Pulse-122 Gapfiller-Brian's POV

Author's notes: I guess I don't have any. I would give an angst warning, but I just spent two hours of my life watching Bush give his unconvincing, bullshit speech which was followed by an hour long town meeting of the most frightening citizens this country had to offer. THAT'S angst. This is just fic. If I was god, I wouldn't bless America. I'd get the FUCK out. /sorry.

PULSE-122 GAPFILLER
BRIAN’S POV

pay the devil to replace her

The last time I’d been in an ambulance, I was six years old—on a field trip. They came to our school--all of them-the police, the firemen, the paramedics. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. The fireman let me hold the water hose. Well, he had to help me. I’ll never forget what it felt like, the force of all of that water.

It knocked me on my ass.

God, I loved it.

I wanted to do it again and again.

He gave me another turn at the very end because I wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. And again, my feet flew out from under me. I was soaking wet and deliriously happy. All that power in my hands. I remember thinking I wanted to put it between my legs so I could control it better. God that would’ve been so funny.

My first phallus.

Our teacher let us lie on the grass for twenty minutes after they left so we could dry off. We baked in the hot sun. You laid on the cold cement for nine minutes.

I timed it.

For the most part, I kept my mouth shut when they found us. I felt like I should’ve said something, but I’d already done enough damage for one night, so I didn’t.

You didn’t say anything either when it happened. You didn’t even scream. You couldn’t, it happened so fast. You just smiled.

Smiled.

But that didn’t matter because the sirens, all of the flashing red everywhere, and Daphne, made up for that. I’ll never forget the hole in my stomach when they took you away from me, when they picked you up and put you on the gurney. It was the most potent mix of dread and relief I’d ever tasted.

“What’s your name?”

“Brian. Brian Kinney.”

“You know him?”

“Yes.”

“Get in. Let’s go.”

I held your hand in the ambulance. I’d squeeze it, and for the first half of the ride, you’d randomly squeeze it back. But then, you stopped. I told you that sorry wasn’t bullshit and started apologizing for everything—for dancing, for showing up, for ever thinking I needed to touch you in the first place. I couldn’t stop my brain from rewinding.

You stopped breathing.

I told you that I cared about you, and then I begged you not to die.

You ignored me.

"He’s not breathing. Why isn’t he breathing?”

“You need to move back. Give us room.”

They asked me how well I knew you while my fingers were in your bloody hair. I offered them your last name.

And your age.

"Taylor. Justin Taylor. He’s eighteen. He just turned eighteen.” You’d just turned eighteen.

“Okay.”

But then I remembered.

"He’s, he’s really allergic to a lot of drugs. A doctor gave him penicillin once, it nearly killed him. And Tylenol.” They wrote everything down. "And Codeine. Codeine’s the worst.”

They thanked me.

Thanked me, for doing this to you.

”Oh, and he has allergies.” To crying. “He doesn’t cry,” I whispered to you. "He takes something blue. I don’t know what it is.”

I kept looking at your face to see if you could hear me. I thought about everything, about how beautiful you were, how smart, how determined, how I got such a kick out of just being with you, and how I’d never told you any of those things. Your life was flashing before my eyes and all I could see was what I’d done to fuck it up.

Instead of having my body on top of you and my dick up your ass, you had an oxygen tank on your chest and tubes in your veins.

“We’re almost there. Once we pull into the bay, things are going to move very fast. We don’t have much time.”

I let go of your hand. Your fingers were limp.

”Does he have family here?”

“Yes.”

I’d no longer count myself among them.

The furious slow motion swirled around me as we pulled into the bay. I looked up and saw your mother right inside the doors. She screamed when she saw you, her hands covering her face. The thick glass between us kept me from hearing her, but I could.

I could hear everything.

It sounded just like the silent scream in my head.

All I wanted at that moment and for the next three months was to take your place. Giving you my life wouldn’t have been a fair trade, you deserved so much more, but it beat having to learn how to walk down the street again.

I backed up as far as I could, shrinking into the back of the ambulance as they barked orders at each other, as they pulled you away from me. My presence was unnecessary.

A hindrance.

An offense.

The proof dangling from my hand, stained with the answer.

If only I’d understood that two and half hours earlier.

They didn’t think you were going to live.

I knew that somehow, no matter what, I wouldn’t either.

It certainly wouldn’t be the last time you’d make a liar out of me.

The end.

Lyrics by Hall and Oates She’s Gone.