A/N: This is a non-canon coda to 2 Fast 2 Furious. I've already done one from Dom's PoV ("Won't Go Home Without You" - ironically, another Maroon 5 song), but I wanted to play a little more with it, so I came up with a different plot for Brian's PoV.

Disclaimer: I don't own...any of this. And that's probably for the best.

Sometimes, Brian's honest-to-God amazed he's still breathing. All the stupid shit he does, it's damn near miraculous he hasn't died horribly.

Take the last forty-eight hours, for instance. Since the day before yesterday, he's screwed over the boss of one of the biggest cartels in the Americas; he's stared down more gun barrels than he really wants to think about, in the interest of sleeping soundly again in the near…ever; and then there's his piece de resistance. He can't forget that.

No, seriously. He can't forget it. Even if he wanted to, which he kind of really does – the four beers he's downed since he and Rome made it back to Tej's place a little over an hour ago aren't really doing the trick, but he's holding out hope for the other six that're still chilling in the mini-fridge – he's pretty sure every nerve ending in his body has teamed up to remind him that, yeah, he really did crash a car onto a moving yacht five hours ago, and no, it wasn't a soft landing.

He wishes he could say he's broken his record for crazy, but that'd be a lie. That award goes to the second he decided – did he decide? It kind of just…happened – to hand Dom his keys and go on the lamb in his place. Or maybe it should go to the moment he agreed to go on that drive to the beach with the guy.

Hell, maybe it should go to the moment he flipped open that damn folder with Dom's name on it and hadn't gone screaming in the opposite direction.

It's too hard to decide between them and, now that he thinks about it, every other stupid life decision he made those couple of months, so he just files the whole thing under 'crazy clusterfuck' and tries not to think about how quick he'd do the whole damn thing over again if he got the chance.

Like he said – it's damn near miraculous he hasn't died horribly.

Yet, anyway. Every time he moves, though, he can feel his ribs, chest, head, and oddly, his left elbow all vying for a chance to finish the job.

It's kind of hard to bitch, though, when Rome's sitting right across from him in a cast and a sling. And he might've taken a sharpie to the former when Rome was passed out in the car on the way here – he's got a few ideas, too, for when he inevitably passes out on the table in the garage – but he'll keep that to himself.

Instead, he decides to give another one of those beers a go, which is kind of a trade-off, because it means getting up and pissing off his everything again. He'll probably grab a couple this time, he thinks. The only thing that stopped him before was not wanting his beer to get warm, but at the rate he's choking them down, he's figures that's probably a non-issue.

"Hey, bruh, grab me one, too," Rome says as Brian makes his way across the garage over to the mini-fridge. It's kind of creepy seeing it this empty, but everyone's still kind of scattered from the scramble, laying low for a little while, so it's just him and Rome sitting around drinking beer at one of the white plastic tables.

"Thought you weren't supposed to mix medications," Brian replies. Rome just popped one of those codeines the doc gave him when they went and got his arm fixed up – nothing bad, just a hairline fracture – and even though Brian's not too worried about the two beers Rome's polished off, he's thinking three or more might be pushing it.

All the same, he grabs a couple extra. If Rome doesn't drink 'em, then God only knows he will.

Rome's grinning when he straightens back up, and Brian knows it's the look he gets when he's about to say something he thinks is smart.

"Shit, man, this stuff is the Pierce family multi-vitamin," he says, shaking the orange pill bottle for emphasis. "'Sides, with that weak ass shit, I might as well be drinking water."

Brian starts to open his mouth, tell Rome that he can buy his own beer next time if he's got a problem with Coronas, but he gets a better idea and, after grabbing something else from the fridge, walks back over to the table and sits a bottle of water down in front of his friend.

"There you go, then. Drink up."

Rome looks down at the water, then back up at him. "That's real cute, Brian."

Brian just smiles and twists the cap off another beer. He's seeing himself getting very drunk in the near future, for reasons he's trying real hard not to think about right now, and he's thinking the more, the merrier.

It takes about three seconds and two sips for it to sink in with Rome that he ain't playing. His face falls.

"That ain't funny, Brian."

Brian shrugs innocently and keeps smiling. "It is to me." Least that's what he's gonna keep telling himself, because he's pretty intent on keeping his mind on anything but that thing he's not gonna think about.

Just because he's a good friend, and Rome did save his ass a few hours ago, Brian slides one of the beers across the table towards him. The rest are staying with him, though, and he's trying to remember if they polished off the rest of that fifth last week, or if there might still be some under the counter. If these beers don't work, he'll hit that later. It's not like he's got anywhere he's got to be, and even though it's not really his style to get shit-faced – his family's got a history of "addictive personalities," and he's seen what happens when O'Conner's mix with alcohol on too regular a basis – he's thinking he can make an exception just for tonight. He's earned it.

"What's with you?"

Rome's voice snaps Brian out of his head, and he looks up. Apparently, he's been staring holes in the table for the past who-knows-how-long. Because that's a good sign.

He covers it up with another pull from his Corona, and he leans back in his chair as far as he can without the shitty plastic number falling over. "Nothing, man," he says.

"Bullshit."

That's the problem with hanging with someone that's known you for so long, Brian thinks. They actually know you. Brian hasn't had to deal with that since…shit, since Dom.

And they're right back to that thing he's not gonna think about.

"Hold up," Rome says all of the sudden, and Brian's not sure if he should be worried that he can pretty much see the light bulb over his head as he leans forward over the table. "Don't tell me this is about Monica."

Brian wants to flinch, because even though that's not a bullseye, Rome's a lot closer to the mark than he's comfortable with. He doesn't, though. He knows he doesn't. He's better than that. Too long playing a role, hiding reactions starts to come natural.

Not that it matters. He doesn't have to do or say anything, because Rome's already got an idea in his head, and he's sticking with it, whether it's right or not.

"That's what it is, ain't it? You're all bent about that female." Now he's the one smiling, and Brian kind of really wants to throw his now-empty bottle at his face. This distance, he wouldn't miss. "Shit, man, it's always about the females with you."

"Yeah," Brian says, and his voice sounds a little duller than he wants it to. Thinner. It's true that Monica's got something to do with it, but she's so far from the real problem, it'd be funny if he wasn't so screwed.

Rome notices. Of course he does, Brian thinks; even after all the shit, Rome probably knows him better than anyone. But he doesn't know everything, and it's that part he's missing that's got Brian's head in a spin-out.

"Can't believe we brought down a drug lord, and your ass is sittin' here sulking 'cause she wasn't into you."

"It's not like that," Brian mumbles.

Rome raises an eyebrow. "Then what's it like?"

And Brian's not really sure how to answer that. He means, he knows what he wants to say, knows what he should say, but those two things aren't really the same, and so he's kind of fumbling. "It's just…I thought I got her, you know?" he says. "The whole deep-cover shit…mine wasn't that long, but I know what it's like being in that deep. I thought she got me, too, but…" He trails off, because he's hit the border: the things he can say, and the things he doesn't think he should. The things he's not sure he can.

"But what, Brian?" Rome pushes. He's abandoned his beer, and Brian can't help thinking he looks a little too focused for someone on narcotics and two and a half bottles.

He shakes his head. "Never mind." He's not ready to have this conversation.

Which sucks for him, he guesses, because turns out Rome's not ready to let it go.

"But what, Brian," he repeats, and there's a reason the kids back in the yard used to call him Bulldog, because the man just doesn't know how to let things go. He sure as hell won't now, not looking at him like that.

He guesses, if he has to fess up to somebody, it might as well be Rome. Might as well be the only family Brian hasn't managed to fuck up.

"You remember that guy I told you about, back in LA?" he says. He's got his eyes fixed squarely on the empty Corona bottle sitting on the table in front of him, and he twists it back and forth, watching the way it catches the light in the garage.

"The guy you let go? Yeah, I remember." There's a pause, and then, "Don't tell me you went fairy for him."

Brian can tell he's joking, probably trying to lighten up the heaviness that's settled in the air, and Brian lets himself smile a little, if only because that's easier than giving the comment any serious thought. That's not a conversation he's ready to have, either. Not even with himself.

It's not the fairy part that gets him, mind – a good body's a good body, no matter what it's on, and he really doesn't give a shit what that makes him. He likes what he likes on who he likes, and worrying about that other stuff is just a waste.

Except that who part in there's tripping him up this time, and a little of the why. That's what he doesn't want to think about. That's what Monica made him think about.

"She didn't let hers go," he says after what's probably too long a silence.

"What?"

"Monica." He sighs, and ow, shit, his ribs hurt a little more than he thought. The sad thing is, he's kind of glad for the distraction. Makes it easier to get the words out when he's not thinking too hard about them. "She didn't let Verone go. She had a shot, but she took him down."

Rome makes a face. "So?"

"I didn't."

It takes a little bit longer than three seconds this time around – or maybe it just feels that way – but he sees it on Rome's face when it hits him.

"Oh," he says, and it's hard to tell from just that how much he's pieced together, but Brian figures he's pretty much got the gist of his dilemma. Monica let her guy go; Brian gave him his keys.

He refuses to think about what else he might've given him. His career and his whole fucking life in LA's bad enough without throwing anything even more pathetic in the mix.

Instead, he just leans back in his chair again, and tries not to wince, because fuck, his everything hurts. He wonders briefly if Rome would mind parting with one of those multi-vitamins of his, but he's not really considering it. He hates that shit. Hates feeling like his brain's been scooped out and stuffed with feathers, hates feeling like all the world's edges have been smudged. It's not worth it. He'll take some aspirin, he thinks, and pray that Rome turns in and passes out in that order, because he's pretty positive he can't carry his ass.

They don't get quiet after that like Brian thinks they should. They talk shit about Verone, crack jokes about his henchmen, and he thinks Rome's meds might be kicking in, because although he wishes he could've seen the dude's face when Rome ejector-seated his ass, he doesn't think it could've been that funny. Rome's laughing like he's about to piss himself.

So, when the guy goes to reach for another beer – they're down to two between them; Brian's had six already, and he's feeling pleasantly buzzed, and Rome's had four, and Brian's pretty sure he's high as a kite – Brian pulls it out of his reach.

"Nah, man," he says, and he's smiling a little too now, because it's fun to screw with Rome, "I think you've had enough."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

Brian just smiles wider. "Now who's sulking?" And for a second, he thinks Rome's about to be mad, but then he busts out laughing again. "I rest my—" He pauses when Rome suddenly stops laughing. "What? What is it?"

Rome's sobered up awfully fast, and Brian would be impressed if he wasn't too busy wondering what the hell Rome's looking at over his shoulder.

"You expecting company?" Rome says.

That doesn't help Brian any. "What?"

Instead of an answer, Rome just kind of nods towards the space over Brian's shoulder. Brian turns around to see what he's looking at, and—

And turns right back around.

"Brian?" Rome says, but Brian's not listening. About ten thousand things whip through his head over a span of what feels like an hour, but what's probably really closer to half a second, and then they just…stop. Because he knows what's about to happen. He has no illusions about what's about to go down, and what He is here to do, and there's something strangely calming about all that knowing.

Still…

This is really gonna hurt.

A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review! My words run on yours. :)