital D.
“Yeah, I kinda pissed him off. Again. I’m skilled.” Mia saw through his smile to the knot in his gut, because, really, she was the one with the skills.
“Maybe quit that for a while,” leaning towards him until their foreheads nearly pressed together, just a touch of her softness dropped away, “quit pushing like you’re trying to find the line that’ll get you tossed out. We’re past that.”
Brian swallowed. Blinked. “I…okay.” Did he think he’d been doing that? Not exactly. But, he could see why Mia was going there and when he made himself really think about it…maybe.
Maybe more he was trying to see when Dom would snap and smack the shit out of him. Not on purpose, not consciously. But maybe. But he wasn’t about to tell Mia that. It was fucked up. In all kinds of ways. And it would be nearly as bad for Dom as it would be for him if he did push him that far.
Mia looked at him for a while longer, finally nodding. “Good.” She didn’t say anything else, just turned so she could curl into him again and grabbed the clicker. Brian let himself relax. As much as possible. They watched the last of his cartoon and then she started flipping through the channels.
“So…do you think Dom will be pissed if I don’t finish the box?” Mia looked at him, lips pressed together, and then she clearly couldn’t help busting a gut laughing.
Doubled over, tears in her eyes, laughing, collapsing against him as she shook. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, lips starting to quirk, a snicker not far behind.
“You better…if not,” she paused to laugh again for another 20 seconds at least, “he might ground you.” She was basically howling against his chest now, and Brian was torn between being a little offended and joining in.
Also…would Dom be pissed? He’d kind of had his fill of that lately.
“It was a serious question,” Brian complained, but he was laughing too, couldn’t help it. Eventually, like major emphasis on eventually, Mia calmed down. She was stretched out on the couch with her head on his leg, still breathing hard, but both the howling and the giggling had stopped. “Guess you needed that.”
“Badly. Thanks.” Brian made a face at her and she bit her lip, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Should you do more? Yes. Will Dom be pissed if the box isn’t finished entirely? No. If it’s empty, what's he supposed to shove at Jesse the next time he decides to lift a fancy part off a car instead of just asking Dom to buy one?”
“He said it was here because he was gonna work on it,” Brian grumbled.
“Yeah, he lied. That box only ever appears when he’s pissed off. It’s literally the same one our dad used.”
Which would be hilarious in any other context, if it had been getting shoved at anyone else but him-he’d pay to see it happen to Vince-but sucked in this one. Brian huffed and shoved his head back into the couch cushion. Decided that there really wasn’t a way to keep talking about it that wasn’t basically whining. And…he shifted a little so he could wind his hand around Mia’s…he thought he got it. Why. Why that.
Home…where when you had to go there, they had to take you. And where, if you kept trying to throw yourself off a cliff, even if it wasn’t literal this time, they’d haul you back and keep your ass too busy to try again.