By any other name (QAF, Gus POV, B/J)

[freakykat]

Title: By Any Other Name
Written By: freakykat
Timeline: Post 513 - future fic
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Cowlip and Showtime do. I only play with them a little.
Warnings: Angst, humor, slightly schmoopy
Summary: What’s in a name? Gus ponders about life, love and his parents.
Author's Notes: All my gratitude and love goes to my beta wouldbedorothy. She always does a wonderful job and encourages me when I need it. This was written for qaf_challenges Icon Challenge with a Twist. Thanks to _alicesprings for putting it together. Feedback loved and petted.








By any other name


What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. -- William Shakespeare.



You’d never given much thought to the word “normal”. On the rare occasion that your peculiar family came into discussion you’ d want to laugh at the thought that they were any different than anyone else’s . Almost all your friends had two sets of parents, like you did. It just happened yours were paired differently. And being who you were…that *was* normal.

Your friends were the odd ones in your mind. They hated their parents. You couldn’t imagine feeling that way. About anyone in your extended, incredibly fucked up, but always loving family. Especially your parents.

It *was* really sick how well you got along. Not to say you didn’t have your moments. Like that one week in freshman year when you announced to them that you were straight, had joined the Young Republicans club, and that you thought being a cop was the coolest thing in the world.

Or the months you were crippled with grief…

You push that thought out, replacing it with the former, and giggle at the memory of their complete horror over your rebel spell.

Of course, by the following week, you’d made out with Ricky Johnson under the stadium during homecoming, learned you’d inherited DJ’s left wing inclinations and, with the exception of Carl, you‘d decided all cops were assholes.

Your father had almost cried with relief.

When it came down to it, you loved one another. Flaws, one plastic ball, gimp hand, stubbornness and all.

You smile at the thought, struggling to fix the slightly crooked tie at your neck. It itched incessantly but you knew better than to remove it. Your father would have a fit if his handy work was tampered with. You glance at the clock and sigh with impatience.

This was taking way too long.

Your mind wanders back to the moment you had known your family was different. It had been the first day of kindergarten. Your teacher had asked each student to stand and loudly say their full name. When your turn came you had stood up, hands in pockets, and stated proudly…

“My name is Gus Petersen Marcus Kinney.”

(Later in life, you would always silently add Taylor to the end.)

It had never occurred to you that no one else had three last names and, when it finally did, you hadn’t really given a shit. That name was the person you would become.

Your parents had each given you a part of them and you treasured every bit of it.

***

You remember your Mom so clearly still. Her sweet nature and peaceful demeanor could soothe even the deepest wound. Whether it was a bad grade, striking out in the last inning, or…realizing you were different from the other boys.

She had known that you were gay before you had.

You don’t know how but she had.

The day you found the courage to tell her, she’d been sitting at the kitchen counter looking over the Arts section of the newspaper. When you had stammered that you had a secret, she had silently folded the paper and stared quietly until you began to speak. In a flood of words you still don’t recall, you had spilled every feeling, every fear…all the angst a thirteen-year-old boy coming out held inside. It shouldn’t have scared you. And it really didn’t, not when you thought about it. It was such a part of your life. It was in your fucking DNA for Christ’s sake.

But at thirteen…in a world that still looked at you as if you were some medical experiment gone wrong…where your parents were still hated and punished for loving each other…it was akin to the end of the world.

You remember her warm, lavender-scented hug, her soft kisses on your head, and how she’d murmured soothing words of encouragement and love. Taken your fear and turned it on its head, replaced it with pride and hope. She’d held you for what seemed like forever and then, to your surprise, she had cursed suddenly, her lilted laughter in your ear. You had asked her what was so funny. Her response still makes you laugh today.

“I fucking owe your father ten bucks. He’s going to be a bitch to live with now.”

You had never loved her more than that moment.

She died two months later.


****


There was never a clear moment that defined your relationship with your father. He was always there, the big presence in your small world. He was beautiful and crass and mischievous and…everything a boy wanted to be.

He’d been your hero when you were a kid. Your idol as you found your own self. But he’d become your father when you weren’t looking. The man you would go to when you had no clue what to do. The shoulder you’d lean on when your heart broke.

He never gave you advice . He’d listen, nod, and wait for your own mind to come to the right conclusion. Or for your heart to heal.

It still pissed you off to no end when someone… most times it’d be Ma… would doubt his sense of morals. It was as if they were stuck in time. Back when he hadn’t grown up…before you had been born…before he’d met DJ… Before bashings…and cancer…and long distance heartbreak.

When, as he’d once said, his life had been more empty then he would have ever admitted.

You’d told him then that if you turned out to be just like him, you would die a happy, fulfilled homo.

He’d roared out a laugh, made you promise to tell Ma that, and then had wrapped you in a warm hug.

You never doubted his love for you.

You knew you never would.


***

You suppose that your relationship with Ma is the hardest. She was the disciplinarian. Or the big heavy, as Dad called her. Even though you knew the decisions were usually made between your two moms, it was up to Ma to dish it out.

It wasn’t fair to her, you know that now. But, at that time, in those moments, you didn’t like her much. You never hated her. She was your Ma and she loved you even when she nagged. But sometimes you wished she would give a little. Lighten up and have more fun.

There were times when her relentless stubbornness came in handy. Like the time the Little League coach made a remark about “fairies” around you. She had been running late and wasn’t there for the start of the game. You had missed the opening play and the coach had railed at you. He had the misfortune of using that ridiculous old saying from god knows what century and Ma had flown at him, sputtering legal jargon about the ramifications of those kind of statements around children. She had declared she would sue the coach, the school, and the district if she ever even remotely heard anything like that again.

She had never missed a game from then on. Most times either Dad, DJ, or Mom would be with her.

And to your surprise, from that day on, without fail, Emmett would show up to the games, in full fairy glory, cheering you on.

Even so, somewhere inside you there is that niggling little doubt that she really loves you.

You *know* she does. She’s your Ma. But you think of how she sometimes looks at JR , or how her voice sounds when she talks about your sister…and you know there‘s a difference. She doesn’t mean to do it, but inside there will always be the resentment that your father is who he is. That you have his genes and not hers. She doesn’t blame you, of course, and she loves you. Deeply.

But it will always be there.

You understand that.


****

Then there was Daddy Justin. Your DJ.

If your father was your hero, the man you wish you would become…DJ was the man you knew you could never be. He was breathtaking, funny, warm…a genius at everything he tried. He could break your Dad with one glance and heal him with a smile. He would make you think before you acted and laugh with you when it still came out wrong.

And he loved you.

Completely.

Like you were his very own.

You remember thinking once that his love for your father was the purest form there could be.

It just was. There were no pretenses. No need for reasons or doubts.

You’d never imagined it was the same way for you.

It was his love that had saved you.

You remember the endless days and nights after Mom had died. The darkness that existed inside, bubbling and churning, turning into a red heat of hate and anger. How you would claw at Ma when she touched you. The words and curses you would fling at your father when he tried to help. Their utter helplessness to ease your pain.

DJ had stood silently in the middle of that maelstrom, his presence still and unchanging. When you yelled, he’d listen. When you hurled accusations, objects, your hate at him, he’d sidestep them. When you sobbed so hard and for so long that you couldn’t move, he’d hold your hand. When you hurt so deep that getting out of bed was an insurmountable feat, he would wrap you in a blanket, lay down with you in the silence, and just let you be.

And when it came time to heal, he was your guide out of the darkness. He told you about the bashing. The anger and pain he’d felt. The fear that would overtake him. His rages…against Grandma Jen…against himself…against Dad. He told you how your father had taken care of him, healed him, helped him.

He smiled as he said that he’d fallen hopelessly and eternally in love with your father then. That he hadn’t known what that meant until much later.

And then…he’d shown you his new painting. A canvas of gold and crimson, angry brush strokes of black and gray swirling for control. It was you in the color….in the pain of the portrait…and you hugged him.

He’d held you until the light and the emptiness began to fade…


****

You still don’t know who’s more grateful to DJ for how he held you together. You, Ma, or your Dad. It had been a long process, and there were still days when it was hard to breathe, to think…

But it was better. You’d found your own art. Your canvas, a blank page. Your brush, a pen. Your colors, words.

There is a knock on the door, and you sigh in relief. Finally.

“Enter.”

Your Dad does, giving you his patented “little twat” look as he closes the door. “Enter?”

You grin at him and shrug. “It feels appropriate to be formal. It’s not every day I get to wear a tux and walk my old man down the aisle.”

He groans, his face falling into his hands, and you almost laugh at his muffled, “What the fuck was I thinking saying yes?”

“You were thinking that you love DJ, and have for, judging by your ages, an eternity.” You mock shudder at the thought and he rewards you with a sputter of laughter.

“You’re such a little shit.”

He studies his reflection and nods in approval. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. No one would ever accuse Brian Kinney of being self-conscious.

“You think your Dad will like it?”

The fucker would never cease to surprise you. You smile and nod fervently. “Pops, DJ would like you in a fucking potato sack, ok?”

“This is true. I am hot.”

You stifle a laugh and, before you get a chance to retort, the door opens again and Alex walks…more like hurls into the room, in all her seven-year-old golden glory. She grins up at you, skipping until she reaches your side, and squeezes your leg tightly. “Gus-gus!”

“Al, you’re cutting off my circulation.”

She only grins wider and then, seeming to remember her reason for coming, lets go and stands straight. Her chubby face serious, crystal blue eyes twinkling, and you know why your parents seem to let her get away with murder. She really was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Daddy!”

You glance over to your father, see his wide grin and feel your own form. Alex had that effect on you.

“What’s up, baby?”

She’s staring at him in awe and you follow her gaze, seeing him as she does, and you smile.

“Daddy, you look beautiful.”

The look on your father’s face was indescribable. He swallowed what you imagined were tears, ‘cause fuck if Brian Kinney would cry at his own fucking wedding in front of his kids. “Thank you, baby.”

She was Justin’s by blood, but you knew from experience that your father’s love for her was total and complete. It was rare to see his tender side so fully on display. It was in his face at that very moment, and it made *you* want to weep.

Goddamn weddings.

“Hey, Al.” You better change the conversation before you embarrass yourself. “Why are you here?”

Her eyes widen and she smacks her head in true Drama Queen fashion. “Right! Dad said to hurry up old man or he’d run away with one of the ushers.” She giggles as she says it and you bark out a laugh at your father’s face.

“Did he now?”

“Yep.” Alex nods as she walks to the door, turns, and blows your old man a kiss. “Bye Daddy.”

Your laughter gurgles out and your father shoves you hard. “Cram it, Sonnyboy.”

“Sorry.” You wipe at his jacket, dusting off imaginary lint . He’s tense and you catch the flash of panic in his eyes. “Pops. It’s just paper. Words.”

He nods and you continue. “You’ve been married for a long time now, old man. Face it. Own it. Love it.”

That cracks a smile and you lean your head on his shoulder, remembering the look on DJ’s face when the old man had said yes…

They had been arguing about names, of all things. Alex had wondered why they didn’t *all* have the same name like her friends’ families did. They’d explained that just because they didn’t share the same last names, it didn’t mean they weren’t still a family. All that mattered was that they loved each other, and the next time one of the brats at school (that had been Dad’s edited phrase) gave her a problem, she could tell them just that.

You had muttered that she could feel free to kick the little fuckers if that didn’t work. The smack from DJ to the back of your head echoed in the room. You had chosen to stay out of the rest of the discussion.

It had heated up once Alex had gone up for her bath. DJ and Dad had argued back and forth over the fact that this problem had come up before when you had been younger. You thought better of mentioning that at least Alex only had one last name to contend with. DJ called your father stubborn and unyielding. Dad had flung his hands in the air and shouted, “What the fuck do you want me to do, Justin?”

“Give me your name, you sonofabitch!”

You had frozen then, looking from one to the other, waiting to see what your Dad said. You figured he’d fuck it up, and you really shouldn’t look, but you couldn’t help it. It was like watching a car crash. Horrifying, yet it pulled at you.

Dad had shaken his head, “No,“ and DJ’s face had darkened before he shoved past your father. Dad had gripped his arm then and quietly stated. “Your name is your work, Justin. I won’t have you give that up.”

DJ’s face had softened then, but you could see the arguments forming in his mind. So you had done what any son sick of their fathers’ bitching would do. You threw in your two cents.

“You could take DJ’s name, Dad.”

They’d turned to you as if you had sprouted a second and third head. You’d shrugged as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “It would solve the problem. DJ would still have his name. Alex would have both your names. Everyone would be happy.” Your father’s face was unreadable. “Besides, I think Taylor hyphen Kinney is pretty fucking cool for a last name.”


****

And here you were now…about to give the Kinney part of the Taylor hyphen Kinney wedding party away.

“You ready, old man?”

“Fuck no.”

You smile at him, and he reaches up to brush the stray hair off your forehead.

“Come on, Pops. Let’s go make an honest man out of you.”

****

“Do you, Brian Kinney, take this man, Justin Taylor, to be your lawfully wedded husband. To love, respect, and honor, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”

You can’t believe your father agreed to those vows.

You realize you’re holding your breath.

“Fuck it, why not. I mean, I do.”

You shake your head and your laughter joins the rest….


****

You clink your glass loudly for a full minute before the guests even begin to hush down. Debbie’s loud voice fills the room. “Would you all shut the fuck up? Gus wants to make a speech!” The room falls into a dead silence and Debbie smiles at you. “Go ahead, baby.”

You hold back a laugh. “Thanks, Deb.” Your eyes fall over the crowd, hold on your Ma’s face and she nods, winks in encouragement ,before reaching out for Corrine’s hand.

You know this will be hard for her and love her more for letting you do what you had to. You clear your throat and turn to the crowd. “I’m not exactly good with words. I can put them on paper, but when it comes to talking, I take after my Dad.” You look over at him and he smiles at you. “I fucking hate it.” DJ’s head falls on your father’s shoulder and they laugh together. The room joins in for a moment before settling again.

“The truth is, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say up here. Nothing can describe this day. A lot of you out there, including myself, never thought one day we’d be sitting here. Hell, I think I owe Ben fifty bucks now.” There’s a smattering of laughter and you continue. “ The truth is my Dads are the kind of men I want to be. The kind of partner I hope to find someday.” You hold your hand up at your Dad’s face. “I swear, Pop, I’ll put your reputation to shame before then, okay?” Another round of laughter. “I am who I am thanks to my parents. All of them.” You wink at Ma and she smiles through her tears. “Mom’s not with us, but I know she’s looking down on us and smiling.” Your voice chokes and you pause, taking a breath.

“It couldn’t have been easy to raise me. Especially in the world we live in. But you did. And you’re still doing it.” You point at Alex and she grins, standing from her place, waiting for your signal. “There’s no way I could ever thank you for the pride you’ve given me. For loving me. For showing me what a partnership really is. “ You wag your finger and watch as Alex makes her way to your Ma, grabs the envelope she’s holding, and kisses her cheek before vaulting to your side. You take the papers from her hand, hugging her to you as you turn back to your fathers. “I wasn’t sure what I could get you as a gift. You’re freaking gazillionaires!” Someone giggles in the crowd and you feel all eyes on you. “But, thanks to Alex, I came up with something.” You pat your sister’s shoulder once and walk over to your Dad and DJ, who stand to meet you. There’s a suspicious-looking moisture on both their cheeks and, you’re sure, your own.

You hand DJ the envelope, and your eyes meet your fathers‘. “I’m not giving you something so much as I am taking.” There is the sound of paper rustling and DJ’s soft gasp. You can’t meet his eyes yet. You watch as your father takes the document, scans it, and returns his eyes to yours.

“You took our name?”

There’s a whimper in the crowd and you’d bet your laptop it was Emmett.

You look down, composing yourself, before looking back up at him. “I told you Taylor-Kinney was a fucking cool name.”

“Gus, you didn’t have to…”

“I know, Pop.”

He crushes you in a hug and there are claps, whistles, and whoops from the crowd. Everyone disperses, moves into groups, giving the three of you some privacy. You pull back after a moment and whisper, “This has definitely gotten way too lesbianic, hasn’t it?” He laughs loud and full, moving when DJ shoves him to get to you.

His hug is warm and deep and loving.

“You are so getting that fucking car for your birthday.”

You laugh through your tears and, after a moment, feel his arms loosen. You pry away from them, watch them study the paper in their hands. See your father rain kisses on DJ’s head. Smile when he raises his glass to your mother. He leans into DJ’s ear, whispers and, with a nod from him, takes his hand…winks at you as they move to the dance floor.

The music begins to play and you watch as they sway, talk quietly…steal glances at you, at your sister… laugh together. You sit and gather Alex on your lap, giving her a small high five. “Well done, short stuff.”

“Thank you!” Her head falls on your shoulder, and together you watch your parents dance. You know tomorrow your dad will snark at the hetero turn the reception took. At your complete queen of a speech. But for now…he’s happier than you’ve ever seen him.

You think of that old Shakespeare line. What’s in a name?

Gus Taylor-Kinney Petersen Marcus.

Your eyes follow your two fathers across the dance floor. You kiss the top of your sister’s head. You smile.

What’s in a name?

Fucking everything.