Alternate Ending by Wendy Kitkatbyte Follows This Story

Fire Fic Bea_nonymous Alternate ending by Wendy Kitkatbyte follows this story

No one should ever have to bury their child, Vic thought absent-mindedly as he watched the two distraught women cling to each other in the front pew.

Lost in a dim world of unspeakable grief, the fair-haired one rocked back and forth with her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. The other, slighter one kept her emotions in check as best she could, although the red, criss-crossing relief map plotting the course of the whites of her eyes betrayed her stoic demeanor.

But Vic didn't cry.

The cheesy organ music piping in overhead seemed offensive to him somehow. It gave the occasion an even more somber tone, and only lent to the free-flowing cascade of tears of the grievers. Floating particles of powdery lint formed a haloed mirage above the framed picture resting on the altar. The familiar phrase Dada and Sonnyboy ran through his mind, causing a syncopated tug of his heart strings.

But he refused to shed even a single drop.

He turned his head away and locked eyes with the man seated beside him. It should have been one of us, Ben communicated wordlessly. Vic only nodded and grimaced as Ben focused his attentive comfort back on the mother and son duo he had come to love more than his own life.

Debbie, for the first time in her life, was speechless. For days she had walked around in a zombie-like trance, taking orders and serving customers without even so much as a joke or a sarcastic comment. She had even stopped wearing her trademark wig, opting for her own natural look because anything else took too much effort to complete. Michael, well, Michael had wept like a baby the entire time. There was just no consoling him. All Ben could do was lean his head against his shoulder and pray that the sorrow would in due time decrease, even a tiny bit. **** An investigation had been launched immediately after the incident. Faulty electrical wiring due to an overloaded circuit was deemed to be the cause, a problem that would not go unpunished by the Fire Commissioner. Fingers had been pointed all around; from the maintenance man to the landlord, no one escaped scrutiny. Whose fault was it? Really, did anyone give a shit?

The tenants had been rounded up on the sidewalk and provided with blankets and hot liquids by the EMT's to ward against the frigid night air. They all huddled together and bemused about their lost possessions and replacing family heirlooms and the hassle of temporarily living in 3-star instead of 4-star hotels.

One voice in particular ranted in disbelief about pulling up in his Vette after a fucked-up day at work only to see his building and his fucking computer files and Armani fall collection and Italian furniture up in smoke.

And since he was standing around, freezing his balls off while the incompetent firefighters dilly-dallied, he might as well call Justin at the diner and break the bad news about the loft and that hey! Maybe Brian would be on the 11 o'clock news! Then all of Pittsburgh would see what a fucking good-looking boyfriend Justin had.

That was when Mrs. Rivers from the 3rd floor gave a sudden shout and started sobbing hysterically. She kept pointing to the burning building, but between blubbering and hyperventilating, it had been nearly impossible for anyone to fully comprehend what she was trying desperately to say. Something about running into that boy on the stairwell as she was leaving for the corner store, that cute blond boy with the upturned nose that helped her carry groceries on occasion.

A nearby officer handed her a paper bag to help regulate her erratic breathing, but she kept on and on with ramblings about him skipping a late afternoon sculpture class because of a raging headache, and that he had needed to call his partner to stop by the pharmacy on his way home from the office.

A passerby who had been drawn to the flames and stood amongst the crowd of people further recanted how Mrs. Rivers had nearly doubled over in a coughing fit brought on by desperation to get her story out. It had been so hard to calm the lady down, and a few people tried to get her into an ambulance for fear she might faint. But she flailed her arms with an almost zealous fervor, and even slapped her husband away.

Something else about a cup of herbal tea and a cold compress; it seemed her family had a history of migraines, and she knew that nothing worked better for such an ailment than a long nap in pitch-black darkness. Through her spastic wheezing and the in-and-out crinkling of the bag she held over her mouth, an officer was able to piece together the bits and pieces of her story and called an alert to the firefighters dousing the nearly-destroyed tenement.

Something else about ushering that boy upstairs with two Ambien, which would guarantee him sweet dreams of sugar plum fairies well into the recesses of the night.

She had forgotten all about Justin until his name was mentioned.

What had happened next had shocked the gathering of residents, onlookers, and city workers alike and left them momentarily dumbfounded. But not Vic; having known Brian for so long, he wasn't surprised at all. In the span of a minute, two officers had been knocked to the ground and a firefighter lost a couple of front teeth as Brian had broken through the orange tape barricade and launched himself full force into the inferno. (kits alternated ending below)

Brian did end up on the late-night news, after all.

**** Vic's gaze was once again drawn to the photograph up ahead. Sunset red filtered in through the slats of the high-rise windows, and a subtle twilight glint reflected off of the silver-engraved border. The sight of Brian teasingly nipping at Justin's ear, both of them laughing amidst an obvious good time, was almost too painful.

Still, he didn't cry. Instead, he closed his eyes and envisioned dusk in Ibiza.

The city lights called to their beauty, their youth, their wonderment; Vic imagined them dancing the night away at several happening dance clubs, then retiring to their hotel, sipping fruity cocktails on the terrace.

He pictured them tanned and fit on the pristine beaches, lazily soaking up the sun or working up a sweat while throwing a Frisbee. Brian cajoled Justin into tandem waterskiing, of course, and they held onto each other for dear life while gliding on the whitest froth of the bluest water.

They dangled their legs off a pier while Justin sketched surrounding sights and sounds, soaking up the clean, clear air and the breezes sent especially for them from the endless skies of cerulean blue, and Brian let his guard down to simply enjoy the company. Later they made love in a secluded little cove off the beaten path of Las Salinas, the gentle sounds of the crashing waves keeping rhythm with their movements.

Then Vic switched gears and was transported atop a mountain in Vermont.

The seductive capped peak beckoned like the Lady of the Lake, her titillating embrace welcoming the pair of skiers on their ascent into happy-go-lucky adventures. Drifts of fluffy snow circled them as their wind-kissed faces met with hot chocolate tongues and chilled noses. Brian tied Justin's blue scarf a little snugger and made sure his wool cap covered the tips of his ears with just a few straggly, yellow strands peeking out.

Justin nailed Brian square in the face with a high and fast snowball, resulting in a linebacker tackle, which further resulted into a full-fledged make-out session on the bunny slope. For once, Brian forgot his dietary regulations and ate cheese and crackers on the floor of their cabin, picnic-style, to which Justin snarkily remarked about expanding girth, to which Brian showed him exactly what the terms "expanding" and "girth" really meant.

The scenes in Vic's head played out for him like mini-movies of a carefree bygone era, where men were men and the West was always won and the bad guys never, never, got away. In all the different settings he pictured the boys in, their world was free from the bonds of insecurity and hurt and betrayal, and unblemished by bashings or fiddlers or power-hungry politicians.

And in each one, Brian always pulled Justin close to him and passionately whispered I love you loud enough for the entire universe to cheer and whoop and holler.

The lamentations of the two women in the front pew had lessened to sniffles. Joan continued to console Jennifer, their differences shoved aside in order to come together in the solidarity of motherhood. Gus had fallen asleep in Melanie's arms while the rest of the congregation whimpered along in cathartic unison.

As the officiator went on and on about God and righteousness and heaven and earth, Vic couldn't help but snort out loud. If only you knew, he thought.

So, Vic didn't cry, not once. There was no need.

Wendy's first QaF fic ever - Part 1/2 Wendy ( kitkatbyte) wrote, @ 2004-01-22 11:43:00

Part in italics written by bea_nonymous. In the span of a minute, two officers had been knocked to the ground and a firefighter lost a couple of front teeth as Brian had broken through the orange tape barricade and launched himself full force into the inferno.

As he ran up the stairs, he was overwhelmed by the thick smoke in the air, so he crouched down as far as he could to try and get under it. The wall to his left was on fire, so he stayed against the right wall. The fire was still so close, though, and it felt like it was slowly roasting his skin.

Brian finally made it up to the top of the stairs, only to be met by a blast of fire when the wall on the right ended, from the other side of the elevator. He jumped back as fast as he could, but he was sure that some of his hair had been singed off.

Brian braced himself with his had against the wall, and after a couple of seconds, he lept to the door of the loft and grabbed the handle...

...and yelped as his hand pulled reflexively back from the hot metal.

"Shit!" He pulled off his shirt and used it to try the handle again. Yes! The door pulled open. Brian fell to the floor and coughed into his shirt as smoke flooded out of the room.

After he was able to somewhat regain his breath, Brian started calling out Justin's name. From what the lady outside had said, Justin had probably been sleeping in bed when the fire started.

Brian couldn't see anything. The smoke was so thick that he got on down on his hands and knees as low to the floor as he could manage. He could hardly breathe, and the coughing never stopped as he gasped for air. Although it was dark and he couldn't see anything, he knew his way to the bedroom.

When his face ran into the side of the bed, Brian frantically reached up to the top of it, searching for a hand, a foot, anything. When he finally pulled himself partway onto the bed, he felt it.

Hair. Justin's hair.

"Justin!" Brian tried, but all that came out was a extra fit of coughing. No time to waste, Brian grabbed at Justin's leg and pulled him to the edge of the bed, and then started dragging him across the loft, back to the door. He was feeling weak and extremely dizzy, but this was no time to pass out.

Brian got back to the stairs and looked down. All he could see between the smoke was a bright orange glow, and it felt like his entire body was baking.

The fire had spread. Half of the stairs were on fire.

Gathering Justin up as best he could, he started running down the stairs. He tried not to inhale at all, as he knew it would only be smoke. He came to what looked like a solid wall of fire in the middle of the staircase, and he closed his eyes and jumped through it.

The pain of the burn was intense, and when he landed on the stairs past the fire, he fell down them face-first. He looked back to find where he had dropped Justin, but now not only was the smoke making it impossible to see, but his eyes were watering and burning and all he saw was a blur of orange and black.

Brian got to his hands and knees, and winced in pain. He has broken a couple of ribs. Face to the floor, hoping for a little air, he groped around for Justin. He found him after a few seconds at the bottom of the stairs.

Brian would have worried that Justin had hit his head, the worst thing Brian could conceive, but he was too busy reaching madly for the door. As he opened it, he grabbed Justin in his arms to pull him outside.

Brian lost consciousness just as the fresh air was about to hit him.

Part 2/2

When Brian woke up, he immediately noticed three things: one, that there was an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth; two, that he was on a stretcher; and three...

Brian shifted slightly and groaned as he felt a sharp pain in his ribs and a dry stinging sensation on patches of the skin of his upper body. It took a moment for his mind to clear enough so that he could register the memory of what had happened to him.

Oh god. He turned his head to the side frantically, searching. There was a blur of flashing lights, paramedics, other people... ambulances. Another stretcher. Brian squinted at the sight, until he recognized the blonde head of hair being lifted into the ambulance twenty feet away.

Justin.

Brian exhaled as he closed his eyes. Suddenly he felt a jerk, and looked up to see a face above him.

"It's okay. Just lie still. You're going to the hospital." *** Brian sat silently as Michael pushed his wheelchair into the room. The scene was a bit too familiar. Although asleep, Justin looked far less than peaceful. Two years ago, Brian had watched through a window, but he knew better now. He picked up Justin's hand and held it in his own. A layer of glass could do nothing to shield him from this aching in his chest.

Brian reached over with his other hand and stroked down along the hairline of Justin's face. No head injury, thank god... just smoke inhalation. A lot of smoke inhalation. Brian learned while being treated for his injuries that when he had pulled Justin out of the apartment building, Justin was not breathing. The paramedics had to perform CPR, and were barely lucky enough to revive him.

Brian idly noticed that Michael had slipped out of the room, leaving them alone. He cleared his voice, raw as it still was, and whispered almost inaudibly.

"Come on, sunshine..." *** Brian opened his eyes as he felt a gentle pressure on his hand. He must have fallen asleep. He looked up to see two sleepy eyes gazing at him worriedly. He squeezed back and smiled reassuringly as he ran his hand through the boy's golden locks.

Later the questions would follow. Justin would want to know what happened, why they were in a hospital... why breathing felt strange, and why Brian looked so tattered. But in this moment, only one thing mattered.

This time when Justin woke up, Brian was there... and neither one of them was going anywhere