Brian

I can't believe it. He did it! The little shit really did it! Linz is in <i>babble mode</i> again, and I can hardly get a word in. She's so proud of Justin – well, so am I. She was going to ring him up right away, but I managed to convince her to wait a little while. "So you'll call him in about an hour, yes? Okay. Thanks, Linz." I hang up and sigh. If all women are like this – and my experience leads me to believe that, yes, they are – it's just as well that I turned out to be queer. I'd have killed myself otherwise – a long time ago. Okay, I understand that she's excited. I mean, it really <i>is</i> great and all that shit. But does she have to make such a fool of herself over this? How does Mel survive around her? Wait... I'm worried about Mel? Right, that does it. I'm in <i>serious</i> need of help. Fuck it all.

Sighing again, I smirk to myself. 'Who are you kidding here, Kinney? You told the twat once that <i>there's no turning back</i>, you might as well believe it. And it's not like you want to go back to how you were before, do you?' Well I don't. But if this newly-found <i>sentimentality</i> – fuck, I hate that word – if it also extends to a certain Ms Marcus, then I'm really screwed. 'Pull yourself together, Kinney. Don't forget <i>who</i> you are!' Yeah, right. I draw a deep breath and gaze around. Justin's taken care of – in more ways than I had intended – and if I'm lucky he'll never learn about my prolonged stay at the Allegheny. At least not until I'm ready to tell him.

The x-ray went fine – well, except for Dr O'Reilly's knowing smirk when I asked if I could maybe leave town for a few days. Fucker! That man is going to drive me insane one of these days, I just know it. Anyway, my lung is mostly healed, and the rib is also slowly getting better. "And yes, the pain is perfectly normal." Did I mention that he's a sadistic fucker? But okay, it's gotten loads better if I compare it to that first Sunday. Still... He's some doctor to leave a patient in pain. What about his fucking oath to help? Huh? Doesn't extend to Brian Kinney, does it? Well, at least he clears me for that little trip I've planned for Justin and I, so I guess he isn't <i>that</i> bad after all. Shit, I think I'm beginning to like the guy, and that's completely fucked, isn't it? But he has his good moments, as could be seen just now, or when he told Justin what was up and allowed him stay with me...

So, yeah. The x-ray went fine, and so did the test. I even paid an extra 100 bucks to speed things up and was assured that the results would be delivered to the loft first thing in the morning. Now I'm sitting in the office of Dr O'Reilly – the <i>wifey</i> – once again wondering if this was such a good idea. Justin seemed fine these last few days, and we even talked about his little guilt trip and stuff. But fuck! If I learnt one thing from the little shit, it's that asking for help isn't a sign of weakness – on the contrary. So, now I'm sitting in the office of a fucking shrink, and it's all Justin's fault. My life was just fine before he came along. 'Yeah, right. You were like a fucking <i>machine</i> back then, Kinney. Face it – the little blond twink you picked up that night saved you...' Fuck it. Now even my subconscious is plotting against me. Great, just great.

Ten minutes later I'm sitting opposite a short woman, blond hair spilling over her shoulders. She's trying hard to fight the grin that's slowly spreading across her face, but to no avail. "You wouldn't be the Brian Kinney my husband's been ranting about for two weeks now?" Shit! What the fuck happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? Yet another of those things that don't extend to me? Damn it all. I nod, and she grins all the more. She actually reminds me a bit of Linz – and that is one scary thought.

"Alright then. I assume you're not here for <i>normal</i> counselling, are you?" Fuck no! I might be cracking – and the whole commitment shit is a pretty good sign for that – but I'm not <i>that</i> mental yet. "Good, that's what Eamon said as well." Now isn't that nice? The loving couple of <i>idiots</i> has been talking about Justin and I. Isn't that <i>sweet</i>? I feel like I'm going to be sick, but I have to keep it all together. I'm doing this for my Sunshine after all – yeah, and he'll be paying for this. "So you want me to give you some advice on how you and your partner can work through what happened?" Like she doesn't already know that. But I'm playing nice and nod.

Her smile really reminds me of Linz, and for a moment I'm convinced that even if I were to say something, she'd just cut me off – just like Lindsay does all the time … just like she did only a few minutes ago... "Fine. You've been shot by an ex of your partner, is that correct?" Dr Eamon <i>Fucking</i> O'Reilly is a dead man. I'm wondering what else he told his <i>wifey</i>. I nod again, trying hard not to glare. Because <i>Ian</i> certainly isn't Justin's 'ex'. They never were <i>anything</i>! And I don't do jealousy! Fuck it! Before I'm going further down that road, the dearest doctor comes to my rescue – by doing that <i>shrink thing</i>. "Why don't you tell me about it?" Shit. I want babbling Linz back.

I clear my throat, and then I begin. "It's complicated." She just smiles, obviously thinking something like 'It always is.' Well, no shit! "Justin ... he..." Fuck, I'm really going to tell her. I'm so screwed. "About a year ago, some loser from his school used Justin's head for baseball practice – which was partly my fault cause I had to make this grand gesture and come to his Prom." She gasps. Apparently she's read about the whole shit back then. "And that fucker got off with fucking community service..." She nods, clearly not pleased.

"Justin had a rough time since his right hand refused to work properly – he's an artist, you see..." It had been torture to watch him try to draw back then. "Eventually, his hand got better – though it still begins to cramp if he overuses it. But he retained that rather low opinion of himself – like he was just a pathetic little faggot who deserved what had happened to him. And even though I realised it, I couldn't help him..." Yeah, because I didn't have the balls to let him in again – cause I thought that... Fuck, we're going in circles here.

Dr O'Reilly smiles at me, "If what I read back then is true, you helped him a great deal. I believe he must have been suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, and there's no way he could have come through that without any help." Fuck, I so hope she's right. There were days when I was sure that I was only making things worse for Justin, but in the long run... And then she asks the question I was just waiting for. "Am I right assuming that you never talked about the bashing?" Fuck. There was a reason why I never wanted to go to a shrink. They can read minds. Then again... I smirk because she's wrong this time – we have had a <i>charming</i> little conversation about the Prom and stuff. Actually, we've had two. Justin had insisted on another discussion on Friday, cause he wanted to see if he remembered everything correctly. And I knew I was done for when he said that it really had been <i>ridiculously romantic</i>. But even though he'll use that particular phrase to tease and torture me forever now, I'm <i>so</i> glad that he has his memories back.

The doctor looks at me in a funny way, and I realise that I've yet to answer her. "You may think it was too late, but we <i>did</i> talk about it. It was one of the first things we discussed after he came back." Shit. If it hadn't been for Mikey, I'd be alone now. Justin said he'd gone blind during his <i>romance phase</i>, but so have I. How could I think he'd be better off with Paganini Junior? 'Well, you were a fool, Kinney.' Oh do shut up! "Justin... I don't think either of us could have handled that conversation right after the bashing. And later on... It was so much easier to pretend everything was fine. I don't think I realised something was wrong until it was almost too late. He'd convinced himself that he was pretty much worthless, and that I could never ever love him. He'd met <i>Ian</i> – I mean Ethan – and I nearly lost him." But I haven't. And now I'm probably stuck with the little shit for the rest of my life – and funny enough I'm almost thrilled at the prospect of growing old with him. Fuck! "A friend of ours intervened, and we finally started communicating..."

She nods and smiles, "Well, the important thing is that you don't stop again. Whenever something bothers you, you have to address it. Don't let it fester." Okay, so I'm paying $150 per hour for that intelligent assessment? I fucking don't think so! "Though I believe you already know that." You're damn right, I do! "Well, since I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Mr Taylor yet, I can only make assumptions here. However, I'm usually right." She winks at me, and I'm reminded of her dearest husband. "Just like you still feel <i>somewhat</i> responsible for what happened at your partner's Prom, he must feel guilty for the shooting. In both cases these feelings are completely uncalled for."

I gaze at her doubtingly. If I hadn't come to the fucking Prom, Hobbs wouldn't... 'Wait. Stop right there, Kinney. Justin would rip off your balls if he knew you were still going on about that. He is convinced that it wasn't your fault.' Just like I know Justin can't be blamed for the fucking fiddler shooting me. Okay, I think we are making progress here. "Mr Kinney, contrary to your beliefs, we have little influence on what others do. If you want my personal opinion – Mr Hobbs was a homophobic asshole, just like that idiot of a judge. And Mr Gold can't deal with rejection." I swear I'm staring at her with my mouth hanging open. She chuckles. "Now, usually I would suggest some professional counselling –  conducted by me, of course. However, in this special case I believe the two of you can, and should, work this out on your own – without the <i>help</i> of a therapist. All you have to do is talk. Have faith in him – I'm sure he won't disappoint you."

Why do I suddenly feel like she's not only referring to the Prom and the <i>Ian</i> shit? And everything in between like the fucking hustler I gave Justin for his birthday. That was utterly fucked, and I know it. 'Should have gone for the flowers after all, right, Kinney?' Well, yeah, I should have. It wouldn't have hurt to say the least, and Justin would have been happy – I think. Now there's an idea... "Let me give you the number of my cell. Don't hesitate to call whenever you need assistance." She smiles again. "If only half of what my husband's been telling me is true, you have something really special there. Hold on to it, no matter how hard it gets. It'll be worth it in the long run." Shit, she's right. And if that thought alone isn't scary enough, it's that I intend to heed her words. I'm a fucking breeder, and tomorrow Justin and I are going to pick out curtains... Fucking <i>not</i> going to happen! We'll just go on our <i>honeymoon</i>. Oh shit!

---

Justin

I'm still pissed when I reach the diner. What the fuck is he up to? Why wouldn't he let me come with him to his x-ray? Shit. Well, if something is really wrong with him and he doesn't want me to know it – fine! Be that way, Kinney! If he wants to go back to 'I don't need anyone or anything' so be it. Fucking asshole. Okay, okay. I know there's a fat chance of that happening. But I'm still furious with him. What happened to 'in sickness and in health'? Oh right. He never said anything of that sort. "Fuck it! For better for worse, I fucking love you, Brian Kinney. And I won't let you push me away again." Great. Now the people I just passed think I'm a complete loony. Thanks Brian!

As soon as I enter the lively diner, all I want to do is turn on my heels and run for cover. "Sunshine! Get your ass over here. <i>Now!</i>" Uh-oh. Debbie seems pretty annoyed, and it only takes me a moment to figure out why. Fuck you, Mikey! I sigh, resigned and ready to accept my punishment. She draws me into one of her bone-breaking hugs, then pinches my cheek. "What the fuck did the two of you think you were doing?" Oh yes. Ben can already call a coroner, because Michael's dead. Between Brian and I, we're going to find a really gruesome way to kill him. No wait. I'm still angry with Brian. "Getting married without telling anyone. If it hadn't been for Michael, we still wouldn't know, would we? When were you planning on telling us?" Um, well... Bri and I haven't exactly discussed that yet.

And anyway... "Deb, we're not married," I raise my left hand, "or do you see a ring? All we did was sign some stupid and pretty boring papers. That's all." Okay, that's a fucking understatement because it was huge, especially for Mr <i>I-don't-do-this-relationship-crap</i>. I guess you could call us 'married' now cause we are – in a manner of speaking. But I'm not going to tell Deb... "There were no stupid vows, no priest, no rings – only papers. Okay? And if you don't believe me, ask Mel." Deb is arching an eyebrow... Jesus fucking Christ. "Trust me, if we ever have a ceremony of some sort, you'll be one of the first to know." That seems to appease her, sort of... She's pinching my cheek again, and it fucking hurts. I almost feel sorry for Mikey, who's to endure his mother's signs of <i>affection</i> all the time. But since I'm royally pissed at him... And then she smiles and pushes me into an empty booth.

"So tell me, Sunshine. What are you doing here on a Monday morning? Shouldn't you be at work?" Yeah, I guess I should be. But Brian – the fucker – had made some cryptic remarks, and then Cynthia had called to tell me that I should stay at home and get better. So the asshole had called in, telling them that I was sick. Fuck! He's so going to pay for that. Anyway, I just shake my head at Debbie and mumble something about 'Brian' and 'sick leave'. Deb smiles. "He's just looking after you, Sunshine. He was fucking terrified when you dropped to the ground in front of us. You know how much he hates being unable to help someone he loves. And he loves you. He really does. I mean, of course he does. He told you, didn't he? And now he even committed to you, and I never thought I'd see the day..." She rambles on in that fashion, and I'm fucking relieved when my cell rings and Linz wants me to come over. Thank God for small mercies.

At first I'm trying to tell her that I have to go home so that I'm around when Brian gets back. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, I so will! We are fucking <i>partners</i>, and he should start treating me that way. Fuck him! But she's having none of that. "It's really important, Justin... Please?" And then I hear Gus in the background, echoing his mother's request. "Jussie ... pweeease," and that does it. I manage to stop Deb in mid-sentence – I think she was still babbling while I was talking to Lindsay, and I'm wondering if she ever needs to breathe. I'm ordering some food to go – a house salad and tuna sandwich for me, and the usual turkey sandwich – on wholegrain, no mayo – for Brian. Gee, why do I even bother. The asshole doesn't deserve it. Damn WASP upbringing! And damn love, too!

When I finally get to the Munchers' house, the great emergency turns out to be a fucking signature that gallery owner needs for his show. Wait a sec... That means I'm in, doesn't it? Linz grins. "Told you so, didn't I? He's absolutely in love with your art." I'm sitting there, stunned. I'm in a show – a real show. Not like the one at the GLC. Brian will be so happy – beneath his mask of indifference, of course. Wouldn't do to show his partner that he's proud. I might think he actually <i>loves</i> me. No, wait. I already know that. And suddenly all my anger evaporates, and I'm fishing out my cell to call him. But all I get is the fucking mailbox. So I leave him a message, and after I switch my phone shut, Lindsay whispers, "Actually, he already knows." What the fuck! "He called me about an hour ago..." I beg your pardon! "Shit, I shouldn't have said that... He'll be so... Justin, I know he's planning something, but please, don't give me away... Please?"

So that's what this is all about. The fucking asshole is planning something – for me, for <i>us</i>. I grin at Linz and promise not to tell. And I just can't wait to get home to see what he's been up to this time, because there's been so many surprises lately that I don't know how much more I can take before exploding with happiness. He's doing everything in perfect <i>Brian Kinney fashion</i>, and now that he's finally admitted that he wants me in his life, for good, he really acts the part. First there was the tricking-stuff, then the internship, the bracelet, and now we're real equals... I should be scared of this happening so fast. But what the fuck. It's been two fucking years ... well, okay, one and a half. But still. I had already wormed my way into Brian's life, and all he had to do now was acknowledge it. Gods, I'm rambling just like Debbie. Maybe Bri is right, and it's bad to spend too much time around women... I give Linz one of my big smiles – my <i>Sunshine smiles</i> as Brian calls them – and she smiles back and then... "By the way... How did Brian like his birthday present?" Ever the nosy...

"I think he really liked it." Well, actually he was moved to tears. But somehow I think Brian wouldn't appreciate me telling Linz about <i>that</i>. Before she can question me any further, Gus saves me. "Jussie ... pway!" he demands, and both Linz and I start to chuckle. So I get down on the floor with Brian's 'sonny boy' and play 'trucks' with him. He's giggling and joking and singing the whole time, and fuck, he reminds me so much of his father. Like he's a smaller version of Brian, and I want to protect him from the big bad world outside.

"Maybe you could take him for a weekend after Brian's all set again? I'm sure Gus would love to have some 'boy-time'. He's always cheering when either you or Brian show up..." She smiles again, and I just nod. "You've become a second father to him..." Um, that's great. I just hope Bri won't mind. "It's always 'Dada and Jussie' with him."

Gus echoes, "Dada and Jussie." Then he asks, "Where Dada?" I chuckle and begin to tickle him. He falls over and twitches beneath my hands, and I'm ruthless. He's giggling madly, but eventually he's had enough and screeches, "Jussie, stop!" I cuddle him close and he asks again, "Where Dada?"

I growl at him in mock anger, "So I'm not enough for you, am I? I'll remember that, Gus." He grins at me and pinches my nose. "Your daddy is very busy currently, but as soon as I'm able, I'm going to drag him here to visit you." He grins from ear to ear. "And then we'll take you to the park or the zoo, and you can tell him that he has to come more often to see you because you miss him." He nods emphatically.

"One day, you're going to make a great dad, Justin." I hadn't realised that Mel had come home, but now she stands in the doorway, exchanging looks with Linz. Uh-oh, the Munchers are scheming again, and I'm out of here. I make a hasty retreat ... if hugging Gus for about five minutes and then kissing both Linz and Mel on the cheek can be called 'hasty'. Before I'm out of the door, Mel yells after me. "Justin, tell that loser Kinney that the paperwork went through. So ... if you find him standing on a cliff, do push him off. You won't regret it. I've seen the will..." She smirks and winks, and I hug her again and thank her for her help.

At long last I'm getting back to the loft, and Brian's already there – in his hands a fucking bouquet of roses. What the fuck is going on now? "Something went totally and utterly wrong with the delivery. Actually, you were meant to get these for your birthday, but your first show seems like a good reason as well." I launch myself into his arms, and kiss him – hard. He's still smirking when I draw back. "Fucking delivery service, have to do everything myself if I want to get things done the right way."

I bump my forehead into his and whisper, "You..." I don't have to add anything else – he knows he's an asshole. Then I add, just because. "I'm so onto you, Mr Kinney." I grab my flowers before he can grab <i>me</i> and put them into a vase. "So what do you think? My art ... in a real show." He comes up behind me, and then his arms are around my waist. Gods, I love it when he does that. I feel so save in his arms. I sigh and lean back against him.

"Well, why do you think I'm keeping you? One day I'm going to stop working and let <i>you</i> bring the money in..." I feel him grin against my neck, and then he breathes into my ear. Shit. My cock is getting hard, and he knows it. "Now, why don't we go up to the bedroom and..." oh yes, that's a brilliant idea, stellar really, "<i>pack</i>." What did he say? It didn't sound like 'fuck'. More like 'pack'... I turn in his embrace and look at him as if he's lost his mind. He grins, tongue in cheek. "Get your ass in gear, Taylor. You heard me. We need to go and pack."

---

Brian

Both our bags are ready for tomorrow, and he's still staring at me as if I'd grown another head. Well, here goes nothing. "I do assume that you have a passport, don't you?" He frowns, and I feel my heart sink. Shit, I should have asked Jen or something. Fuck it.

"What would I need a passport for, huh?" He's looking down at his hands, like they are suddenly the most interesting thing in the whole wide world. Damn it, Justin. You can't do that to me.

I sigh, "Well, what do you think those bags are for?" He shrugs. Little shit. "We are going away for a few days. We need some time alone, I think. And anyway, since we are, well, <i>married</i> now, we should go on our <i>honeymoon</i>, shouldn't we?" He turns around and trots down the steps. Shit. Maybe I can change the reservations... And then he's back, and his big eyes are so sad. Or rather ... the little fucker is suddenly grinning and waves his fucking passport in front of my face.

"I'm a country club boy, remember? I've been travelling the world before I could walk." I reach out to grab him, but he evades me. "So where are we going?" Shit. He's beginning to bounce like Emmett again. Fuck! "Come on, tell me, Bri! Where are we going?" I reach for him once more, and this time he comes to me willingly. I whisper into his ear, and his eyes are growing large. "Really?" I nod. "Oh wow, Brian. That's like so <i>cool</i>. I always wanted to go, but never got round to it. There are so many great museums we can visit, I mean..." He goes on, completely oblivious of me now, and I'm seriously asking myself if that was such a brilliant idea after all. I'm going to go crazy with all the artsy things he'll want to do. And when we get back, I'll probably be allergic to the word 'museum', never mind the actual thing.

The things we do for love. Urg. I'm going to make myself sick one of these days. What happened to Brian Kinney, who said that he didn't believe in love, only in fucking? Oh yeah, I know. Some blond twink came along and he became Brian Kinney, the loving husband. I don't think so. We are going to hit the bars no matter how many museums we visit during the day. We are going to take part in the nightlife, oh yes. Now I'm only hoping that those fuckers at Allegheny make true of their word and get the fucking test results to me before we have to leave tomorrow morning. What was that again? The things we do for love? Well, sounds about right. Damn it!