sorry about your guitar

Title: Questions
Fandom: QaF (US)
Summary: Gapfiller for episode 122 (Prom ep.)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: Written in 2005 but never posted. Now it is.



"Sir? Sir?" She's not sure how to approach him, how much force to put in her voice, because this man looks like he may crumble, just disintegrate into nothing, but he also looks like he might pick her up and fling her down the hall. She knows the type. "Mr. Kinney? Is there someone you need to call?"

Questions, Brian thinks, What's with all the fucking questions? May we have your name? What is the victim's name? What is your relationship to the victim?

And Brian doesn't want to answer them, he just wants to fix this and he can't and he's seriously wondering why he chose business over medicine in college. Why was he consistently unable to do anything useful?

"Mr. Kinney, we'll be needing insurance information and a next of kin if available. The victim's family really should be notified. If you would at least give us his last name." The EMTs had already told her that they suspected the young man's name was 'Justin' because the man with him had done nothing but mumble it the entire ambulance ride, but so far all she'd gotten from him was his own name. He hadn't even bothered to say it out loud, instead he flipped open his wallet and let her read it off his driver's license.

This time he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, expensive cell phone and handed it to her. She scrolled through the cell's phonebook hoping to come across the requisite 'Mom' or 'Home' listing.

She didn't.

"Mr. Kinney?"

Brian snatched the phone from her and pressed the down arrow on his phone, coming the name he was searching for he pressed 'call' before passing it back to her. The nurse glanced at the screen so she'd know whom to ask for when the line was answered.

"Jesus! Brian, I'm boarding, can't this wait? I'll call when I land in Portland."

"Excuse me, may I please speak with Mikey?"

"Yes, this is Michael Novotny, who's this and why do you have Brian's phone? Did he leave it somewhere?"

"No, my name is Harriett Burhman, I’m an RN at Allegheny General-"

"Hospital?" Michael's mind wanders and he's already assuming that Brian's done something reckless and selfish, stupid and heartbreaking. "Is Brian okay, I mean he is, right?" He’s bracing himself to have to sign papers, bring information; identify a body. He feels his knees give a bit.

"Mr. Kinney appears to be uninjured, however there was an incident at a hotel. The St. James High School prom was held there and it appears that," she pauses, unsure of the relationship between the unconscious boy and the man that had rode here with him; she doesn't want to sound presumptuous or rude, nor does she wish to come off as prejudice, so she takes the neutral road, "one of the students was attacked and as a chaperone, Mr. Kinney took the liberty to call the paramedics and accompanied him here."

"Prom? Chaperone? Oh my… fuck! Justin? Was it Justin Taylor? God, is he all right? Is it bad? How bad is it?"

"We aren't allowed say over the phone, sir. You say his last name is Taylor? Thank you that'll be very helpful."

"Why didn't you just ask Brian, he would have told you."

"Mr. Kinney hasn't spoken a word since he stepped out of the ambulance."

Michael blinked slowly, it was worse than bad; it had to be. "So, how did you know to call me?"

"I asked if he there anyone he needed to call; he dialed you and gave me the phone."

"Who else has been notified?"

"No one, honestly, there aren't many numbers listed and he's not being very forthcoming."

"Look, would you please put Brian on?"

Nurse Burhman put the phone to Brian's ear, when he made no attempt to hold it she kept it steady against the side of his face.

"Brian? Brian are you there?"

Silence

"Look, Brian if something's happened to Justin you need to call Mrs. Taylor. And my mom, you gotta call Ma. Do you know anything yet? Please, fucking say something, goddamn it!"

Brian took a breath, hearing the air rattle in and fill his lungs before pushing it back out, "I- Michael, I fucked up. I showed him. That he mattered, that I was alright with not moving to New York," Brian's words were choppy and Michael was slowly and quietly panicking, "That I can be something other than an old, drugged up asshole. And I fucked it up. Of course I did."

Brian grabbed the phone from the nurse's hand, closed it and threw it against the wall.