Familiarity by TrueIllusion
FeatureSummary:

Brian asked Justin a very important question when the "Changed" series concluded. What will his answer be? Where will they go from here?


Categories: FEATURED STORY, QAF-U.S. FICTION, Angst, Angst With a Happy Ending, Brian/Justin, Canon, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Post-513 Fic, Real Life Issues Characters: Brian, Justin
Challenges: None
Series: The Changed Series, Stories from the "Changed" Verse
Chapters: 30 Completed: Yes Word count: 263228 Read: 149583 Published: October 22, 2018 Updated: March 17, 2019
Story Notes:

If you haven't read the "Changed" series yet, you'll probably want to start with that one. Otherwise, you might be very lost when certain details pop up here.

1. Familiarity by TrueIllusion

2. Beautiful by TrueIllusion

3. Moving On by TrueIllusion

4. Upside Down by TrueIllusion

5. Strong Enough by TrueIllusion

6. Post Trauma by TrueIllusion

7. Take Care by TrueIllusion

8. Alone by TrueIllusion

9. Danger by TrueIllusion

10. Pain Management by TrueIllusion

11. Sleep by TrueIllusion

12. Relief by TrueIllusion

13. Friendship by TrueIllusion

14. Frustration by TrueIllusion

15. Rehabilitation by TrueIllusion

16. Home by TrueIllusion

17. Memories by TrueIllusion

18. Breathe by TrueIllusion

19. Family by TrueIllusion

20. Adaptation by TrueIllusion

21. Stress Response by TrueIllusion

22. Emergency by TrueIllusion

23. Wake Up Call by TrueIllusion

24. Fighting to Let Go by TrueIllusion

25. Release by TrueIllusion

26. Rebirth by TrueIllusion

27. Reinvention by TrueIllusion

28. Renewal, Part One: Past, Present, and Future by TrueIllusion

29. Renewal, Part Two: Second Chances by TrueIllusion

30. Renewal, Part Three: Beauty in the Aftermath by TrueIllusion

Familiarity by TrueIllusion

Brian and Justin were inextricably connected -- they each understood what it was like to have everything you knew, everything that was familiar, snatched away in an instant. And they each knew what it was like to work your way through the tragedy and the trauma, and all of the progress and all of the backsliding and the victories and the frustrations, and come out on the other side. To have to accept what was, because you didn’t have a choice. To come out a different version of yourself, but one that was still, at its core, the person you’d always been, only made better thanks to the benefit of perspective.

They’d always be united. They’d never needed rings or vows to prove that they loved each other. But there was still something to be said for making it official.

“How about marrying me?”

*****

“Yes,” Justin said, knowing that his complete and total elation was clear on his face and in his smile. He placed a hand on each side of Brian’s face and captured his lover’s lips in a passionate kiss. “God, yes. Can we do it, like, yesterday?”

Brian laughed. “I can see that I had no reason to be nervous, then.”

“Why the fuck would you be nervous? Were you afraid I’d say no?”

“Well, I am the worst candidate ever for marriage,” Brian said as he interlaced his fingers with Justin’s once again and pressed their palms together.

“You aren’t that person anymore, Brian.”

“What? Young, hot and not ready to settle down? Now I’m old and saggy and I better get myself married off before it gets any worse?” Brian had a teasing grin on his face.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’re so old and saggy.” Justin rolled his eyes and traced a finger across Brian’s chest, where the powerful muscles of his upper body were prominent. “More like strong and sexy.”

“Sure, until you look down.” Brian cast his eyes down briefly in the direction of his legs, which were a stark contrast to his strong upper body.

“Then don’t look down.” Justin pressed his lips to Brian’s again, pushing his gaze back upward. “So, if we can’t do it yesterday, then how about tomorrow?”

“What about all of those grand plans you had last time? Golden gardenias and shit? I thought you wanted the princess wedding of your dreams. Anyway, what’s your hurry? Afraid I’m going to run off with someone? I’m not sure anyone else is going to want my crippled ass.”

“Hey...” Justin knitted his brows together and tried to read Brian’s expression. Even though Brian was kidding, Justin could tell there was a note of seriousness there. And given that today was the anniversary of Brian’s accident, it was understandable that he was feeling a bit melancholy about it, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear him call himself a cripple. “Don’t talk about my boyfriend that way. No, wait, my fiance.”

Brian sighed and rolled over onto his back. Justin pulled himself in closer and laid his arm over Brian’s chest, then laid his head on Brian’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Justin asked.

“Yeah… it just kind of... hits me sometimes. It’s weird. I’ll be completely fine, it’s all good, and I feel all fully realized or whatever-the-fuck. Then I look at my body, and I feel like I don’t recognize this person. Or I see my wheelchair out of the corner of my eye when I’m lying in bed and I have this thought like, ‘Oh, whose is that?’ Then I remember it’s mine. That if I want to get out of bed in the morning, it has to be there.”

“I feel the same way when all I want to do is finish a sketch, but my hand has other ideas. Like I should be able to do it, no problem...but, oh yeah, my hand doesn’t work right anymore. Sometimes it’s kind of nice to forget, though. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Yeah… I guess so.” Brian’s voice was suddenly quiet. Pensive. Like he was a million miles away.

Justin leaned up and kissed Brian’s cheek. “I love you,” he said. “All of you. Even the parts that remind you of things you don’t want to remember.”

Slowly, he started kissing his way down Brian’s jawline with small, tender movements. He noticed how Brian leaned into the touch and allowed his eyes to close. The first time he’d done this, when he and Brian were only beginning to reunite last December, he hadn’t really thought about what he was doing. He did it because it felt natural, and then he kept going, because Brian seemed to like it. That night had been their first foray into experimentation with what sex would be like for both of them now -- not just for Brian. They were in this together.

Running his tongue down the side of Brian’s neck, over his shoulder, and down his chest made the older man shudder, but not in a bad way. Brian’s nipples were more sensitive now than they ever had been before -- nerves creating new pathways to gratification, apparently -- and gave Justin something he could work with to prolong the pleasure by teasing Brian. He could lick and squeeze and pinch and then move along to something else, leading Brian to try to redirect his actions back to where they gave him a more intense sensation.

But Brian’s most sensitive spot was the line just below his navel, where he went from feeling everything normally to feeling nothing at all. The area in between seemed to be a place where the nerves were noticing every little thing -- every touch, every caress, every change in pressure and temperature -- and responding by sending frantic messages back to Brian’s brain. Brian had told him that being touched there felt different, like the message was being relayed in a different way than it had been before the accident. Sometimes it was so sensitive that Brian didn’t like to be touched there, because the sensation was too intense. But most of the time, he liked it, and would use his own hands to direct Justin’s and make it as pleasurable as possible.

Justin would watch as Brian’s breathing changed, gradually speeding up until it approached a pant. How Brian’s hands moving against Justin would become more frantic -- his fingers scrabbling for purchase on Justin’s body. Gripping him tightly. Digging into his sides and his back.

Sometimes they’d use a shot to give Brian an erection that would last a while, but other times, they’d go with the reflex erection, and gamble to see how long it would last. Justin didn’t really care if his own orgasm came from penetration or touch -- both were amazing to him, because he was with Brian. That was all that mattered to him.

Tonight, they would take the gamble.

Justin made sure to keep up his ministrations in the area where Brian could feel his touch, then moved one hand downward to Brian’s cock, touching it with gentle strokes until it started to respond, while Brian started preparing him with his fingers. This was one time when Brian seemed to like looking down, so he could see what Justin was doing. Drawing pleasure from the visual, for what he couldn’t from sensation alone. Once Brian was hard, Justin moved on top of him, getting himself into position to ride him, while still leaving himself able to kiss and tease and touch so that Brian was getting as much out of it as he was.

He moved himself against Brian until he could feel his lover’s erection beginning to flag, then seamlessly transitioned to focusing on the movement of Brian’s hands touching his cock, continuing the slow build of his orgasm. He noticed that Brian’s breathing and movements were building to a crescendo of their own. Justin was trying to relish the pleasure of how it felt to have Brian caressing his body, but it wasn’t long until Justin could no longer hold back, and he came with a gasp and a shout, collapsing on top of Brian.

Over the past several months, Justin had essentially been playing the part of both spectator and teammate, watching and helping Brian explore his “new” body. Watching as Brian let go of inhibitions and expectations -- and the self-consciousness that came with them -- and started to open up to new experiences. Experiences that were different from before, but that could still be really good.

He’d noticed that Brian now seemed to have a more distinct peak when they’d have sex. It wasn’t like what it was before -- there was no sudden burst of release and spasm, then collapsing into the bed, completely spent. Instead, it was subtle -- a shift in Brian’s breathing, in the noises he made, in the way he moved his head, and the way he moved his hands along Justin’s body -- but it was there. Justin wondered what Brian was experiencing there -- if it felt like an orgasm, where your senses seem to suddenly fall away, replaced with intense white-hot pleasure, or if it was something else entirely. But he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to intrude, or make Brian feel like he was giving him some kind of a measuring stick to compare himself to. It was what it was, and all that mattered was that they were able to connect with each other in an intimate way, and they both seemed to enjoy it.

Fuck convention. Fuck normal. Fuck the before and the after. All there was, was the here and now. This was what was. Brian was living. Moving on. Becoming this new version of himself. Blossoming, transitioning... almost like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. Fully embracing the present moment, and letting go of the ghosts of the past.

Justin knew what it was like to have relearn one’s body. To have to create new pathways to achieve the same thing -- something you desperately wanted, a connection to your past. It was exactly what he’d gone through when he’d been in rehab, relearning how to use his right hand. He clearly remembered what his hand had felt like when he first awoke from the coma. It had felt odd -- sort of like it wasn’t quite there. The sensation wasn’t completely gone, but it was muted, and some of it had been replaced with a strange pins-and-needles feeling. He’d tried to move it, to flex his fingers, which had lain curled on the mattress, but his fingers didn’t respond. The message didn’t arrive, because the connection between his brain and his hand was jumbled. Not severed, just...not following the path it should have been.

He also knew that Brian’s experience was different. In a way, Brian’s mind had been separated from the lower half of his body. It was as if there had been an impenetrable brick wall erected just below his waist, and nothing could get through in either direction. The lower half was just existing. You could touch it, and it was there, but unless Brian was looking at you, he’d never know you were doing it. It wasn’t completely useless, however, because the weight of his lower body provided an important counterbalance that allowed him to sit up without a struggle, and to lean over in his wheelchair to pick something up off the floor without falling out on his head.

Justin was learning more about what Brian could and couldn’t do. What muscles worked and which ones didn’t anymore. What he could feel and what he couldn’t. What felt good and what just felt...strange. He’d become very attuned to watching how Brian did things -- the small adaptations he’d make in order to make things easier for himself. How he’d keep one hand on the wheel of his chair when he leaned over, because it helped him keep his balance and gave him leverage to pull himself back up if he needed it. How he’d use his arms to help himself sit up, until he got far enough that his abdominal muscles were taking over from the hip flexors he couldn’t control. Justin wondered if these were things Brian even thought about anymore -- if they came from conscious thought, or if they were now just something he did. Unconscious actions, as natural as breathing.

Even though their experiences were different, Justin knew he could still relate to what Brian had been through and was continuing to go through. And probably would for the rest of his life. Even five years later, Justin was still learning new things about himself and his own capabilities. Like how it was easier to hold a paintbrush than it was to hold a pencil, because he didn’t have to hold it as tightly, and if he held it a certain way, he could paint for even longer. Why he could draw for much longer on his computer, using the stylus, than he could on paper, because he didn’t need as much fine motor control. The key was accepting those things without judging them. And sometimes that was a tall order.

Over the past six months, he’d watched Brian go through much of the same thing -- learning, accepting, and letting go of the judgment. He watched his own experience after the bashing be echoed in Brian’s recovery from spinal cord injury. But every time he tried to tell Brian that he knew where he was coming from, it seemed like Brian didn’t believe him. It was as if he thought their experiences were too different, and Justin wasn’t sure why. If Brian thought it was different because they were talking about Justin’s right hand, versus fifty percent of Brian’s body, or because Justin had some use of his hand, while Brian had no use of his lower extremities. But for Justin, it wasn’t about capability at all -- it was about the mental aspect of wrapping your brain around the fact that your life was going to be different from now on, in a way you hadn’t expected.

There were many parallels and similar experiences, even though the basis was different. Justin remembered how embarrassed he’d been when he returned to work at the diner a few months after the bashing, and sometimes his hand would just stop working. He’d spill a glass of water all over someone, or slosh more coffee on the counter than went into the cup, or send dishes crashing to the floor when his hand suddenly shook and let go while he was clearing a table. He needed to learn where his limits were, and the only way to do that was to push them.

The same was true for Brian. He had to learn how hard he could push himself, and what was too far. He’d told Justin stories of what it was like to relearn how to take care of his basic body functions, and how screwing that up -- pushing too hard -- could lead to an embarrassing situation. He was lucky enough to be able to feel when he needed to go, but if he didn’t take action quickly, the results would not be good. And the sensation wasn’t usually strong enough to wake him when he was asleep, so he depended on keeping a fairly rigid routine of how much he ate and drank and when, to avoid having problems.

Brian would also often push himself too hard by staying in his wheelchair for too long, either because he got so absorbed in his work that he lost track of time, or because he simply didn’t want to admit that sometimes he needed to take a break and get horizontal for a while. Either way, he’d be rewarded with swollen feet and increased spasticity, and on rare occasions, a return of the neuropathic pain he’d struggled with more at the beginning of his journey, that had mostly faded as time had gone on. Or he would push himself to the point of exhaustion and physical pain by trying to pretend that he could still spend the entire day rushing around from one meeting or appointment to another, without accounting for the fact that he was now depending on his upper body exclusively to move around, which took a lot more energy, and that he now had a shit ton of hardware in his back that would cause him pain if he wasn’t mindful of how he moved and how he sat.

Brian had just as hard of a time accepting that there were going to be some things he’d have to do differently now, as Justin had accepting that his hand was never going to be the same again. But Justin still wasn’t sure what to do to show Brian that he understood more than Brian thought he did.

Justin had noticed that Brian had been doing a lot better since he’d started seeing Rochelle, a therapist he’d been referred to by someone he’d worked with during his time in rehab. It sounded like she asked him tough questions, and she didn’t mince words or hold back, or treat Brian any differently because he was in a wheelchair. Instead, she’d made Brian finally realize how he was holding himself back. Justin had tried to make Brian see that, but in the end, it was Rochelle who truly seemed to get through to him.

Brian seemed to be a lot happier now, and that made Justin happy.

Even happier, now that Brian had asked Justin to marry him, again.

Neither of them knew if going through with the wedding the first time would have been a mistake, but that was water under the bridge. No point dwelling on it, because it wouldn’t change anything. They were both completely different people now, as a result of the things that had happened between their canceled wedding and now. But they’d found their way back to each other.

Justin felt practically giddy with anticipation of marrying Brian -- of finally getting what he’d wanted for so long. They’d taken a long and winding road to get here, but it felt like they’d finally arrived.

The next morning, the first thing he wanted to talk about was the wedding, even though he knew talking to Brian about much of anything before he’d had coffee generally wasn’t a great idea. Justin was the first one out of bed, which was rare, and ended up spending some time in the office working on some drawings for Rage. Almost an hour had passed before he heard Brian get up. He guessed that the travel and the jam-packed schedule of the previous week -- which they’d spent in Pittsburgh -- had taken its toll. Again, that was Brian pushing himself too hard. But Justin knew better than to say anything about it. He’d just keep his mouth shut and try to ignore Brian when he was grouchy because he was tired or in pain.

Brian wouldn’t have listened, anyway. He wouldn’t be Brian Kinney if he wasn’t stubborn. Both of them were stubborn, really. And sometimes that got them in trouble, because once they got something in their minds, neither of them was willing to budge or compromise. Their stubbornness had come between them more than once, when their desires were headed in two totally opposite directions. Justin was thankful that now, it seemed like he and Brian both wanted the same things.

When Brian finally came out of the bedroom, Justin had moved into the dining room and was drinking a cup of coffee and leafing through an art magazine, although he wasn’t really seeing the contents of the magazine -- his mind was focused on wedding planning. And it was immediately very clear when Brian came into the room that today was definitely not going to be a day when Justin wanted to talk to Brian before he’d had coffee. Maybe not for another hour or so after coffee, honestly. Brian’s hair was still wet from the shower and sticking up in every direction, he was wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hadn’t bothered to put socks on, and he looked exhausted, even though he’d just slept for 8 hours. Yes, the trip to the Pitts had definitely taken its toll.

Something else Justin had become attuned to over the past few months was how to read whether or not Brian was hurting, because he’d almost never say anything about it. He’d just keep pushing until he couldn’t take it anymore, and sometimes even past that point. Again, stubborn.

It took Justin less than two seconds of watching Brian’s stiff, slow movements to see that his partner was in pain. He didn’t even make his usual cut through the kitchen for coffee, instead coming straight over to the table.

“What the fuck did we do last night?” Brian groaned.

“I think it has less to do with what we did last night and more with what you did all last week, which was work yourself to the bone.”

“I should have just gone back to bed.” Brian put his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, letting his eyes close briefly.

“Well, why don’t you?”

“Work.”

Of course. Brian the workaholic, always thinking about how to get ahead, even when he was too tired to hold his head up. This vaguely reminded Justin of Brian’s battle with testicular cancer -- or, more accurately, his battle with radiation side effects -- during most of which he’d insisted upon going to work instead of staying home and resting.

“Take the day off, then,” Justin said, fully anticipating that Brian would argue. “Take care of you today, instead of everybody else. You’ve worked a lot this week. It’s Friday -- take a long weekend.”

“Maybe. I already had to take a painkiller, so I’ll probably be falling asleep on my desk in an hour or so, anyhow.”

“Then you should probably just sleep in the bed.”

Justin was a little surprised that Brian was giving in so quickly, but that was a pretty good indication that he felt really bad, and he needed to rest today, or he’d really be paying the price later. Justin hoped he could get Brian to listen to his body.

The day before had been an unusually long travel day, due to a canceled flight and trying to get rebooked onto an oversold one. Because it was oversold, they couldn't get their pick of seats, and the gate agent didn't seem to understand Brian’s pleas for a bulkhead seat in the first row of the plane. They'd ended up farther back, necessitating the use of the aisle chair to get Brian on the plane. Justin could tell he was pissed, and it seemed to shift into embarrassment and self consciousness when the time came to actually board. Brian had refused to let anyone help him, even Justin, and had physically swatted the flight attendant’s hand away when she started buckling him in with the five-point harness attached to the chair.

“Don’t hit her, Brian,” Justin had said. “She’s trying to help.”

Brian had glared at him, making Justin wish he hadn’t said anything at all.

“I don’t need her help,” Brian had grumbled, under his breath. He did manage to get the thing on and buckled by himself, even though his legs kept trying to flop out to the sides, no matter how many times he physically pushed them back together. Justin could tell in that moment that Brian was getting really frustrated, but he kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself. He’d realized earlier that morning that this was the one year anniversary of Brian’s accident, and he wondered if that was what was putting Brian in a bit of a raw mood, particularly when it came to all things paralysis-related.

“I feel like a fucking refrigerator strapped to a goddamn dolly,” Brian had groused as they moved down the aisle. He was holding his knees together with his hands, the cushion from his wheelchair sitting in his lap. They’d had to part ways with Brian’s chair at the end of the jetway, where Brian folded the back down and made sure the brakes were locked so it wouldn’t be rolling around in the cargo hold, then passed it off to the gate agent, muttering that they’d better not break anything.

When they arrived at their seats, Brian practically threw his cushion into the seat, which was the aisle seat in a row of three. They’d been unable to get him a window seat so no one would have to climb over him, so the window seat in their row belonged to a stranger. He transferred to the aisle seat and sent the flight attendant away without a word. Justin stowed the carry-on they were sharing in the overhead compartment and took the middle seat, carefully climbing over Brian’s legs. He’d pulled them back as much as he could. But Brian was tall and this was coach, so there wasn’t much space.

Since they’d boarded the plane first, they had a couple of minutes alone before anyone else got on the plane.

“I fucking hate that,” Brian said as Justin was shoving his messenger bag under the seat in front of him.

“I know.” Justin sat up and laid his hand on Brian’s thigh in a sort of automatic gesture of comfort or solidarity, not even thinking of the fact that Brian couldn’t feel it. He could see it, though, and Justin guessed that was what mattered. He had wanted to tell Brian that there was no need to be embarrassed; that no one had been watching except him, and he certainly wasn’t judging. But he didn’t guess it really mattered. Brian felt that way because he didn’t like needing help or drawing that kind of attention to his disability, even with as far as he’d come toward accepting everything in the past couple of months. Brian was very independent, and he liked to stay that way at all times. He also didn’t like his paraplegia to be the focal point, and it very much had been during the process of boarding the plane.

“I guess we don’t get drink service back here in coach while everyone else boards, huh?”

“No, probably not,” Justin laughed.

“We should. I bought a fucking first class ticket on the flight that they canceled. It’s not my fault that first class was already full on this flight. Why the fuck did they cancel the flight when this one was already oversold anyway? Who the hell wants to be stuck in the Pitts?”

Yeah, Brian was definitely in a bad mood.

Justin knew they were lucky that they were able to get rebooked on this flight. There had been a long line of irritated people at the service counter at the gate trying to rebook, and Justin had a feeling that Brian’s frequent flyer status was the only reason they were able to get seats on this flight instead of spending another night in Pittsburgh. Although Brian hadn’t been doing much flying in the past year because he didn’t like the added inconveniences that using a wheelchair created, so he did a lot more teleconferencing now. He still had the status, though, because he’d once done quite a bit of business travel when he worked for VanGard and when he’d first started Kinnetik. The experience they’d just been through while boarding the plane was one of the things Brian had been cagey about the first time he’d visited Justin in New York. He’d refused to talk about how the flight went, instead choosing to focus on Justin. Now, Justin saw why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

It took forever for everyone else to board, which meant a very long time of sitting and waiting. When the person who had the window seat in their aisle got to them, he looked positively annoyed at the fact that there were two people already in his row. He bumped his suitcase hard against Brian’s knee as he hoisted it overhead to put it in the overhead compartment, then stood there, seemingly waiting for the two of them to get up and come into the aisle so he could pass through. Justin did stand up and move into the aisle, and Brian tried to shift his legs out into the aisle to make more room for the man to pass through. The man gave Brian an irritated look, then stepped over him to come into the row and take his seat. Justin hoped and prayed that the man would be staying put for the rest of the flight, and wouldn’t be trying to get up and down to get things out of his luggage or go to the restroom.

“This is why I bought a fucking seat in first class,” Brian muttered, so low that Justin hoped he was the only one who heard it.

“It’s okay,” Justin whispered back. “We’re all in now, hopefully we’re good. We’ll be home soon.” Justin knew this was probably a difficult day for Brian, and he likely had a lot on his mind. He was sure that the added stress of trying to get home wasn’t helping. Justin was looking forward to being back in their apartment, and hoping they’d have some time to unwind together on the couch tonight. Maybe watch a movie or have a drink, and just relax.

But soon, twenty more minutes had passed and they were still sitting at the gate.

“I should have fucking gone to the bathroom again before we boarded,” Brian said as he pushed down on the armrests and shifted his weight a little.

“Do you want me to go get someone?” Justin had no idea what they’d be able to do, but he’d figure it out.

“No, I’ll be okay.”

“Brian--”

“I said I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Justin acquiesced, not wanting to push the issue. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He laced his fingers through Brian’s and snuggled up against his shoulder. He could see the man they were sharing a row with out of the corner of his eye, giving them a strange look. So this guy was going to be one of those types. Perhaps they could give him a bit of a show. Justin knew Brian would be all for that -- he loved pissing off homophobic heteros, and making them squirm. And maybe it would help shift Brian’s mood a little.

So Justin reached up with his other hand to turn Brian’s head to face him, and kissed him. There was probably a little more tongue involved than was appropriate on an airplane, but Justin didn’t really care.

“What was that for?” Brian asked, raising his eyebrow as Justin pulled away.

“Just because I love you.”

Brian smiled and leaned his head back against the seat. The stranger on Justin’s other side seemed to be glaring at them furtively. Mission accomplished: Brian was happier and the jerk they were forced to share a row with was a little bit pissed off.

They made it through the flight without incident, although Brian stayed fairly quiet and seemed to be a little uncomfortable. They landed in New York around 6:30, then had to wait for everyone else to deplane, including the asshole they were sharing their row with, before they could get off. But eventually, they made it off the plane and retrieved Brian’s chair at the bottom of the jetway. Thankfully, it was already there waiting for them, speeding along what had already been a very lengthy process. The first place Brian went as soon as they were in the terminal was the restroom. Justin went also, then waited outside for Brian to take care of whatever he needed to do. Then they had to go retrieve their suitcases from baggage claim, since Brian had taken way too many clothes for a week in the Pitts. Sometimes Justin had to laugh to himself at how much thought Brian gave to his appearance, even now that he was no longer actively trying to maintain his status as some sort of gay super stud.

Two hours later, they finally made it back to their apartment in Chelsea. Justin was exhausted, and he was sure Brian was as well. Probably even more so. A particularly active day seemed to consume a lot more energy for Brian now than it did for Justin. Brian immediately rolled into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey, offering to make one for Justin as well, which he declined. He wasn’t sure Brian needed to be drinking either, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Suit yourself,” Brian said as he stuck the glass between his thighs and moved over to the sofa, setting the glass down on the side table before he nudged his feet off the footplate of his chair, scooted forward, then hoisted his body onto the cushions, pushed his chair back out of the way, and leaned back into the pillows. They’d ended up spending a couple of hours cuddling together in front of the television, watching some old movie that Brian seemed to know all the dialogue from, that Justin could care less about. All that mattered to him was that they were back home, safe and sound, and he was with Brian.

Later that night, as they settled into bed together, Brian had surprised Justin by proposing to him. But this wasn’t like his proposal two years before -- this time, it wasn’t motivated by panic and fear of loss, generated by the bombing at Babylon. This time, Justin was sure it was out of a desire to intertwine their lives for good, the way they’d been for the past six years. Even when they’d been apart, they were still connected. Now, they could be connected forever. They just had to figure out when they were going to get married, and where.

With an obviously tired and hurting Brian sitting in front of him at the table, Justin wanted to do what he could to help. At least, as much as Brian would let him. So he closed his magazine, got up, and went into the kitchen.

“Do you want breakfast, or do you just want to go back to bed?” Justin asked, kind of hoping Brian would choose going back to bed. He really looked like he needed it.

“I should probably eat, but bed sounds good.”

“I can make you something. It can even be breakfast in bed if you want.”

Brian shook his head slightly, still sitting with his chin propped up on the heel of his hand and his elbow on the table. “Too hard to sit up in the bed. I’ll eat here.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep at the table.”

“I’ll try not to...no guarantees though.” Brian yawned. Yeah, Justin had to find a way to get him to rest today.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Surprise me,” Brian mumbled, already sounding half asleep.

“Do you want your laptop, so you can let Ted and Cynthia know you’re taking the day off?”

“Are you making that decision for me, Sunshine?”

“Brian, you can barely keep your eyes open.” Not waiting for an answer to his initial question, Justin went down the short hallway to their shared office and retrieved Brian’s laptop from his desk, setting it down in front of him. “Now, do whatever you need to do, while I make breakfast, then you’re going back to bed.”

Brian gave Justin a look, but he didn’t argue. A couple of minutes later, he was typing, presumably sending messages to the two people managing his company in his absence. Well, physical absence, anyway.

Justin decided to make Brian his usual preferred breakfast, an omelette with veggies and a very small amount of cheese. He made two this time, so he’d have one for himself as well, even though he usually preferred a higher carb breakfast like pancakes. It was easier to not have to make two different things. And he didn’t really have time to make two different things anyway, since he needed to finish up his drawings for “Rage” before he was due at the cafe for his shift -- where he also planned to put in his two weeks notice.

“So, do you have grand wedding visions dancing through your head yet?” Brian said as he took the first bite of his omelette.

“Actually, I was thinking we’d just do something simple.” Justin brought his own plate over to the table and sat down in the chair across from Brian.

“Who are you, and what did you do with the man I almost married two years ago?” Brian quirked an eyebrow upward and stuck his tongue in his cheek in that way that he did.

“I’m still me, I’ve just realized that what’s important here is that you and I are together, not that we have some extravagant party of the decade.”

“Emmett will be very disappointed, you know. He loves throwing extravagant parties with my money.”

“He’ll get over it. He can plan us a reception in Pittsburgh.”

“So we’re not getting married in the Pitts?”

“We can if you want to; it’s your wedding too. But I was thinking about it this morning...and I think I’d like to go somewhere, where our wedding can actually be legal. Like Michael and Ben did. But not Canada. Boston, maybe. Just us, maybe my mom, and Daphne and Michael standing up for us as our best woman and best man.”

“Best woman,” Brian chuckled. “I like it.”

“The idea of a best woman, or the whole thing?”

“The whole thing. Boston. Just us and a few of our people. I love it. So when is this shindig?”

“When do you want it to be?”

Brian shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. As long as I’m marrying you, I’m happy.”

Whoever would have thought Brian Kinney would ever utter those words? Not that Justin was complaining.

“What about a Christmas wedding?” Justin said as he watched Brian take another bite of his breakfast. “I’ve always thought those were so beautiful, with all of the lights, and the rich colors, and the greenery. Everything will already be decorated. And there might be snow.”

“I’ll pass on the snow, but everything else sounds good.” Brian paused for a moment. “Who would’ve thought we’d be here again, you know? Do you think the family is going to shit a brick when we tell them?”

“I don’t think they’ll be too surprised. Not like last time.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Brian yawned again.

Justin reached across the table and laid his right hand over Brian’s left, which had been resting on the table next to his napkin.

“Finish that up so you can go back to bed,” he said. “You look like shit.”

Brian raised that eyebrow again and gave Justin a sardonic half-smile. “Thanks a lot,” he said. “I love you too.”

Fifteen minutes later, Brian was sitting on the bed, and Justin was filling the nightstand with water and snacks and prescription bottles, so Brian would have everything he could possibly need within reach.

“Jesus, Sunshine...I’m not dying,” Brian said, rolling his eyes as he pulled his legs up onto the mattress, then crossed them at the ankles. Justin knew he did that so they’d straighten out into the right position on their own when Brian rolled over onto his stomach. It was something Justin would have never thought twice about doing, but it made sense. He wondered if it was something Brian had learned in rehab, or if it was just something he’d figured out over time.

“I know,” Justin said. “I just don’t want you to have to get up.”

“I’m not an invalid, either.”

“I know. Just trying to make things easier. Let me, okay?”

Brian sighed as he used his arms to push his body over so that he was lying on his stomach, then pulled the duvet up around his shoulders. He turned his head sideways on the pillow so that he was still facing Justin. “You going to work today?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m turning in my notice. No more waiting tables for me.”

Brian smiled. “I’m glad I finally won you over.”

“Yeah, well, who could give up the distinct advantage I’ll have, sleeping with the boss and all?”

“Don’t be thinking you’re going to get any preferential treatment.” Brian was starting to mumble, and his eyes were closing.

“I know,” Justin said. “I don't want any. Now go to sleep.”

Justin spent another week working at the cafe, before the manager found his replacement and told him he could stop coming in. So he did, and he started formally working for Kinnetik, which meant spending a lot of hours in the office at home with Brian. At first, Justin had been afraid they might drive each other nuts, working together in such close quarters all the time, but it actually worked out pretty well. He had to admit that Brian had been right -- he was enjoying doing this much more than he ever had waiting tables. But he still felt a little guilty for depending so much on Brian. He needed and wanted autonomy -- to feel like he could support himself. But he also needed more time to work on his own art, and waiting tables hadn’t given him that. This would. And he knew Brian would see to it.

They called the family, one by one, to let them know of their impending nuptials. Jennifer, Daphne, and Michael were excited about making the trip to Boston to see Brian and Justin finally tie the knot. Ben, of course, was coming along as well, so his husband wouldn’t be making the trip alone. Daphne told Justin she always knew he and Brian would be together forever. Justin rolled his eyes. That was just Daphne. Always team Brian, right from the beginning.

Deb was a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be having a big ceremony, but the idea of a huge reception in the Pitts to celebrate seemed to placate her. Emmett was thrilled to be planning the party, even if he was bummed that he wouldn’t be planning the wedding this time. And everyone else sent their congratulations. But absolutely no one was surprised to hear that they were planning on getting married, finally.

A month or so later, Brian had an appointment with one of his many doctors, and refused to let Justin go with him when he offered.

“Don’t you need to work on your painting?” Brian said, referencing a piece Justin had been working on intermittently for the last week, in between projects for Kinnetik.

“Well, yeah, but--”

“But nothing. Stay here and paint. I’m fine. It’s just a routine...thing.”

So Justin stayed at the apartment and painted, even though he really didn’t want to, and it was hard to focus his mind on the task at hand. He was wondering what was going on with Brian. He’d been oddly quiet lately, although not like he was when he had been depressed and struggling several months ago. This was more like he had something weighing heavily on his mind. It still worried Justin, though. He was afraid there was something Brian wasn’t telling him. And that feeling only got stronger as the weeks turned into months, and Brian was spending more and more time at appointments, or otherwise out of the apartment. Most of the time, he’d come home looking totally spent. Any time Justin tried to ask questions, Brian would shut him down quickly, and make some excuse to be out of touch for a while, usually with a shower or a nap.

Brian kept on working at the same pace he always did. He kept going to the disability support group where he’d found friendship and camaraderie in spite of his fears that they’d all be a bunch of “sad sacks” feeling sorry for themselves. A couple of the people he was closest to from the group would come over to their apartment occasionally, and Brian would talk to them in a low voice in the living room while Justin worked or painted in the office. He strained to hear what they were talking about, but couldn’t quite make it out most of the time. When he could, everything sounded vague. He tried to convince himself that it was none of his business.

Brian was eating normally, seemed to be sleeping normally, and they were still having sex regularly. All of that seemed fine. Aside from Brian spending so much time away from home, everything seemed perfectly normal. So what could possibly be going on?

There were far too many worst-case scenarios running through Justin’s head, ratcheting up his anxiety. Was Brian sick? Was he having some kind of an embarrassing complication from his spinal cord injury that he didn’t want to talk about? Was he avoiding Justin because he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to get married anymore?

They were about to get married. And you weren’t supposed to keep secrets from your partner like this. They were supposed to be sharing everything. No more secrets.

But Justin never could get anything out of Brian, and it was incredibly frustrating. He tried talking to Daphne about it, but she kept telling him she was sure it was nothing, which only made him more frustrated. December crept closer and closer, and Brian was gone more and more. He would come home in a strange mood, like he was happy about something but trying not to show that, and at the same time, very tired.

Two weeks before they planned to be married, Justin finally decided he’d had enough.

“What’s going on with you?” he’d asked one night at dinner, on a day when Brian had spent two hours of the afternoon gone to some mystery appointment. Justin was officially done trying to mind his own business.

Brian gave Justin a strange look. “Nothing, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been gone so much lately...and you’re… Well, you’re acting like you don’t feel good. Are you sick? Tell me what’s going on.” Fuck beating around the bush. He was just going to ask the question outright, and get it all out on the table. If Brian was sick, he wanted to know about it this time. He didn’t want to have to fight to be included. They were partners now for sure. He should be included by default.

Brian laughed and smiled and shook his head, and Justin was honestly a little surprised at his response. What the fuck was going on?

“I’m fine, Sunshine. I promise. Just working on some things with my physical therapist, that’s all.”

“Well, I’ve been worried about you. You haven’t seemed like yourself.”

Brian’s expression softened. “Really, I’m fine. I’m sorry if I made you worry. If something is wrong, I promise you’ll be the first to know. We’ve just been working on some new things. Sometimes it makes me tired. But it’s worth it.”

Justin wondered why he hadn’t thought of that before. He remembered from his own experience how exhausted he’d always be when he would come home from his outpatient therapy appointments years ago, and that had just been to work on his hand. So this made more sense, although Justin was still wondering why Brian was suddenly meeting with a physical therapist so much again, over a year out from his injury. But Justin also had to admit that this was something he didn’t really know anything about, and Brian wasn’t very forthcoming when it came to the particulars of how he dealt with his paraplegia. Justin had always tried to respect that, even though he really wished Brian would be more open. And he was going to have to try to respect it now, and fight the urge to ask more questions. He’d have to wait for Brian to tell him. If Brian would tell him.

In two more weeks, they’d be together in Boston, with their best friends standing beside them, pledging their lives to each other. Lives that were so different than they had been just two years before, the first time they’d planned to be married. But back then, there had been hesitance. Tension. Questioning whether or not they were doing the right thing.

This time, there was no question, at least not for Justin. He hoped that the same was true for Brian. But he’d have to take him at his word -- that everything was fine.

They would be married on December 21st, a year and six months to the day after the accident that changed Brian’s life in an instant, setting off the chain reaction that had eventually reunited them, as different people, but better. Better for the time they’d spent apart. But ready to commit to each other, forever.

End Notes:

Thanks to SandiD for being my beta! And thanks to everyone who read "Changed" and encouraged me to continue the story with a sequel. I'm excited to continue it, and I hope you'll all love it just as much as you did "Changed."

Beautiful by TrueIllusion

“I finally thought of one good reason to do it.”

“And what is that one good reason?”

“To prove to the person that I love, how much I love him. That I would give him anything. I would do anything, I’d be anything, to make him happy.”

*****

Brian didn’t particularly like the idea of keeping something from Justin, but he really wanted this to be a surprise for him. He hadn’t realized just how the whole thing had looked from Justin’s end, though -- with all of the time he was spending away from home, and the fact that he was often coming home exhausted -- until Justin confronted him about it. And then he felt terrible for making Justin worry about him. Justin had probably figured his cancer was back, even though he hadn’t said anything to that effect. And Christ, it hurt that Justin thought he would keep something like that from him, but what other point of reference did he have? Given Brian’s history, it shouldn’t have surprised him that Justin thought that. Brian hoped he’d successfully managed to convince Justin that everything was okay, without having to give away what he was really working on.

On a Monday afternoon in mid-December, Brian was sitting in his wheelchair at his physical therapist’s office, in a room full of various equipment. This was where he’d been spending a lot of his time lately, because he wanted to stand next to Justin when he married him, instead of sitting. And he was going to do it. But not because of some miracle -- that was completely out the realm of possibility for Brian, whose spinal cord injury was considered “complete” and had remained unchanged since the day he’d woken up in the hospital and felt like his legs were gone. He was going to do it with leg braces and crutches, and it took a shit ton of stamina and effort, but he was determined to do it.

Today, he’d have one last practice run, then they’d pack up all of his equipment and ship it off to Michael’s house in Pittsburgh, so he could be the one to bring it all to Boston. Justin wouldn’t find out about any of it until right before they got married. The moment when they’d stand beside one another, and their two lives would merge into one.

He’d talked with Michael a couple of days before, to let Michael know what his plan was, and to hammer out the details of what needed to happen to be sure everything went off without a hitch.

“Fuck, dude, that’s awesome!” Michael had said. “I didn’t… I guess I didn’t realize that was an option for you.”

“Well, it’s really fucking tiring, and it kind of makes my back sore, so I’m still not sure it’s a great option...but it will let me accomplish what I wanted to do. And it does feel kind of good to stretch my body out again, upright. I didn’t think I was ever going to feel that again.”

“So how does it feel to be over six feet tall again? Man, I kind of liked being taller than you for once in our lives,” Michael teased.

“Yeah, don’t get too used to it,” Brian laughed. “It’s weird. It sort of feels like my upper body is floating in space. But, I kind of feel that way all the time, so it’s just from a different height, with a hell of a lot less balance.”

“Well, be careful. Don’t hurt yourself.” There it was. Michael trying to mother him, as usual.

“Why do you think I’m doing this under supervision? I’m not an idiot, Mikey.”

“I know. I just worry about you.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “You worry about everything. Always have, always will.”

“I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“Christ, talking to you really is like talking to a mother.”

“Shut up. I am proud of you. You’ve come really far since… well… everything.”

“So eloquent, Michael.”

“You know what I mean. You’re getting out there and doing things again. Shaking things up the way you always did before. You never do anything half-assed. And now, you’re getting married.”

“Are you going to cry at the wedding? If you are, I might have to consider getting a new best man. Is Ben available?”

“Brian!”

“Kidding, I’m kidding.”

“I know. But yeah, I might cry. Only because I’m happy for you. I’m happy that you’ve found what you want in life.”

Fuck, this phone call had taken a seriously sappy turn. But Brian had to admit that he was happy too. He was really looking forward to finally tying the knot with Justin, which felt like a very un-Brian-Kinney-like thing to say. At least, for a previous iteration of Brian Kinney. This one was a little bit different. Changed for the better, he guessed.

“So, are you in for bringing everything with you to Boston?” Brian asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Of course. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Just let me know where and when, and I’m on it.”

“Great, thanks.”

“I can’t wait. I’m serious. I’m so happy for you.”

“You already said that.”

“I want you to know I mean it.”

“I have to go, Mikey,” Brian said. Really, he just wanted to get off the phone before the conversation got any mushier.

“Okay,” Michael said. “See you soon. Love you.”

“Always have.”

“Always will.”

He’d also needed to enlist the help of Daphne and Jennifer, so they’d be able to help keep Justin away from him, at least for a little while, on the day of the ceremony. Both of them were thrilled at the idea and more than willing to help Brian carry out his plan. They each said they couldn’t wait to see the look on Justin’s face. Neither could Brian.

So, here he was, sitting in the physical therapist’s office, having changed into the clothes he planned to wear to his wedding, ready for his “dress rehearsal.” Making sure everything would go off without a hitch, with no wardrobe-related malfunctions.

The PT he’d been working with since he moved to New York, Jamie, was a petite woman, but she fucking meant business. She could probably kick his ass if she wanted to, even if he still had the use of his legs. She was exactly the kind of show-no-mercy person that he wanted and needed, to push him and make him believe that he could do something, even if it was hard. And she wasn’t afraid to curse at work. She was Brian’s kind of woman.

When she walked into the room and found Brian fully dressed in his wedding suit, she whistled.

“It’s such a shame you’re gay, you know,” she said, laughing and shaking her head. Her long, brown ponytail swung behind her. Her smile had always reminded Brian of Justin’s -- bright, big, and sincere. “But, that’s what they say...all the good ones are gay or married. I hope your boyfriend knows what a lucky guy he is. Hell, I’d marry you right here and now.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Brian said. “He puts up with all my shit.”

“I could put up with a lot of shit for a guy who looks like you. But seriously, I can’t wait to hear all about it. You have to call me when you get back and let me know how it went. I’m going to miss seeing you all the time. But I think you’ve officially fully graduated from my care -- you’re strong, you’re independent, you’re kicking ass. And now you’re learning to walk.”

Brian snorted. “I’m not sure I’d call it walking. Walking seems overly generous.”

“Bullshit. It’s walking. And I know it’s hard as hell. You’re working your ass off to do this. Call it walking.”

Truthfully, Brian had a hard time thinking of it as walking. Walking was easy. Walking was effortless. Walking was what you learned to do as a toddler. Walking was something he’d been told a year and a half ago that he’d never do again. He’d been handed down a sentence of life in a wheelchair, because of a brief moment of stupidity -- the decision to drive too fast in the rain on a curvy, mountain road. He’d met a lot of people in rehab who seemed to hold out hope that one day they’d miraculously recover function and sensation and be able to walk again. But Brian had never had that hope. He wasn’t sure if it was depression talking back then or what, but he’d immediately resigned himself to his fate, and set forth to wallowing in it.

Sure, he did what he needed to do, gritted his teeth and pushed himself and learned everything he needed to learn in order to “graduate” from rehab and go home and get back to his life so he could be miserable in peace, but through it all, he’d still been wallowing. Feeling sorry for himself. Not really knowing where to go from there. Then, Justin had re-entered his life, and slowly everything started to shift and change. Brian was no longer just thinking of Brian -- he was thinking of Justin as well. He had a new reason to live his life fully. At least, as fully as he could. But calling this walking? It felt like false hope. Like he was laying claim to some miracle that he knew would never come. Miracles weren’t reality. And Brian was a realist. This wasn't walking. It was standing, and it was moving, and he kind of liked it, but it wasn’t walking. And there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

“So, are you ready?” Jamie was standing in front of him now, handing him a pair of forearm crutches. He’d use them to help push himself up to a standing position, which would cause the knee joints on the leg braces he had on under his suit pants to automatically lock the moment his legs were fully extended, so he could propel himself by swinging his lower body through the crutches, over and over until he got to his destination. For the purpose of the wedding, though, he was primarily interested in standing. He’d really only have to go a few “steps” -- the real challenge was going to be standing there, and balancing, for the entire ceremony without falling over.

It was such a strange sensation, feeling like you were standing on legs that didn’t belong to you. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Michael that it felt like he was floating. It sort of did. He’d gotten used to how that felt while sitting, but standing was a whole different ball game. And balancing on his feet wasn’t anywhere near as easy as balancing on his butt. Gravity was a bitch, and his center of gravity was a hell of a lot higher when standing.

He took the crutches from Jamie, locked the brakes on his chair, double checked them to be sure they were secure, then began the process they’d practiced so many times before. Pushing himself up was probably the most difficult part, although none of it was particularly easy. But he’d come a long way since they’d first started working on this, when he could barely stand between the parallel bars. The first time he’d tried it, it had actually given him a head rush, making him a little dizzy and lightheaded, simply because his body wasn’t used to standing anymore. That didn’t happen now, and they hadn’t used the parallel bars at all in over a month.

Jamie now just stood by and watched, no longer needing to be ready to steady him if he started to lose his balance. Brian still couldn’t believe the vast amount of energy this seemingly simple action took. It felt a lot easier now than it had a few months ago, but it still took a lot out of him. It was worth it though. It wouldn’t be long now before all of the sweat and the tears and the effort paid off, when he met Justin’s eyes on their wedding day. When he wouldn’t be having to look up at him as they said their vows. They’d do it face to face, at eye level.

It still felt more than a bit surreal to Brian that he’d asked Justin to marry him nearly six months before. They’d finally made it home after a hellish day of air travel, and they were lying together in their bed, in the apartment they shared. Everything had slowly fallen into place between Christmas and then. Justin had found out Brian’s secret in Debbie’s living room on Christmas Eve, and he’d somehow forgiven Brian for not being honest with him. Best of all, Justin didn’t seem to care about everything that was different about Brian. Nothing shocked him, and nothing left him unsettled. Justin had been there for Brian while he navigated his way through a whole lot of shit, and it wasn’t pretty, but through it all, Justin had never faltered.

Lying in bed that night, on the anniversary of his accident, Brian’s thoughts had been consumed by how much his life had changed in the past year. He’d spent a good part of the day frustrated and angry at the world. Just about everything that could have gone wrong that day, had. He remembered how thankful he’d been when they landed that one more thing hadn’t gone wrong, and he hadn’t also pissed himself due to his own lack of planning, which would certainly have turned his frustration into embarrassment, and wasn’t a situation he wanted to subject Justin to if he could help it. That hadn’t happened to him in a long time, and he hoped it never would again. Then again, this shit was unpredictable. You had to just roll with it sometimes, even when it was frustrating. And through everything that did happen that day, Justin had stayed right there, calm and collected, even when Brian was being uncooperative and unreasonable. Bringing Brian back to his center, and helping him roll with it, even when he didn’t want to. And Brian had realized on that long flight home that he wanted nothing more than to commit to spending the rest of his life with Justin. Thankfully, Justin had wanted the exact same thing. Now, it was happening. Less than two weeks left until they’d be married men.

Brian and Jamie had spent their last several visits mostly working on endurance -- how long Brian could stand and balance. Leaning and balancing on one crutch to free up one hand, so he’d be able to put the ring on Justin’s finger without falling over. Simple actions that most people take for granted on their wedding day, that Brian was having to work very hard to make happen. He was able to stand for fifteen minutes now. That might not sound like a victory to most people, but for someone who hadn’t stood for over a year, it was.

Once he was upright and had taken a few steps toward Jamie, she joked that she wanted him to practice his vows, so she could at least pretend she was the one marrying him. She had him practice lifting one hand, putting it back down and lifting the other, and he noticed that he finally didn’t feel like he was losing his balance when he did that.

Then they stood and talked for a while, shooting the shit about their mutual interests in music and books, until Jamie basically called time by directing Brian to make his way over to his chair, where he released the locking mechanism at his knees and made a less-than-graceful descent back to being seated. There was absolutely no way to make it graceful, since it was essentially an uncontrolled freefall back into his wheelchair the second his knees started to bend. But it worked. And he couldn’t feel his ass anyway, so whatever.

Jamie dragged a stool over to where he sat and took a seat herself so they’d be at eye level. She sniffed and pretended to wipe a tear from her cheek.

“My baby’s all grown up,” she said. “I’m so proud.”

“Christ, don’t go getting all sentimental on me. You sound like my friend Michael.”

“He’s the one we’re shipping all of this stuff to, right?”

“Yeah. He’s my best man. We’ve been friends for a long time. He’s been there for me through a lot. And he was there through all of this shit,” Brian gestured to his chair, “from the beginning. We may not always agree on everything, but he’s a good man.”

“Sounds like it. A lot of people lose friends when something like this happens to them, because their friends don’t know what to do or say, or they’re afraid they’ll say the wrong thing, so they don’t come around at all. It’s sad, really. You’re lucky that didn’t happen. So, what do you say we get you out of those braces, and get everything packed up to send to Michael?”

They did exactly that, and Brian changed back into his jeans and sweater. Then Jamie sent him on his way with a hug and a pat on the back, making him promise that he’d send her pictures and tell her all about it when they got back to New York.

As he made his way back home on the subway, Brian was smiling to himself in anticipation. Fuck, he thought, who would have ever predicted Brian Kinney would be looking forward to getting married and settling down? How had something that, at first, seemed to destroy his life, ended up making it even better?

He knew exactly what his mother would have said in response to that kind of question. He could almost hear her voice in his head: “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” Except, in this case, Brian was fairly sure that the Lord’s mysterious ways wouldn’t quite match up with what Joan Kinney would have wanted. And Brian didn’t really give a shit what she thought anymore. He’d moved on from that. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to be invited to their wedding reception in Pittsburgh. They’d celebrate with their real family -- the one they’d chosen to be a part of. The one that loved them unconditionally.

The sun was setting, and a light snow was falling as Brian emerged from the subway station and made his way to their apartment building. By the time he rolled into the lobby, he had a light dusting of flakes on the shoulders of his coat and the garment bag in his lap that held his suit. He’d never been a huge fan of snow, and he definitely wasn’t now that it made it even more difficult for him to get somewhere, but he knew Justin liked it. He thought it was pretty -- picturesque, he said. Justin loved how it blanketed everything and made even the busiest landscape look peaceful. Beautiful. Brian tried to see the snow through Justin’s eyes, but it never seemed to work. He still saw it as a huge pain in the ass.

Right now, though, there wasn’t much that could have ruined Brian’s good mood. Not even snow.

Justin was in the kitchen, rummaging around in the refrigerator, when Brian came into the apartment. He laid his suit over the back of a chair, then came up behind Justin and grabbed the younger man around the waist, pulling him down into his lap and kissing his cheek.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” he said, grinning.

“Hey,” Justin said as he turned around to look over his shoulder at Brian. “What’s got you so happy?”

“Just thinking about where we’ll be in a week and a half. In Boston, getting married. I picked up my suit today.”

Justin turned himself sideways a little, so he could kiss Brian on the lips.

“I can’t fucking wait,” Justin said.

“Me either,” Brian said, wrapping his arms around Justin. “Hey, I’m cold,” he whispered suggestively in Justin’s ear. “Do you think you could warm me up?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Shall I give you a ride?”

Justin’s answer came in the form of a long kiss with quite a bit of tongue, which Brian interpreted to mean “yes.” He swiveled around and wheeled both of them into the bedroom, where they helped each other shed their clothes, then enjoyed some impromptu pre-dinner sex that certainly warmed him up and made him feel even better about what was to come. This was one of the many things he had to look forward to, for the rest of his life.

Ten days later, they were checking into a hotel in Boston, with Jennifer, Daphne, Michael, and Ben standing behind them. The next day, they would be going to Boston City Hall to be married.

Michael and Ben had an extra suitcase, which Brian hoped Justin either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t ask questions about. They’d had a huge pile of luggage between all of them when they’d gotten in the cab -- well, the minivan, really -- at the airport. It had blended in pretty well then, but now it was starting to stand out more, although Brian wasn’t sure if that was just his own perception because he knew what was in that suitcase. He hoped that was the case, because he knew Michael was a terrible liar -- he always had been, even when they were kids -- and he didn’t know if Ben was any better. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to find out.

They had reservations for dinner that night at a pricey steakhouse -- their version of a rehearsal dinner, since there would be no rehearsal. Brian was getting better at advocating for himself when he called and made reservations at restaurants -- asking them questions about accessibility. He still felt self-conscious that he was having to ask the questions at all, but it was lessening each time he did it. Sometimes he had to remember that he was still new at this. And, as some of the more “experienced” friends he’d made through his support group back home in New York were always telling him, it did get easier. Eventually, everything would feel natural, and he wouldn’t give it a second thought. He wouldn’t even be thinking about what his life was like before, as a walking person. But right now, Brian was still waiting for that day to arrive.

When they got to the restaurant, Brian was halfway expecting it to not be as accessible as they’d claimed to be on the phone, as had happened to him several times before while setting up meetings with clients in both New York and Pittsburgh. But he was pleasantly surprised to find that they had plenty of open space in the dining room, and the tables were high enough to be comfortable for him. They really made it a great experience, without having him constantly thinking about how he was different from their average patron.

They ordered a round of cocktails, and as soon as their drinks were delivered, Michael proposed a toast.

“Oh God, here we go,” Brian moaned, pretending to be horrified. “We’re beginning the rituals of the heterosexual suicide pact.”

“Shut up and let me say some nice things about you two, okay?” Michael said, giving Brian a playful shove. “I’m the best man -- I’m supposed to give a toast. Anyhow, we’ve been friends for more than twenty years, and if there’s one thing I know about Brian Kinney, it’s that when he wants something, there isn’t anyone or anything that can stop him from getting it. And Brian Kinney met his match in Justin Taylor seven years ago on Liberty Avenue. Someone just as stubborn as he is, who isn’t afraid to stand up to him. Life has thrown both of you a lot of curveballs, but you’ve come through all of it stronger than ever. And always together. I know I haven’t always been the biggest supporter of your relationship, and I wish I could take that back, but I want both of you to know that you have my full support. Justin, thank you for making my best friend happier than I’ve ever seen him. I’m glad you’ve both found the person who completes you, and I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

They clinked their glasses together and each took a sip. Brian took more of a gulp. He really wasn’t much for the sentimentality of speech-making, so he hoped that no one else wanted to make a toast, but Daphne didn’t waste any time stepping in.

“I’d like to say a few words as well, as the best woman” she said, winking at Justin. “When Justin first told me that he’d seen the face of God, and his name was Brian Kinney, I thought he was crazy for chasing after someone who was so much older than we were. If I’m remembering correctly, I think I said you were old and skinny.” She paused and laughed as she smiled at Brian. “But, as time went on, I saw what he saw in you. How right you were for each other. How much you both cared about each other, in your own way. I know it hasn’t been an easy road for either of you, but you’ve made it. I’m so glad that you’re finally taking the step to make it ‘forever.’ Congratulations.”

They toasted again, and Brian hoped there would be no more speeches tonight. He looked at Jennifer warily. She made eye contact with him and smiled.

“No big speech from me,” she said. “But I am glad that I’m finally going to be your mother-in-law. Thanks for making my son so happy.”

Fuck, this whole marriage thing was about the most sappy and sentimental ritual on the planet. Brian really didn’t know what to say or do. He was completely out of his element. All he’d done for Michael and Ben’s wedding was show up with a cake and some champagne. He wanted someone to come and take their food orders, so there would at least be a distraction. Justin seemed to pick up on the fact that Brian was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, and reached over to take his hand, then offered a reassuring smile. The light in the restaurant was making his blue eyes sparkle.

“Love you,” Justin whispered.

Brian squeezed Justin’s hand in silent response.

The conversation for the rest of the meal was much more casual. Everyone ate too much, and they were all more than a little bit tipsy when they piled into the cab that would take them back to their hotel.

Brian and Justin enjoyed the fancy shower, together of course, in the suite Brian had splurged on for them -- you only get married once, he’d said. Then, they climbed into bed, where they lay awake for a while, their arms wrapped around each other in the darkness. Content to just be together.

“You know, there were a lot of times last year when I wondered if I would ever see the confident Brian again,” Justin said softly, breaking the silence. “The one who drew me in and made me want him so desperately when our eyes first met out on Liberty Avenue. I’m really glad he’s back. Glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad I’m back too,” Brian said. “And that I’m here, with you.”

Justin pulled Brian close and nestled his face into Brian’s shoulder. And they fell asleep exactly like that.

When morning came, it was their wedding day.

Brian woke up next to Justin, and shared coffee and a room service breakfast with him at the small table in their suite. They looked out the window at the fresh snow that had fallen while they were asleep, and Brian hoped that the sidewalks wouldn’t be a mess when it was time for them to head over to City Hall.

Around noon, Jennifer and Daphne showed up to kidnap Justin for a while, under the guise that it would be bad luck for Justin and Brian to spend the entire day leading up to their wedding together. Justin wasn’t buying the superstition, but he eventually gave in and agreed to go with them for lunch and some shopping.

In the meantime, Brian went out to lunch with Michael and Ben -- finding that the sidewalks were passable, thank god, because that was a complication he didn’t need today. After that, he accompanied them back to their room so he could retrieve everything he needed to complete the wedding day surprise he’d had in the works for months -- standing with Justin while they were married. Not long after Brian was fully dressed, wearing his braces under his suit, he heard a knock on the door. He quickly transferred himself from the bed back to his wheelchair and went to answer it, hoping it wasn’t Justin, since his crutches were laying on the bed and he didn’t have a good place to stash them right now. Justin shouldn’t have been knocking, because he had a key, but the kid was pretty prone to losing things, so who knows.

When Brian pulled the door open, though, Michael was on the other side.

“I wanted to come and see your skills, if you’re up for it,” he said.

“Sure. I could probably use the practice.” Brian rolled himself backward away from the doorway, so Michael could step in. “I just hope I don’t end up making a fool of myself.”

“You won’t,” Michael said.

“And I hope I can do it for the whole ceremony.”

“It won’t matter if you do it for the whole ceremony or just for a minute, Justin is going to be thrilled to see you do it. I know he will.”

Brian headed back into the bedroom, with Michael trailing behind him. He picked up his crutches off the bed and set to showing Michael what he’d learned over the past few months.

After he’d made his way across the room a couple of times, he backed up to his wheelchair, carefully positioning himself before releasing the locking mechanism and crash-landing back into the chair. When he looked up at Michael, his friend’s eyes were misty.

“Christ, Michael…” Brian sighed. “I’m not your fucking kid, taking my first steps.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Michael said as he swiped at his eyes with his hands. “But yeah, Justin is going to love seeing you do that.”

It wasn’t long before their 3 p.m. appointment time arrived, and it was time to put Brian’s plan into action, with the help of Michael and Ben.

The entire time they were waiting their turn at City Hall, Brian was more nervous than he’d ever been in his entire life. He remembered how scared he’d been -- of a bunch of teenagers, no less -- the night he’d walked into Justin’s prom. But that felt like nothing in comparison to this. He was sitting in his wheelchair, next to Justin, and everything looked normal, but he felt like he had a huge secret. And he did. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the beat echoing in his ears. He had absolutely no idea how his plan was going to go. He hoped it would be as easy as it had felt in Jamie’s office the previous week. He looked down at his hands and realized they were shaking.

Justin looked down at them at almost the exact same time, then reached over and took them in his own, and raised his gaze to meet Brian’s. “Hey,” he said, his eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”

Brian swallowed and nodded and tried to paste as sincere a smile as possible on his face. Get a hold of yourself, Kinney, he thought to himself.

“What’s wrong?” Justin asked.

Brian was trying to formulate some sort of response when a door opened to their right and a middle-aged woman with graying hair and large, tortoise-shell glasses called their names. It was time. No more anticipating, no more thinking, no more worrying.

Right on cue, as five of them made their way into the room where Brian and Justin would be married, Ben disappeared. Jennifer took a seat, while Justin, Michael, and Daphne all took their places at the front of the room, alongside the Justice of the Peace who would be performing the ceremony. Brian stayed back a few feet from where he ultimately knew he wanted to end up, and Justin suddenly noticed that Ben was missing.

“Where did Ben go?” he asked.

“Oh, he’ll, um...he’ll be back in a minute,” Michael said. Christ, he really was the world’s worst liar.

It was only a few more seconds before Ben came into the room, carrying Brian’s crutches. Justin gave Ben a confused look, but Brian barely registered it because he was so fucking anxious about what he was about to do. His palms were sweating, and his ears were ringing, but there really wasn’t any time to think about that or to try to calm down. It was now, or never.

He took the crutches from Ben, and tried to keep his concentration and push the nervousness aside, remembering how many times he’d practiced this. Mentally putting himself back in Jamie’s office, where everything had been a lot more relaxed. Where he’d done this dozens of times. He locked the brakes on his chair, triple checked them this time because the last thing he wanted to do was fall on his ass in the middle of his own goddamn wedding, and pushed himself up to stand, then took three steps, coming to stand in front of Justin. Eye to eye and face to face.

In that moment, Brian wanted to memorize the look on Justin’s face -- a mixture of surprise and pure elation -- as he watched the tears well up in the younger man’s eyes. And, right then, every minute he’d spent and every ounce of effort he’d put into being able to stand in front of Justin to marry him, was worth it.

“Oh my God,” Justin said, just before he grabbed Brian and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Brian’s collarbone as he let the tears go.

Brian wanted nothing more than to hug Justin back, but he was afraid if he let go of his crutches, he’d fall. “Hold me up,” he said quietly, just loudly enough for only Justin to hear. Justin hugged him even tighter, and Brian was able to wrap his own arms around Justin.

They stood there, holding each other, for a long time. Brian could feel Justin trembling against him as he cried. The tears in his own eyes were threatening to spill over.

“I haven’t hugged you like this in so long,” Justin whispered.

And that was all it took to send Brian over the edge. Now, they were both crying. When he’d thought up all of this, he’d never dreamed it would be quite this emotional. But now that the moment was here, it was almost overwhelming. He hoped he would be able to get through the rest of the ceremony, the way he’d originally planned. They continued holding each other, while Brian fought to regain his composure. Slowly, he moved his arms out from behind Justin’s back, then returned them to his crutches, finding his balance as Justin released him.

He looked around, and saw that there didn’t seem to be a dry eye in the house. Jennifer and Daphne were both dabbing at their eyes with tissues, and Brian could hear Michael sniffling behind him. Ben had never seemed to be an overly emotional guy, but his eyes were shining as well, as he handed his husband a tissue.

Justin and Brian both nodded at the Justice of the Peace, signaling that they were ready to begin the ceremony. Justin laid each of his hands over Brian’s and smiled at him. Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling himself starting to relax. He was okay. He was marrying Justin.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor,” the woman said. “Today is the beginning of the next chapter in their journey, as they join their lives together in marriage. It is my understanding that the two of you have written vows you wish to share with one another. I would like to invite you to share those at this time. Justin, would you like to go first?”

The blond nodded and looked directly into Brian’s eyes, smiling at him as he tightened his hands around Brian’s. Then, he began to speak.

“When I first went home with you, it was against what some might consider better judgment, on both of our parts,” Justin paused, looked at Michael, and laughed. “But I think from the moment I saw you, I knew you were the one for me. People told me it would never work. That we were wrong for each other. You told me that you didn’t believe in love. But I didn’t listen. And I’m so glad I didn’t. Even though we’ve had some rough times since that night we met on Liberty Avenue, through the process, I’ve uncovered the man who truly is the man of my dreams. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. You’re my partner, and most of all, my friend. And I couldn’t be happier to be spending the rest of my life with you. Whatever may come, we’ll get through it together. We always have, and we always will. I promise to keep you close. To be your support in times of need. To make you laugh. To hold you, love you, and always show you the respect and love you have always deserved.”

Even though Brian already knew Justin felt all of those things, hearing them uttered aloud made it all seem even more real. They were here, in front of their family and friends, declaring their love and commitment to each other. When Justin had first brought up the idea of writing their own vows, Brian had been resistant. He’d had a difficult enough time just getting to the point where he could say those three little words out loud -- and now Justin wanted him to write a paragraph to recite? Make some sweeping, romantic gesture? But Justin had begged and pleaded and looked at him with those big, blue eyes, and Brian had decided to stop arguing and see what he could come up with. And when he finally sat down to write them, after procrastinating for weeks, he found that the words just flowed out of him. How Justin had chipped away at his walls, why Brian had been so resistant at first, and why Justin meant so much to him and had for a while. Now, it was time to say the words -- out loud -- in front of those who were the closest to them. And it made Brian more anxious than he’d like to admit.

“And you, Brian?” the Justice said, gesturing toward him. He swallowed hard and blinked a few times, making up his mind that he wasn’t going to cry.

“I think all of us here -- well, most of us -- know that I didn’t exactly have the best model for marriage, growing up,” he said. “It kind of made me scared of it, to be honest. I didn’t know what love meant in a relationship, not really. So I said I didn’t believe in it, so I wouldn’t have to think about it. But you changed my mind, maybe earlier on than you’re aware of. Or maybe not. You were pretty persistent.” Brian paused and grinned at Justin, whose smile was more radiant today than Brian had ever seen it. “You showed me what love is. And I resisted it for a long time. Longer than I should have. But the universe keeps bringing us back to each other. I’ve been given a lot of second chances in life, and I’m not wasting this one. I love you. I have for a long time. Even when you might have thought I stopped, I didn’t. And I don’t want to ever stop. I want to be with you forever. No matter what. Everything that I have and everything that I am, belonged to you long before today. I promise that it will be yours forever. I will be yours forever.”

Justin wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, then replaced his hand on top of Brian’s. God, Brian had never seen the kid smile quite like that. It was clear on his face just how much it meant to Justin to be marrying Brian, and if Brian was being honest, it meant exactly the same to him.

“Brian,” the Justice continued, “do you take Justin as your beloved husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, through laughter and sadness, and through challenges and successes, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Brian said.

“Justin, do you take Brian as your beloved husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, through laughter and sadness, and through challenges and successes, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Justin said.

“Wedding rings are an outward symbol of the neverending, unbroken bond between two soulmates,” the Justice said. “By wearing these rings, you will be reminded of the connection you share, and the promises you made to one another today. Please repeat after me: I, Brian, give you, Justin, this ring as a symbol of my love for you.”

He lifted his right hand slowly off of his crutch, testing his balance before reaching out to take Justin’s ring from Michael, and putting it on Justin’s finger as he repeated the words.

“I, Justin, give you, Brian, this ring as a symbol of my love for you,” the officiant said.

Justin took Brian’s ring from Daphne, and slid it on Brian’s finger as he repeated the words.

They were finally wearing the rings that Brian had refused to return after their canceled wedding two years before. Maybe, on some level, he’d known that they would find their way back to each other someday. Now, they’d said the vows. They’d proven their love for one another in front of their family and friends. And they were united as one.

“Brian and Justin,” the officiant said, “by the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom!”

Brian leaned in as far as he could, and Justin met him halfway, for the first kiss they’d shared while standing in over two years. Everyone around them was smiling, and the love in the room was abundant and evident. Brian wanted to remember this moment forever -- the moment he’d thought he’d never have, when he’d sent Justin off to New York two years before. The moment he was now thankful to have, even though the chain of events that had brought it about had been unconventional at best.

Now, they were married.

They shared a celebratory dinner -- complete with champagne and cake -- with the Pittsburgh contingent who had joined them today, before their friends sent them off together for the first time as a married couple. Justin wanted to see the Christmas tree at Boston Common, so they went for a stroll in the park as the sun set in the western sky. It reminded Brian of his trip to visit Justin in New York, when they had gone to Central Park. Only this time, he was struck with how much more comfortable he felt with who he was now, and how he moved through the world.

Darkness had fallen around them as they made their way to the tree. The tiny lights that adorned it illuminated the light coating of snow on the ground, casting their colors outward onto the stark white. Justin stood behind Brian and rested his hands on Brian's shoulders, as snow began to fall from the sky.

“It’s so beautiful,” Justin breathed.

Brian reached up and laid his hand over Justin’s.

“It is, Sunshine,” he said. “It really is.”

Moving On by TrueIllusion

“Mr. Taylor's large-scale canvas combines the high-energy impulsiveness -- my, that's a mouthful -- of Pollack plus the analytical painterliness -- he likes big words -- of Johns. But what makes his talent unique is a quality that hasn't been seen in a long time -- sex appeal. New York is waiting to be conquered."

*****

December 2016

“Can you believe it’s been nine years already?” Justin asked as he ran his finger along the edge of the frame that held a photo of Brian and Justin with their entire “chosen” family. It had been taken at their wedding reception in Pittsburgh, nine years before.

“Do you really want me to answer that, Sunshine?” Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek and gave Justin a wry grin.

Justin shoved Brian’s shoulder playfully, and turned his attention back to the photo. The most striking part of it was how happy everyone was. How genuine their smiles were. Everyone was there -- even Mel and Linds had extended their holiday trip to the Pitts so they could celebrate with them. Gus was sitting in Brian’s lap, wearing the biggest, cheesiest grin Justin had ever seen. It really had been a great day. The framed photo had been sitting on an end table in their living room ever since -- a visual reminder of the love and support they’d been surrounded with as they embarked on their lives together as married men.

They’d partied, had champagne, shoved cake in each other’s faces, and even danced together. As they’d shared their first dance as husbands, Justin couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret that he still couldn’t remember the first time he and Brian had slow danced together. The moment Brian referred to as “ridiculously romantic,” but otherwise wouldn’t talk much about. Justin would sometimes have brief flashes of the dance come back to him, but the majority of the memory seemed to be lost forever. It was the one thing Justin really wished he could remember, because he knew Brian had kissed him, right there in the middle of the dance floor, and Daphne had told him how clear it was to her in that moment that Brian really loved Justin.

If someone could go back in time to tell 18-year-old Justin Taylor that he would one day be married to Brian Kinney, he probably wouldn’t have believed them. He would have been happy about it, sure, but he wouldn’t have believed them.

But here they were, nine years later. Happily married. Monogamous, even.

Sure, they weren’t the same people they had been so many years before, but who was, really? Time changes people. Age, experience, trauma...all of those things shape who people are and who they become. Justin was grateful for the way that time -- and yes, even trauma -- had shaped each of their lives and brought them even closer than they had been before.

Brian had survived his 30s, and had even managed to make it to midway through his 40s without queening out too badly over the gray that was starting to speckle the hair at his temples, and that would pop up in the stubble on his chin if he didn’t shave for a few days. And any time he tried to, Justin would be right there to remind him that they only added to his handsomeness, giving him distinction and showing that he was wise from experience -- even if he could tell that Brian didn’t quite buy all of that. As far as Justin was concerned, Brian Kinney was still every bit as sexy as he had been the night they’d met under the streetlamp on Liberty Avenue.

Brian was still rather preoccupied with his appearance -- that was one thing that his disability and the process of accepting it hadn’t changed about him. He still took up the majority of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom with his vast collection of creams and potions, and he still kept his designer wardrobe up-to-date. Brian’s side of the walk-in closet in their apartment had long ago encroached onto Justin’s side, but the younger man didn’t really care. He had always been more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, and that didn’t take up much space. He could count the number of suits he owned on one hand, although Brian was always trying to buy him more. Justin would insist that he didn’t need them, though -- the only time he really wore a suit was when he attended a show opening at a gallery. He certainly didn’t need a dozen or more to choose from. Brian would sigh and roll his eyes, but in the end, Justin would win.

There were a lot of things about Brian that had changed in the last ten years, though. Justin remembered what a struggle the last half of Brian’s first year as a paraplegic had been, and he couldn’t really imagine what the first half -- the part he hadn’t been there for -- must have been like. Brian had told him a little bit about it, but not much, and Justin didn’t blame him for not wanting to revisit what must have been a very dark time for him. Brian had been moving through the stages of grief, as a result of the trauma and loss he had experienced. It took him a long time to get to the “acceptance” stage, and even once he arrived there, certain situations would trigger him to backslide a little -- when frustration, anger, or embarrassment would take over. Justin knew exactly how that was -- he’d been there, after Chris Hobbs had taken out his homophobic fears with a baseball bat to Justin’s head.

But now, things were a lot different than they had been a decade ago. That didn’t mean difficult situations still didn’t pop up, but it took a lot to throw Brian for a loop now. He was confident in himself, more at ease with what made him different from other people as well as his past self, and most of the time, it seemed like he just did not give a flying fuck what other people thought about something he did or said or needed. And if that wasn’t the old Brian Kinney, then Justin Taylor didn’t know what was.

At the beginning of his journey, Brian’s frustrations had been internalized -- he would get upset with himself because something didn’t work the way it did before. But now, when Brian got frustrated, it was usually because of something he perceived as an injustice -- some way that people with disabilities were treated differently or slighted or judged. Like when a business wasn’t accessible and didn’t seem to care that they weren’t. Or when cab drivers would pass him by because they assumed he couldn’t get in the car. Now, he would channel that frustration into trying to find a way to make things better for himself and everyone else who shared his situation and his frustrations. He’d found his passion and purpose in helping advocate for the rights of people with disabilities -- and particularly those with spinal cord injuries -- to live independently in their communities, and to have access to the resources to make that possible.

Brian had told Justin that the reason he was so passionate about those things was because he knew he was lucky. He was a low-level paraplegic who was healthy and strong. He didn’t require a lot of adaptations, and he could manage to get his wheelchair into places that many others would not be able to. He had good health insurance, and enough money to be able to get the things he needed without having to struggle or do without. When he wanted or needed something, he could get it, no problem. He didn’t have to try to make do with a wheelchair that really needed replacing, simply because he couldn’t afford a new one. He had the means to live comfortably, when so many others did not. Not everyone in his situation had the things he had, and part of what Brian said he wanted to do with his life now was make sure as many people as possible were able to get the things they needed and live the best lives they could.

He refused to be pushed aside or made to feel invisible because he couldn’t stand or walk on his own. And that was a huge shift from the person Brian had been ten years ago -- when he’d actually told Justin that he wanted to be invisible. At the time, hearing that had made Justin’s heart hurt, to know that Brian, who used to revel in being the center of attention, felt too ashamed or embarrassed to be seen. Now, Brian was as “out and proud” as a disabled man as he was as a gay man.

That summer, they’d gone to Washington, D.C. with a large group of other people from all over the country who lived with spinal cord injuries, and spent a few days meeting with legislators and others in positions of power, discussing issues such as public accessibility and access to proper medical care. They were both already looking forward to next year’s event. Justin absolutely loved watching Brian turn on the Kinney charm and use it to open people’s eyes to issues they might not have ever considered before. He loved watching Brian challenge people’s pre-judgments about him and his abilities. Even though Brian had changed from the person he was before his accident, there was still so much of the old Brian there, and Justin loved that too. The person Justin had fallen in love with was still there, made even better now by the things that made him different.

Brian’s competitive streak -- and his drive to be the best at everything -- was definitely something that had not changed about him at all. Lately, he and Justin had been embroiled in a kitchen competition of sorts, where they’d go to the grocery store together and purchase a bunch of strange-yet-interesting ingredients, then challenge each other to see who could come up with the best dish. That was certainly a far cry from the Brian Kinney of yesteryear who had eaten takeout almost every night. Justin was fairly sure that he was the only person who had ever actually cooked a full meal in the kitchen of Brian’s loft back in Pittsburgh. But it was fun for them both to see what they could come up with, as they spent an hour together in the kitchen, playfully fighting over skillets and pots and space on the stove and the countertop.

It was in moments like the ones that they would share in the kitchen, cooking together, that Justin could truly see how Brian’s wheelchair -- the thing that had once been the bane of his existence -- had become something that was merely an extension of his body. It allowed him to move, and that was it. It didn’t have anything else to say about Brian, and it really didn’t even stand out anymore, the way it once had. Brian didn’t even really seem to notice it anymore. The way he moved now was totally natural. Like it had always been that way. He still had the option of using his braces and crutches to move around upright, but he only did that around the apartment, and really only with the focus of stretching his muscles and bones to their full height for a while. His primary way of moving was his chair, and that was fine. It was no longer something to fight with or be reviled. Together, Brian’s body and his chair worked in concert to move him through the world. And it had been a pretty amazing transformation for Justin to bear witness to over the years.

That night, they’d cooked their meal together, with all of the usual ribbing and good-natured teasing, and had settled in together on the sofa, watching a movie and sharing a bottle of wine. It was exactly the sort of domestic bliss that Justin had dreamed of sharing with Brian many years ago -- when he’d ended up leaving Brian for Ethan. And now, it was theirs. As was nearly nine years of marriage. And honestly, Justin was pretty sure that if someone went back in time to tell 30-year-old Brian Kinney that this was what he’d be doing in a decade and a half, he probably would have told them they were out of their goddamned mind.

But time changes people. Circumstances change, too.

The movie had just ended, and Brian and Justin were making out and groping one another on the couch as the credits rolled, when Justin’s cell phone rang. It was Lindsay.

“Why the heck is she calling you?” Brian said, sighing at the interruption. “I thought she got that whole issue with Gus and his teacher sorted out.”

“I’m going to guess she probably isn’t calling me about that. If it was that, I’m sure she’d be calling you.” Justin rolled his eyes as he slid his finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”

It turned out that the gallery Lindsay used to work at when she lived in Pittsburgh was interested in putting together a show of Justin’s paintings. It would be the first time his work would be displayed in the Sidney Bloom gallery since he the show he’d participated in when he was 22, just before he left for New York. The timing was perfect, since it would be over Christmas, when he and Brian would already be in town for the holiday. Lindsay anticipated that someone from the gallery would be calling in the next few days, and she’d wanted to give Justin a heads up. He’d only have a couple of weeks to prepare, but he had quite a bit of finished work in his studio already, now that he was able to devote all of his time to painting.

He’d left his position with Kinnetik a few years before so he could truly focus on his art. Brian had been disappointed that he was losing his best graphic designer, but he was also thrilled for Justin that he had arrived at a point in his career where he was selling enough of his work that he felt he could afford to paint full time. Of course, Brian had never been worried about the money in the first place -- it had always been Justin who was concerned about making sure that he was contributing to their household in some way. Even though most of the time, Brian wouldn’t let him. He’d ended up reinvesting most of what he made at Kinnetik into renting his studio space and purchasing art supplies, and the rest, along with what he made from his art, went into a savings account that he still didn’t know what he was going to do with.

At this stage in the game, he figured it would probably end up becoming his retirement nest egg in a few decades. If he could even get Brian to let him pay for anything when that time came. Justin still wasn’t sure he liked feeling like a “kept man,” but there was no convincing Brian to do anything else. Back when they still got paper bills in the mail, occasionally Justin could steal one or two and pay them before Brian got his hands on them, but now that most everything was online, Justin never even saw it because it all went straight to Brian.

When Justin hung up the phone with Lindsay, Brian was looking at him expectantly, his eyebrows raised, holding his glass of wine.

“Well? It sounded like good news,” Brian said.

“Yeah, she said someone from the Bloom Gallery should be calling me in the next few days to set up a show. I guess they’re wanting to feature some Pittsburgh natives, and Linds recommended me.”

“Of course she did. Who else would she recommend? You’re probably the best artist to come out of Pittsburgh.”

“I think you’re forgetting about Warhol, at the very least. You’re also a little bit biased.”

“It’s true. I am. But what kind of husband would I be if I wasn’t?” Brian set his glass down on the end table and leaned in to give Justin a kiss. “I think maybe this calls for a celebration.”

“I certainly wouldn’t turn that down,” Justin said as he started unbuttoning Brian’s shirt and kissing his way down his chest.

The two of them were like a well-oiled machine now when it came to their sex life. They each knew what the other liked, and both Justin and Brian were very well-acquainted and comfortable with how Brian’s body had changed ten years before. Brian was much more okay with Justin “crossing the line” on occasion, and doing more where Brian had no sensation, and he seemed to enjoy watching almost as much as he’d once enjoyed the feeling.

Brian put his hand under Justin’s chin and pulled it up so that Justin was kissing his lips instead, then pulled away, laid his index finger over Justin’s lips and said, “Hold that thought and let’s move this celebration to the bedroom.” Less than a second later, he was in his chair and Justin was following him down the short hallway to their bedroom, where Brian quickly moved his body to the bed, in what he’d once declared was a decidedly un-sexy maneuver, but it was what it was -- a means to an end -- and Justin didn’t care how they got there, as long as they did.

Their lips and hands were all over each other as they undressed one another, discarding their clothing to the floor as quickly as possible. As Justin pulled off Brian’s pants, he ran a hand seductively down the older man’s thigh and leg, then once his pants were off, he ran it back up Brian’s leg and across his hips to the line where he could start to feel Justin’s touch. The second Justin’s hand hit that spot, Brian threw his head back and moaned -- it looked like this was going to be one of the nights when that felt really good for Brian. It didn’t always, so Justin had learned to test the waters before he did too much.

Justin moved himself to where he was almost lying over top of Brian, into a position where they could both kiss, lick, and suck on each other’s skin. Justin could feel himself getting hard quickly, his erection pressing into the side of Brian’s hip, in an area where it was questionable if Brian could feel it or not, but judging from the older man’s reaction, Justin was guessing he was on the good side of the line. So he took advantage of that, rubbing himself up and down over Brian’s skin as they kissed. He let his hands trace lightly over Brian’s chest, rubbing his nipples, at first with his palms and then working them with his fingers and his tongue.

Slowly, he let his mouth trail down Brian’s body, over his chest and his stomach, then over his hips and down his thigh, and back up to where he could use his mouth to work Brian’s penis until it was erect as well. Once it was, he moved his body back up to where Brian could reach him with his hands to slowly work him open, preparing him. He hadn’t even noticed Brian grabbing the lube off the nightstand -- not until its coldness made him gasp as Brian’s fingers made their entry.

Before long, their bodies were connected -- Brian inside Justin as the younger man moved his body up and down while his lover watched and drew at least part of his pleasure from the show. Justin had learned how to use his hands as well as his legs on either side of Brian’s hips to bring the rhythmic motion of their bodies against one another into something Brian could feel.

Once he did that, it didn’t take either of them long to reach their climax, leaving both of them breathless, sweaty, and sticky, with Justin’s body still partially draped over Brian’s.

“Shit,” Brian said in between breaths. “That was fucking amazing.”

“You always are,” Justin said as he slid off of Brian and rolled over onto his back, leaving their bodies still touching.

Brian pushed his hand down on the edge of the mattress behind him to push himself up onto his left side, then pulled his right leg over the left, leaving them staggered a bit with his right knee bent slightly, which Justin knew was so he’d be more stable in that position and wouldn’t have to hold himself up. Just one of the many subtle movements Brian would use to keep physics on his side when it came to making his body do what he wanted it to do with minimal effort. Even after nine years of marriage and almost ten of living together in New York, Justin still felt like he was constantly noticing more and more of those little tricks.

“So, congratulations,” Brian said, leaning in to kiss Justin. “I’m sure it’ll be a smashing success.”

“I wonder if anyone there aside from our family even still remembers me?” Justin sighed as he put his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

“Oh, you’re pretty hard to forget, Mr. Taylor.”

“I’m sure I am, since my name was in the news and all, after I got my head bashed in.”

“That’s not why, and you know it.”

“Or maybe it was the scandal we created when we both got fired from VanGard after working against the Stockwell campaign.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it -- the Stockwell posters are definitely what people will remember you for.” Brian paused and and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, that feels like it was such a long time ago.”

“It was,” Justin said softly as he rolled over to face Brian.

“Everything feels like it was such a long time ago now,” Brian sighed. “I mean, Gus is sixteen. When did that happen?”

“A couple of months ago. You were there, remember? We went to Toronto. And besides, you were 29 when--”

“Don’t remind me how old I am, Sunshine,” Brian cut Justin off, shaking his head. “Believe me, I know. I remember every morning when I get out of bed with a new ache or pain.” He reached up and rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand, wincing a little.

“Poor baby,” Justin said sarcastically.

“Shut up, you’re still young. What are you, 33? When I was 33, I was still going out clubbing every night. You should be out clubbing.”

“What makes you think I’d want to go out clubbing when I have you at home? Brian, I’m not you, and I never have been,” Justin laughed. This whole conversation had taken such a ridiculous turn that he had to wonder where Brian was going with it.

“Maybe you should see what your other options are.”

“I’m not interested in other options. I have everything I could possibly want, right here.” Justin reached out and took Brian’s hand in his, then brought it to his lips and kissed it.

And Justin did have everything he’d ever wanted in life, even at the age of 33. He had Brian, and he had a career doing what he loved. Years ago, he’d been forced to choose between his career and Brian -- and Brian had pushed him into choosing his career. But in the end, he hadn’t needed to choose between the two of them at all -- he could have the best of both worlds. And he had that now. Justin felt like the luckiest man alive.

Two days later, as predicted, Justin got a call from the Sidney Bloom Gallery. And a day after that, he and Brian were in his studio, going through canvases and trying to choose what to take to Pittsburgh.

Justin’s studio was a bit more modern than most he’d seen, because he’d insisted on finding space in a building with an elevator, since he’d blatantly refused to have a workspace that his husband couldn’t get to. There were large, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows along two sides, providing plenty of natural light, and he even had his own, private bathroom. All he needed was a bed or a couch, and he’d be able to spend the night -- not that he’d ever want to. He would much rather spend his nights with Brian.

Brian was on the opposite side of the room from Justin, creating his own impromptu display by leaning some of his favorite pieces against an empty wall. Justin took a piece he’d just finished a few days before and added it to Brian’s selections.

“You know, you’re not bad at this,” Justin said. “You’ve got a good eye.”

“I’m married to an artist, and I work with a shit ton of them.” Brian shrugged. “I know what I like.”

Eventually, they’d chosen ten paintings, after shuffling several in and out because it was so damn hard to decide.

“So, what do we need to do to get these to Pittsburgh?” Brian asked, idly rolling himself back and forth just a few inches in the fidgety way he often did. “I mean, we could pack them up and then check them on our flight, but I don’t think I trust those fuckers to not lose them or damage them. You should see what they did to my suitcase the last time I flew to Chicago for a business meeting. I’m surprised that they haven’t fucked up my chair yet, knock on wood.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I trust them either. I’d rather not have them leave my sight, to be honest. I’ve shipped paintings before, but never this many. And then there’s still the possibility they could get lost. I was kind of thinking about this earlier, actually...and you’re probably going to hate this idea…”

“What?”

“I was thinking maybe we could drive to Pittsburgh. You know, take a road trip? It could be fun.”

Brian looked up at Justin and raised an eyebrow.

“See? I know you’d hate it,” Justin said.

“Did I say I hated it?”

“No, but--”

“Okay, then. Let’s do it,” Brian said as he moved closer to Justin and wrapped an arm around Justin’s waist. “If you want to do it, we’ll do it. What else do I still have a car for, right?”

Justin had hassled Brian about his wanting to keep his car when he’d first moved to New York. At that time, he’d truly had no idea what in the world you could possibly need a car for when you lived in a city with such an extensive public transportation system. And if you needed to go outside the city, there were always trains and buses, and of course airplanes. But it hadn’t taken him too long to realize how different that public transportation system looked when you depended on subway stations having an elevator -- and most of them didn’t -- or that the elevator would actually be working when you needed it. All of the city buses were wheelchair accessible now, but you had to depend on the driver actually knowing how to operate the equipment, and again, that it was in full, working order.

So, after awhile, Justin better understood why Brian had wanted to keep his car -- he didn’t want to be at anyone else’s mercy. And they would use it occasionally to take short weekend trips, but they hadn’t driven the distance between New York and Pittsburgh since Brian had moved to the city ten years before. Most of the time, the car stayed parked in a garage, and Brian paid monthly rent to keep it there.

With that decided, Brian and Justin started to solidify their plans for the holidays. Brian had been asked to visit a spinal cord injury rehab center upstate and share his story and experiences with people who had been newly injured, so he’d be doing that for a couple of days during the week before Christmas, and once he came home, they’d head out to Pittsburgh to spend the holidays with their family.

But the Sidney Bloom Gallery fucked up their plans when they called Justin in mid-December to ask if he could deliver the paintings a few days earlier than originally intended -- when Brian would be in Rochester.

“It’s no big deal,” Justin said as they sat together in a cafe in Little Italy, enjoying some pasta, bread, and wine. “I’ll just go alone, and you can fly out later, and then we can road trip back together.”

“I can try to reschedule my thing,” Brian said. “Or I can just tell them I can’t make it. I don’t want you to have to go by yourself.”

“Brian, I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”

“They probably won’t want to listen to me anyway,” Brian said as he pushed some of his pasta around on his plate with his fork. “Damn, I can’t imagine being in one of those places around the holidays. It was bad enough in the summer. But to be missing out on all sorts of shit while you fucking learn how to get dressed again? That would suck.”

“I’m sure they’ll listen to you. You know exactly where they’re coming from.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I don’t think they’ll want to listen. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t have.”

“You seem to have some things you were told in rehab that you didn’t want to hear at the time, that you still remember. You’ve told me you do. So even if they don’t think they want to hear it right then, I’m sure you’ll ultimately have an impact. And I bet there are some people there who could really use hearing from someone who went through what they’re going through, and made it out on the other side.”

“I’m not sure I feel like there really is an ‘other side,’ though. Or that I’ve made it out. There isn’t an endpoint or a destination. It’s a journey, sure, but it doesn’t end. I haven’t ‘arrived.’” Brian made quote marks with his fingers on the last word. “Fuck, I’m not even sure why I said yes to this.”

“Brian, you’re going, you’ll be great, and they’ll listen.” Justin set his fork down on the table a little bit more forcefully than he intended and gave Brian a look that said he wasn’t taking “no” for an answer. “End of discussion.”

“I like it when you get bossy, Sunshine.” Brian grinned and raised his eyebrow as he took a sip of his wine, then reached his other hand under the table. Justin felt Brian grab his leg and start working his way up his thigh.

“Hey, not in a restaurant,” Justin hissed, trying to sound offended as he pushed Brian’s hand away. His smile, however, belied his tone.

“You’re no fun.” Brian crossed his arms and pretended to pout. “I want a divorce.”

“Oh you do, huh?”

“Yeah, on the grounds that my husband won’t let me grope him in public.”

“Well, good luck finding someone else as wonderful as I am…” Justin sipped his own glass of wine, leaning back in his chair and sticking his pinky finger up in the air pretentiously.

“Is that a challenge?” Brian quirked his eyebrow upward again.

“If you want it to be.”

The couple at the next table were starting to cast them surreptitious glances, so Justin figured they’d better behave themselves.

“Anyway, I want you to go to Rochester,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

A week later, Brian headed off to Rochester. The next day, Justin packed up his paintings into Brian’s car and started toward Pittsburgh. Justin tried to still make it fun by designing a playlist on his phone full of his favorite music, cranking up the radio, and buying a bunch of candy and snacks that Brian would have relentlessly made fun of him for. He played around with Brian’s hand controls a bit, going back and forth between using them and using the pedals. But he missed Brian. The road was lonely, and he wished he had Brian with him, but he really hadn’t wanted Brian to pass up this opportunity.

Justin was looking forward to hearing how Brian’s day had gone. Actually, he wished he could have been there. He knew Brian still didn’t feel like he had anything of value to share, but Justin really thought he did. Brian had come a long way since he and Justin had reunited ten Christmases before, but sometimes it still didn’t seem like Brian really saw that for what it was. He didn’t seem to recognize how much he’d overcome. Justin was confident that Brian’s story could help other people facing a devastating, permanent injury see that their lives weren’t over. They might have to make some adjustments and change some things, but they could still lead full, happy lives.

Justin had never been much of a morning person, and he was even less motivated to get out of the house when he was by himself, so he’d ended up hitting the road after lunch. He sent Brian a couple of text messages when he stopped to use the bathroom and buy a drink just a couple of hours into the trip, but he didn’t get a response.

About midway through Pennsylvania -- which Justin had decided was officially the longest state ever -- large, wet snowflakes started to fall. They were accumulating on the grass along the sides of the road, but the road conditions seemed good, so Justin wasn’t too worried. He loved to watch it snow, and seeing it while driving through the countryside made it even better.

Later in the afternoon, Justin was getting back on the road after putting gas in the car and acquiring some more substantial food, and also really wishing he could hear Brian’s voice when, as if on cue, his phone started to ring and Brian’s picture illuminated the display. He answered it quickly and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” Justin said. “I was just thinking about you.”

“God, don’t tell me we’re turning into one of those couples,” Brian laughed. “Some psychic connection and shit. Anyway, I just got back to my hotel, so I figured I’d call.”

“I miss you.” Justin tried not to sound too desperate, but it was the truth.

“I miss you too. How’s your trip been so far?”

“It’s snowing out here, but the roads are okay. Is it snowing up there?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s always fucking snowing up here. Can't get any traction on the goddamn sidewalk half the time. Remind me never to come up here in the winter again.”

“So, aside from the snow, how’d it go?”

“I don’t know. Okay, I guess. It kind of made me realize all over again how lucky I am. How lucky I was, even back then. I had a support system, even though I fought them and acted like I didn’t really want them around. And you, hell, I didn’t even let you try. There are people who don’t have that support. They’re just on their own. This is some tough shit to fight through on your own.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s tough no matter what. But it helps to have other people in your corner.” Justin knew just how instrumental Brian’s support had been in his own recovery, in addition to the support he got from his mother and Daphne.

“I don’t even know how I would have made it if everyone had really left me alone, like I thought I wanted,” Brian said. His voice was slowly getting quieter, and Justin could tell he was starting to disappear inside his head. “Everything was just so...mixed up, I guess. I didn’t know what I wanted, really. Seeing that place today… Talking to people… It kind of took me back there again.”

Brian exhaled loudly, and silence overtook the line for several seconds.

“You okay?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It just made me appreciate things a lot more. People who were there for me when I wasn’t much of a friend or a partner.”

“You were going through something really hard, Brian. I understood that. Everyone understood that. It takes time to get over that and move on and start to be yourself again. God, I get it, I really do.”

“I know,” Brian breathed, still sounding a little depressed. Disconnected.

Justin really wasn’t liking the route this conversation was taking, since there was no point in Brian beating himself up now over things that happened a decade ago, and it sounded like that was exactly what was about to happen. It took a lot to throw Brian now, but this was a subject that could definitely do it. Justin knew Brian had a lot of regrets about the way he’d reacted initially to his injury, and no amount of reassurance from Justin had been able to make him believe that the way he’d reacted was perfectly natural. The only thing that really mattered in the end was that he’d gotten through it -- he’d managed to accept what had happened to him and move on with his life. Right then, Justin wanted so badly to give Brian a hug, but he couldn’t.

“So when’s your flight home?” Justin asked, changing the subject in hopes that he could shift Brian’s morose and reflective mood with a lighter topic.

“Way too early...6:30. Then I’ll be flying out the next morning for the Pitts.”

They made plans for Justin to pick Brian up at the airport when he arrived in Pittsburgh, and talked about getting together with Michael and Ben later that evening. Wednesday was their anniversary, so they’d planned to spend that entire day together with no distractions. Friday, they were supposed to meet up with Mel, Linds, and Gus. Then, on Sunday, they’d have their traditional Christmas Eve dinner at Deb’s. Justin was really looking forward to seeing everyone, and he knew Brian was too, even if he tried to play it off like he didn’t really care.

“Well, I’d better let you go so you can drive,” Brian said after a few more minutes of conversation. “I think I’m going to go grab some dinner. I’ll probably go to bed early, since I have to get up at fucking 3 a.m. so I can make it to the airport on time, since it takes me so damn long to get ready.”

“Okay,” Justin said, although he really would have much rather talked to Brian for the entire rest of his trip. “Call me before you go to bed, okay? Just to say goodnight.”

They hadn’t spent the night apart in quite some time at this point, and, frankly, Justin wasn’t looking forward to it. Spending two nights alone in a cold, empty bed in the hotel room he and Brian were supposed to be sharing. He just had to keep looking forward to Tuesday, when he’d once again have Brian’s warm body next to him.

“Christ, you’re such a lesbian,” Brian groaned.

“You know you love me anyway. So will you call?”

“Sure, what the hell. And if you make sure you’re alone, I might even see if I can come up with something else fun we can do…” Brian said suggestively, letting his voice trail off and leaving Justin’s imagination to take off with the rest.

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Kinney…” Justin adopted the same salacious tone. “I’ll be looking forward to your call.” Already, Justin couldn’t wait for that phone call. It would certainly make his lonely night a lot less boring. Of course, he’d rather have the real thing, but since he couldn’t, talking dirty and having some phone sex with his lover would have to suffice.

Daylight turned to dusk soon after he and Brian hung up, and by then the snowflakes were descending furiously from the sky, illuminated by the beams of his headlights. He was about a half an hour outside of Pittsburgh, and wishing that he could somehow make the rest of this trip go faster, when suddenly everything seemed to shift into slow motion.

A car cut over in front of the tractor-trailer that was directly ahead of him, causing the truck to have to brake quickly. Justin watched in horror as the truck started into a skid, its trailer now sideways at an odd angle. The cab of the truck slammed into the wall, and the sideways trailer was now completely blocking the road. Justin had nowhere to go except into the wall or into the truck or the trailer.

He had no time to make a decision, and no mental capacity to do so.

He slammed on the brakes, but there was no time to stop.

Justin felt like his body and brain were moving through molasses as the car sped toward impact.

His last conscious thought as the car slammed into the wall was that he hoped Brian knew how much he loved him.

And that if he didn’t make it, Brian would be okay.

Upside Down by TrueIllusion

“I was so fucking scared. All I could think was, please don't let anything happen to him.

...I love you.

I love you.”

*****

The third time Brian Kinney’s life was turned upside down, it all started with a phone call.

Really, it had all started with another phone call two weeks before that one -- a phone call from Lindsay, telling Justin that he was going to be featured on a show at the Sidney Bloom Gallery in Pittsburgh over the holidays. The show was going to be comprised entirely of artists who had called Pittsburgh home. Brian was so proud of Justin in that moment, and thrilled that everyone back in the Pitts was going to have a chance to see just what a tremendous artist Justin had become since he moved to New York to chase his dream. How he’d spent the last ten years shaping and honing his talent even further, to the point where he was now making his living exclusively doing his own art. It was exactly what Brian had always wanted for Justin.

They’d celebrated Justin’s show as they did most things -- with sex. That was another thing Justin seemed to have become an expert at in the past ten years. The sex they had now was so different from what it had been a decade before, when Brian had thought his body -- which he’d seen at the time as broken -- was no longer capable of experiencing the pure, primal pleasure of sexual intimacy. At least, not in the way he wanted to. What they’d tried at first had been nice, and had given him hope that maybe he could feel like himself again someday, but something was missing. Brian remembered being embarrassed at how he felt like his body was out of his control. How afraid he’d been that Justin would be comparing “past Brian” to “present Brian” in the bedroom. But in the end, it hadn’t been Brian’s body that was the real stumbling block at all. It had been his mind.

It was a difficult process -- letting go of all of the judgment and comparison -- but eventually, Brian had managed to open his mind to what sex could be now. And what he’d found once he’d done that, was just as mind-blowing as he could ever remember it being. It turned out, the human brain was a very powerful thing. He’d just needed to find another way to experience intimacy -- another way to listen to his body. It still talked to him, just using different words.

There were parts of Brian’s body -- what he could feel, anyway -- that had become so much more sensitive than they ever were before. He could never recall the feeling of Justin’s warm, wet tongue on his neck or his shoulder or his chest producing quite the sensation that it did now, before. His nipples were incredibly sensitive now, and he knew Justin took full advantage of that. Brian certainly wasn’t complaining, although he’d never imagined that actions that had previously been mostly a part of foreplay could still be so, so good for him, even when he was inside Justin.

But Brian wasn't the same person he had been before.

His “transitional zone” as his neurologist referred to it -- the band around his hips at the level of his injury where sensation gave way into silence -- was even an erogenous zone sometimes. That area felt so strange all the time, even in day-to-day life -- sort of like something was squeezing it or like he had on a piece of clothing that was too tight. Sometimes it hurt, and he didn’t like having it touched then, because it was almost like being burned or experiencing a minor electric shock. But if the timing and the touch were just right, it could feel incredible, because that section of his skin was so sensitive. He had a hard time describing what the sensation felt like when it was good, because it was so different from how it felt before. Like the signals were a little mixed up.

No longer did Brian draw his pleasure from the feeling of himself inside Justin -- the sensation of warmth and tightness. Now, his pleasure came from watching how much Justin enjoyed having Brian inside him, imagining from memory how it would have felt to Brian’s own body, and from leaning in to the tingle he got now purely from the touch of Justin’s supple fingers.

He’d even found that, once he opened his mind, he was able to experience what he would now call an orgasm, even if it didn’t feel exactly the same way it did before. There would be no tightening down below as he approached climax, and no physical release, but he still felt the mental release. The moment when his brain felt wiped blank, and all he could feel or think of was pleasure, and getting more of what he was feeling in that moment. How he didn’t want it to ever end, and how he wished he could stretch that feeling out forever. The moment that would leave him breathless.

The night Justin found out about the show, they’d had what Brian thought was some of the best sex he’d had in his “new” body.

But even as far as he’d come in accepting himself and who he was now as a person in this world, there were still times when Brian wondered why Justin stayed with him. Particularly now, as Brian was getting older, and Justin was only getting to the years when Brian had felt he was in his prime. For some reason, their age gap felt larger to Brian now than it had when he was in his early 30s and Justin was in college. Brian guessed that it was because somewhere in the back of his mind, he was afraid that he was holding Justin back or tying him down somehow. Sometimes he thought Justin deserved to be with someone whose whole body worked as intended. He knew those thoughts were ridiculous, and that Justin would vehemently disagree with them, but they were still there.

Brian didn’t have those sort of thoughts very often, but when he did, it could be hard to get past them. That night, he’d said something to Justin about how he should be out clubbing, like he was at Justin’s age. And Justin had reminded him that he wasn’t Brian -- kissing his hand and telling him that he’d much rather be at home with him than out having meaningless sex or getting blow jobs from strangers.

And he believed Justin when he said that. But when you’ve had a lifetime of self-doubt in the back of your mind when it comes to love and whether or not you deserve it, that was difficult to let go of completely.

Brian would look at Justin -- his beautiful blue eyes, the face that gave the appearance of still being in his early-to-mid-20s even though he was approaching his mid-30s -- and think of how lucky he was that this kid had stayed with him through so much. Justin was still so sexy, with his ample, round ass and smooth, alabaster skin. Sure, his middle was a little softer than it used to be, but so was Brian’s. That was just something that happened as you aged, he supposed -- as you got comfortable with your life. But Justin was so beautiful that it occasionally made it hard for Brian to believe that the younger man’s beauty was all his to appreciate, forever.

They’d been married now for nearly nine years, which felt like quite a feat when you were Brian Kinney. The man who once didn’t believe in love, much less marriage. Maybe Justin had turned Brian’s life a little bit upside down in that way as well. But that was a good kind of upside down.

Everything seemed so good. So perfect.

How could it all suddenly go so wrong?

Brian had been in Rochester when he received the phone call that upended everything and sent him into a whirlwind of travel and panic and frustration.

He was in Rochester because he’d spent the day talking to people who were just beginning to deal with the type of devastating injury he’d sustained a decade earlier. Answering their questions, talking to their families, allaying fears as best he could, and generally trying to be a good resource for how all of this could end up if you played your cards right. But it had also reminded him of how he’d nearly played his own cards very, very wrong.

Brian could see himself in the eyes of the people he’d talked to that day -- their fear, their curiosity, their anger. He hadn’t been in a rehab center since he’d left after his own stint of relearning how to take care of his body and how to just get through the day. And going through those doors had immediately taken him back there, to a place where his memories weren’t exactly positive. When his frame of mind had been so very different from what it was now. When everything had seemed so dark and bleak. So questionable. So uncertain.

He hoped he’d been able to accomplish what he’d been asked there to do -- give people an accurate picture of what life could be like after spinal cord injury. But when he’d gotten back to his hotel room and called Justin, he was feeling unusually sullen and introspective. He’d needed to hear Justin’s voice and imagine his smile on the other end of the line.

Justin had been on his way to Pittsburgh in Brian’s car, driving because it seemed to be the safest way to transport his artwork the nearly 400 miles between their hometown and the city they now called home. He said it was snowing, but that the road conditions weren’t bad. It had sounded like the sidewalks in Rochester were slicker than the highway in rural Pennsylvania, and Brian had been glad for that. He was already worried about Justin driving all that distance by himself, even though Justin had told him not to, and he definitely didn't want Justin driving in poor conditions on top of it.

The entire day, he’d had an uneasy feeling in his gut that he couldn’t explain. At first, he’d thought it was just a simple case of nerves, given what his scheduled activities were for the morning and afternoon, but it didn’t go away even after he’d gone back to the hotel. He’d thought maybe talking to Justin on the phone might help. That was a big part of why he’d called.

Now, he was so glad that he had, because it meant he’d had the chance to hear Justin’s voice.

Even if he’d forgotten to say “I love you” before they disconnected, because he’d been so distracted by the idea of engaging in some hot phone sex later that evening, once Justin had arrived safely in the Pitts.

After hanging up the phone, he’d grabbed his wallet and his room key and left the hotel room to go down the street to a cafe. He hoped that getting some food in his stomach might help alleviate the gnawing feeling he couldn’t seem to shake. But he’d barely managed to eat half a bowl of soup and a sandwich before he started feeling queasy.

So he’d gone back to the hotel and decided to lie down for a while, in hopes that he could calm the rolling in his gut. He’d started to wonder if perhaps he’d caught some kind of a virus on the airplane, or gotten food poisoning from something he’d eaten at the airport, where he felt the food quality was almost always questionable at best.

He tried to read a book for a while, played games on his phone for a while, and watched some truly awful reality television, just trying to kill some time until he felt Justin should have arrived in Pittsburgh and gotten checked into the hotel. He really wanted Justin to be alone when he called, so they could have a little fun before bed.

But the odd, sinking feeling in his stomach never went away. It only got worse as the night went on.

Around 8 p.m., he took care of everything he needed to take care of in the bathroom, took a shower, and settled back into bed, then picked up his phone to call Justin. But Justin didn’t answer.

Brian thought that was odd, but he chalked it up to Justin being busy reuniting with his mother or his sister, or maybe having left his phone in the car and not realized it yet. He’d try back later, he thought. Justin was expecting his call, so he’d eventually realize he didn’t have his phone with him, hopefully sooner rather than later.

So Brian killed another hour playing one of the many games he’d once sworn he’d never let take up space in his phone or his brain, then he tried to call Justin again. But there was still no answer.

Maybe Justin had fallen asleep, Brian remembered telling himself. He recalled how exhausting the trip from Pittsburgh to New York had been the last time they’d made it by car, when he’d moved to the city to be with Justin and escape from his old life. It made sense that Justin would have been tired. Maybe he’d settled in to watch some television and unwind, and had dozed off.

By that time, Brian’s own eyelids were getting heavy, because his day had been physically as well as emotionally exhausting. So he laid his phone on the table, making sure it wasn’t in do-not-disturb mode so Justin’s call would ring through and wake him up. Then he turned out the light and rolled over onto his stomach to settle into slumber himself.

But the gnawing ache was still there.

The phone call came just a few minutes past midnight.

Brian startled awake and tried to focus his eyes on the clock to figure out what time it was, then picked up his phone and tried to make sense out of what he saw on the screen. He didn’t recognize the number -- only the area code. The call was from Pittsburgh. Maybe it was Justin, using the hotel phone for whatever reason.

Brian turned the bedside lamp on and squinted in the suddenly bright light as he slid his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

But it wasn’t Justin at all. It was a woman calling from the same hospital where he’d once spent three days waiting to find out if Justin was going to live or die. She was calling to tell Brian that his husband had been involved in a serious accident, and he’d been flown into their trauma center by helicopter. This story was hauntingly familiar, even though it was one Brian didn’t remember -- one he’d only been told, like a story that happened to somebody else.

The second time his life had been turned upside down.

Brian felt like the woman’s words were swirling around in his head, echoing over and over, separating and coming back together and not quite making sense. He didn’t remember what he’d said to her, or most of what she’d said to him beyond her first couple of sentences. But he did remember the prevailing thought he’d had in that moment -- he had to get to Pittsburgh, now.

His hands were shaking so much that he could barely pull up his pants or get them buttoned, and he ended up giving up on his shirt entirely, just leaving it open and exposing the white t-shirt he had on underneath. He felt weak and dizzy and sick. He couldn’t make sense of his thoughts, and he couldn’t figure out what to do next. His mind was racing, but at the same time he felt like he was operating in slow motion.

He threw all of his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase, then zipped it up and set it on his lap.

Jennifer, he thought suddenly. He needed to call Jennifer.

So he did, waking her up and sending her into a similar state of panic to what he was feeling. He hated to do that, but she needed to know. And he needed someone who could be there for Justin when he couldn’t. Who the fuck knew how long it was going to take him to get from fucking Rochester to Pittsburgh in the middle of the night? Or if he’d even be able to.

When he hung up with Jennifer, she was in her car, on the way to the hospital. Brian left his hotel room and started down to the lobby to check out. But the hotel shuttle to the airport wasn’t running at this hour, the desk clerk told him. And the airport would be closed anyhow, she added. The shuttle would start running again at 5 a.m. She was calling him sir and speaking to him gently, in a voice like she was afraid if she spoke too loudly he might fall apart or start raging at her. He had a fleeting thought of how he must have looked. How he was sure that the panic and frustration he was feeling inside were written all over his face. He had to get to Justin, but this goddamn town was keeping him from doing that. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t.

Not knowing what else to do, Brian went back up to his room. He sat in his wheelchair, moving it back and forth just slightly, fidgeting to rid himself of some of the nervous energy, staring at the wall and the door and at his phone, wondering if Jennifer was at the hospital yet. If she knew anything. If she would call him, or if he should call her.

He felt the familiar tightness in his lower abdomen that indicated he needed to piss, so he took off his coat and threw it on the bed, tossing his phone down on top of it before he headed into the bathroom. He washed his hands and dug a catheter out of the bag he kept attached to the underside of his chair, and was about halfway through emptying his bladder when he heard his phone start to ring in the other room. Fuck. It was probably Jennifer. He wanted to talk to her right fucking now, but he also had to finish what he was doing. He willed his body to hurry the process along as the ringtone continued and then abruptly stopped when the call was sent automatically to voicemail. After what seemed like an eternity, the flow finally stopped and he was able to finish up, pulling his pants back up and washing his hands before returning to his phone to see who had called.

He’d been right, it was Jennifer. He called her back, and when she answered, she was crying.

Justin had been placed in a medically-induced coma, because he had swelling in his brain. Justin had hit his head in the accident. They were monitoring him to see if he’d need surgery to open his skull and relieve the pressure. They didn’t yet know how things would turn out. This story felt all too familiar as well to Brian. He felt like he was being thrown back into a nightmare -- like a ghost from his past had come back to haunt him.

The first time his life had been turned upside down.

Brian told Jennifer that the airport was closed, and he wouldn’t be able to fly out until morning at the earliest. He ended up apologizing to her, and feeling so guilty that he wasn’t fucking there. He should have been there. He was supposed to be there.

Justin was his husband. He was supposed to be there.

Brian was on the edge of tears himself when he hung up the phone.

He still didn’t know what to do, so he transferred back to the bed, leaving all of his clothes on. The only thing he took off was his shoes, and he only did that because he was paranoid about pressure sores. He’d never had one, knock on wood, but he knew he couldn’t afford to start now. He laid back on the pillows and tried to relax, but his heart was pounding. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and tried to slow down his breath. He felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack, which wasn’t going to do Justin any good either. He remembered what he’d done for Justin when crowds would overwhelm him, and tried to walk himself through the same exercise -- breathing, counting, focusing on one thing he could physically feel in the present moment to ground himself.

He didn’t remember exactly when the tears had started to fall. Or when his rapid breathing turned to choked sobs.

All he knew was that he was so fucking scared.

He tried to close his eyes and will himself to rest, but his mind was racing and wouldn’t allow it.

The rest of the night crawled by. Brian kept looking at the clock, staring at it as one minute turned to another ever-so-slowly. When it finally read 4:40 a.m., Brian put his shoes back on, dragged himself into his chair, splashed some water on his face and used the bathroom again, then put his suitcase back in his lap and went downstairs to catch the shuttle to the airport.

He called Jennifer from the hotel van, but there wasn’t anything new to report. No bad news, but no good news either.

His frustrating battle continued at the airport, where Brian tried to trade in the ticket to New York he already had for a ticket to Pittsburgh, but the person at the ticketing counter told him that he would be better off to keep his current ticket and go on to New York and catch a flight to Pittsburgh from there. So he went through security, trying to appear less on-edge than he felt, hoping to not raise the suspicions of any TSA agents who might mistake his panic for nervousness and suspect that he was up to no good.

He made it through security after the usual feel-up and pat-down, which he barely even noticed because his mind was so far away. His mind was back in Pittsburgh, with Justin.

A couple of hours later, he was back in New York, desperately trying to get himself a ticket to Pittsburgh, and finding that every fight was fucking full because of the holiday travel rush. He agreed to go standby for the earliest flight, and by some miracle managed to get a seat on it, all the way in the goddamned back of the plane. But he didn’t care this time about the fucking process that getting on the plane entailed -- all he wanted was to get to Pittsburgh, and to Justin. He would have spent the entire flight in the goddamn bathroom if that was what it took.

He called Michael while he waited for everyone else to board the airplane, and told him what was going on. He had to repeat himself twice before Michael seemed to comprehend what he’d said. Brian wondered if he was even making any sense anymore. He was fucking exhausted, but he still had hours to go. And his thoughts were running all over the place, so there was no way he'd be able to sleep on the flight. Michael said he’d pick him up at the airport and take him to the hospital. Michael told Brian he loved him. Brian said it back.

Why hadn’t he told Justin that?

Three simple words, that would have taken only a second. Words that weren’t so hard for him to say as they once had been, although they still didn’t roll off his tongue as naturally as they rolled off of Justin’s.

Justin hadn’t said it either.

Brian guessed they’d both figured they would have a chance to say it later.

But now Brian was wondering if he was ever going to get the chance to say it again. He prayed that he would. He didn’t even fucking believe in God, but he prayed anyway.

Michael met him just outside the security checkpoint at the airport in Pittsburgh -- as close as he could get to the secure zone. Michael immediately wrapped his arms around Brian, and Brian let himself instinctively melt into his friend’s familiar embrace for a brief moment before realizing that he didn’t have time for comfort. He needed to get to the hospital.

“We have to go,” he’d mumbled into Michael’s shoulder, his voice breaking. He hated sounding that desperate. “I need to go.”

Michael let Brian go, nodded understandingly, and took his keys out of his coat pocket.

Brian forced himself to propel his wheelchair forward, trailing behind Michael. God, he was so, so tired. But he didn’t have time to sleep.

He was sure his exhaustion clearly showed in the sloppy way he transferred himself into Ben and Michael’s SUV. He grabbed the handle above the door with one hand and leaned out so he could disengage the wheels from his chair, but Michael stopped him.

“I’ve got it,” Michael said.

Normally, Brian would have fought him on that. But today, he let him. He was too weary to fight. Too focused on Justin to care about anything else.

Michael loaded the chair along with Brian’s suitcase into the back of the SUV, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He paused for a moment and laid his hand on Brian’s arm, his dark brown eyes shining with tears as they met Brian’s gaze. Brian had seen that look before, a decade and a half ago as they sat together in a hospital corridor, waiting for news on Justin. Michael moved his hand, put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space, and they were on their way to the hospital.

Neither of them said a word the whole way there. But they didn’t really need to. That was the benefit of having been friends for more than thirty years. They understood each other completely, and they didn’t need words to do so.

When they got to the hospital, Brian found himself back in panic mode. Michael was speaking for him, but Brian didn’t even care, because he was having trouble finding words and making sense. They finally got the information they needed, after an agonizing few minutes of confusion over which Justin Taylor they were looking for. Apparently there was more than one Justin Taylor in the hospital that day. But there was only one that Brian was concerned about -- his husband.

As they made their way through the winding maze of corridors, Brian was hit with an overwhelming sense of deja vu. He fucking hated this place. The only thing good that had ever happened here was Gus being born. The rest of his memories of this hospital were things he’d rather not remember.

Michael and Brian rode the elevator up to the third floor in silence. By this point, Brian was just trying to keep ahold of himself and control the emotions that were threatening to spill over. He was hanging on by a thread. Michael had his hand on Brian’s shoulder, offering solidarity, although the action was of little comfort to Brian at this point.

When they arrived at the start of the hallway of patient rooms in the ICU, Brian abruptly stopped. He remembered walking this hall before, on his own two feet, fifteen years prior. How scared out of his mind he’d been back then, not only by the situation Justin was in, but also by the feelings he was struggling with at the time. Feelings that he was having for Justin, that he’d never had for anyone else. Feelings that ran much deeper and touched his soul in a way that was uncomfortable for him back then. Sitting at the end of that hallway brought all of those feelings flooding back -- how it had felt to stand outside of Justin’s door, feeling responsible for the fact that Justin was lying in that hospital bed, unconscious. Feeling like there was nothing he could do to make any of it better or atone for his sins.

Was it his fault this time, too? He didn’t know. He didn’t know any of the details. No one had told him yet. When had it happened? Had it happened shortly after they’d gotten off the phone? Had Justin been distracted? Was it a combination of distraction and deteriorating road conditions?

Brian felt Michael’s hand on his shoulder once more, checking in. Trying once again to provide comfort in a situation for which there was no comfort to be found. At least, not until Brian could see Justin’s blue eyes and know that he was in there and fully present.

“I’m okay,” Brian whispered, answering Michael’s unasked question. “I just need a minute.”

He closed his eyes right there in the middle of the hallway and concentrated on breathing. He couldn’t fall apart. Not right now. Justin needed him, and he needed to hold it together for Justin.

Eventually, Brian opened his eyes and started down the hallway, with Michael alongside him. When they got to Justin’s room, Brian could see Debbie sitting alongside Jennifer, who was holding her son’s hand. The scene was, again, far too familiar. Justin was connected to all manner of machinery by a vast network of tubes and wires. There was a machine breathing for him. He had a bandage around his head, and Brian could see cuts and bruises across Justin’s exposed skin on his face and his arms.

Debbie made eye contact with Brian, patted Jennifer on the shoulder and said a couple of words to her that Brian couldn’t hear, then got up and came toward the door. Brian was sitting just outside. As she passed him, she paused and cupped her hand around his cheek, giving him a sad smile. He could see something else in her eyes, though -- that she knew what this was like for him. That he was reliving his worst nightmare. She knew. She understood. He didn’t know what to say to her, so he didn’t say anything at all.

“Go on, honey,” she said gently. “You should be with him. He needs you right now.”

Feeling numb and a little bit lost, Brian entered the room. Michael stayed outside with his mother. Brian approached Jennifer hesitantly. She looked up at him and offered the same sad smile Debbie had, then pushed the chair Debbie had been sitting in back against the wall, making room for Brian to be closer to the bed.

“There’s no change,” Jennifer said. “We’re just watching and waiting. That’s all we can do.”

She released Justin’s hand back to the mattress and gave it a gentle pat, then wrapped her arms around Brian. The feel of her touch and her closeness compromised the tenuous grip Brian had on his emotions, and soon he was crying on her shoulder. Letting go of everything that had been building up. She rubbed his back and he clung to her and they cried together for a long time.

When she let him go, he felt the loss. He didn’t want to let go. But he knew why she was doing it.

“I’m sure you want some time alone with him,” she said as she wiped her eyes with a tissue and got up to leave the room.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he did. But before he could find his voice, she was gone. She closed the door behind her and disappeared down the hallway.

He was alone with Justin. Alone with the sounds that confirmed that Justin was alive -- the steady beep of the heart monitor and the rhythmic hiss of the respirator. He moved closer and took Justin’s hand in his own, feeling the warmth of his husband’s skin against his -- another confirmation of the life that was still flowing through Justin’s body. He reached his other hand out and laid it on Justin’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, keeping time with the beep being emitted by the machine. Each pump creating a flow of life, of energy, inside Justin. Life and energy that he hoped was still happening in Justin’s head. In his brain.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said. He was surprised at how his voice sounded. Weak. Hoarse. Broken.

Brian didn’t know what to say next. The knowledge that coma patients could hear what was going on around them was less of a comfort to Brian than it should have been at that moment. Instead, it made him feel pressured to be sure he was saying and doing the right thing. He didn’t want to fall apart -- he'd already done that with Jennifer. He wanted to be strong for Justin, but he didn’t know where to start.

And he didn’t feel very strong right now.

Justin’s heartbeat continued thumping softly under Brian’s hand, and his chest rose and fell softly with each breath. Breaths that were being forced by external means.

Brian could feel his mind drifting back and forth from the present moment to the last time he’d seen Justin lying there like this -- totally helpless, hanging somewhere between life and death. He’d tried so hard for the past fifteen years to push those images out of his mind because he didn’t like to think about them and all of the feelings that had come along with them -- guilt, uncertainty, and fear. But mostly guilt. Now, all of those feelings were coming back, further complicated by the fact that he’d spent most of the last decade and a half in a relationship with Justin. In love with Justin. It wasn’t like it was before, when he was just beginning to uncover and acknowledge what he felt for the kid. When it had almost ended right as it started. Now, they had history together. They were married, for Christ’s sake.

And Brian couldn’t fathom the idea of having to let Justin go. Not now. Not ever.

He was older; he was supposed to go first. Not Justin.

He didn’t even want to think about it.

So he pushed the thoughts aside again and refocused his attention on Justin’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm of his breath. Reminding himself that Justin was still here. He wasn’t gone. And Brian needed to keep his mind from going too far with a worst-case scenario.

He had to be the strong one here. He didn’t have a choice.

“You’ve got to stop scaring us like this, Sunshine,” he said. His voice didn’t sound any stronger than it had earlier. “I hope you can hear me right now. Listen to me… Are you listening? You’ve got to fight, okay? You’re strong. I know you are. You can come back from this. You will. You have to.” He paused for a moment and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet he could barely hear it himself.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

He hated how his voice broke when he said those words. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said them at all, even though he knew they were true. The last thing he wanted to be doing right now was putting guilt on Justin when he was lying there unconscious. Shit.

“I knew I should have gone with you,” he said. He knew he was starting to sound desperate, but there wasn’t anything he could do to change that. He was desperate. “I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself. I should have been there with you. I don’t know if that would have changed anything, but I should have been there.”

He wondered if Justin had felt any pain. If he’d been knocked unconscious immediately, or if he’d been lying there in pain, waiting for help to arrive. Had he been scared? Was he alone? Or had there been a good samaritan there to hold his hand?

How much was Justin comprehending of his situation and what was going on around him at the moment, in this hospital room? Was he scared right now?

Brian didn’t know. He’d never been in a coma. He didn’t know what that felt like. His only point of reference was waking up from anesthesia with a strange feeling in your body, more pain than you’ve ever felt in your life or even thought was possible, and absolutely no memory of what happened. And that had been really fucking scary.

So yeah, Justin was probably scared.

“It’s okay,” Brian said. “I’m not mad. I just… I need you to come back to me. To us. I need you to be okay. We need you here.”

Slowly and carefully, he picked up Justin’s hand and brought it to his lips, being mindful of the network of wiring that surrounded his husband’s form, which seemed so slight and small right now, lying in that bed. He kissed the back of Justin’s hand and held it there for a moment before laying it back down.

“I love you,” he said. “I should have said that last night. I should have said it so much more.”

Shit. He could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The lump in his throat. He swallowed to try to get rid of it, but it wouldn’t go away.

Brian heard a light knock on the door just before the knob turned and the door opened, and a person he assumed was Justin’s doctor walked in. She was barely over five feet tall, with auburn hair cut into a short bob, and large, blue eyes that reminded Brian of Justin’s. She approached him, stuck out her right hand and introduced herself as Dr. Helton, a neurologist.

Christ, Brian was more familiar with neurologists now than he’d ever wanted to be in his entire life. And her chosen profession probably explained why she wasn’t the slightest bit thrown off by the wheelchair, the way most people were when they first met him. Even if they tried not to be, they always were. He’d learned to ignore it, even though it drove him crazy when people wouldn’t look him in the eye, like they somehow thought if they did, they were staring. She looked him right in the eye, though, and spoke to him just like she would have if he were standing in front of her.

Even as familiar with neurologists as Brian was, he certainly wasn’t a doctor, and he wasn’t an expert in brain injury. That, coupled with the fact that he’d been up most of the previous night and was completely spent, mentally and physically, made it very difficult to even begin to comprehend what she was saying. What he did manage to gather was that they were still in “wait and see” mode, but as time passed, it was getting less and less likely that Justin would need surgical intervention. So that was some good news. A small bit of relief in an incredibly fucked-up situation.

Brian stayed in Justin’s room for the rest of the day, while other people floated in and out. Most of the time, though, it was just him and Jennifer in the room. Silently sharing each other’s pain and fear. Wondering what they could have done differently. Playing the what-if game. Not that it was doing either of them any good. And it definitely wasn’t helping Justin.

Nothing was helping Justin except time.

A nurse came by just as the sun was setting outside the window, gently forcing them out of the room since visiting hours were over, and Justin needed his rest, she said.

Fuck, he was in a goddamn coma. What else was he doing except resting?

But Brian and Jennifer left the room, with an unspoken vow between them that they’d both return in the morning as soon as they could, resuming their bedside vigil. Brian didn’t know if it was helping Justin or not to have both of them there, but he also didn’t know what else to do. There really wasn’t anything else he could do.

And Brian hated that. He was a fixer -- a doer. A man of action. Just sitting and waiting to see how the chips would fall wasn’t his style. He wished he could do more. But the simple fact was, there was nothing.

And all of the what-ifs in the world wouldn’t change the situation at all.

Fuck if that wasn’t familiar. The last time he’d been confronted with this many what-ifs was ten years before, during his recovery from his own accident. And even though he’d nearly driven himself insane with them, in the end, they didn’t change a goddamn thing.

He was paralyzed, and he always would be. He’d had to realize that, and accept it. Learn to be okay with it.

And now, he was.

For Justin, he realized he’d have to do the same. He might not know how things would turn out, but he had to accept that there was nothing he could do to change what was happening right now. Whatever happened, he’d have to accept it and learn to be okay with it.

And for Justin, he knew he could.

He’d help Justin through it, exactly as Justin had helped him.

There was no one left at the hospital except him and Jennifer. The waiting room was empty, and everyone else had gone home. Michael had been the last one to leave. He’d stopped by the room to let Brian know he was leaving his suitcase in Jennifer’s car, and they’d shared a long hug that had taken Brian straight back to the three nights he and Michael had spent sleeping in the waiting room, not knowing if Justin was going to live or die.

Brian was tempted to stay the night this time, because he didn’t want to leave Justin alone. But he also knew that he probably shouldn't. He’d been up all day. He was completely drained, and he was hurting physically as much as he was hurting emotionally. He knew he needed to at least try to get some rest, as much as he hated to leave.

“Where are you staying?” Jennifer asked as they waited outside the elevators.

Shit. He’d forgotten that Justin had never checked into the hotel because he hadn’t fucking made it to Pittsburgh. At least not under his own power.

“I, uh… I don’t know,” he said. “Justin was supposed to check in last night…” He let his voice trail off. He should probably call the hotel. Hopefully they still had an accessible room available, or he didn’t know what he was going to do. He could sleep on Michael’s couch, or Debbie’s, but bathing and using the bathroom would be a problem. It was times like these when he was reminded of just how much his life had changed and just how inconvenient this shit could be.

Jennifer waited with him as he called the hotel, and after a lot of explaining and somewhat-intrusive questions and an agonizingly long five minutes on hold, they managed to come up with a solution for him. It wasn’t one of the fully accessible rooms, but it had a shower that already had a seat built into it, so he could make it work. They promised they’d move him to a fully accessible room as soon as one became available. He agreed and hung up, but he wasn’t sure he’d be spending enough time there for it to matter anyhow. He intended on spending every waking moment he could with Justin.

Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer was dropping Brian off at the hotel, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said. “If you need anything, call me.”

Brian was reminded in that moment that he was her son too, even if not by blood. And she was treating him like a mother would. Even at 45 years old, sometimes he cursed what he’d missed out on during his childhood. Wondered what life would have been like with parents who gave a shit about him. Debbie had tried so hard to make up for it, but there was no way she could have -- not completely. By the time he’d met Michael, he was too far gone. Too jaded. Too mistrusting.

Justin had cracked Brian open farther than one else ever had.

And now, it hurt. It hurt so much.

Brian checked into the hotel and went up to his room, which was a little small and hard to move around in, but whatever. He was probably only going to be sleeping and showering here anyhow. He opened his suitcase, suddenly remembering that he only had enough clothes for two days -- plus the extra set he’d thrown in, just in case. He wasn’t packed for a week -- or an indefinite time -- in Pittsburgh. He didn’t have enough of anything -- not of his medications, not of his other supplies, nothing. Fuck. He was going to have to figure all of that out, and fast.

But tonight, he was bone tired. It would all have to wait until tomorrow.

A tomorrow that would hopefully bring positive news.

In the meantime, Brian didn’t want to think anymore.

He ordered a room service dinner that he really only picked at, while trying to distract himself with bad television. He had dozens of unanswered text messages on his phone, but he didn’t have the mental energy to reply to any of them. He showered and brushed his teeth, downed his handful of pills, along with an extra painkiller that would hopefully knock his ass out, then slid into bed wearing only his underwear.

Alone.

He hadn’t realized until last night just how much he hated sleeping alone. He used to do it all the time, and thought nothing of it. But that was before Justin.

It was strange how everything in Brian’s life could be divided into “before Justin” and “after Justin.” But that was just how much that persistent kid had changed Brian’s entire life.

He really didn’t want to find out what life would be like if he suddenly had to add a third category: “without Justin.”

He prayed he wouldn’t have to. And he hoped God would listen to someone like him.

Strong Enough by TrueIllusion

“The night Justin was bashed, I called you and you were about to get on a plane, and you came here and you sat with me for three days, waiting to see if he was going to live or die. If it hadn't been for you, I never would have made it. It was because of you. You’re strong enough for both of us.”

*****

Michael was sitting at the dining room table in the house he’d shared with his husband for the past 12 years, drinking coffee and catching up on social media just like he did every morning, when his phone rang. It was Brian.

He knew Brian and Justin would be coming into town in a couple of days for the holidays, so he really didn’t think anything of the fact that Brian was calling him. He figured his oldest and dearest friend was just calling to iron out the details for when they’d be getting together.

He had no reason at all to suspect that when he answered the phone, the Brian he’d be talking to would barely be able to put together a coherent sentence, and that the few words he uttered would indicate that Justin had been seriously hurt and was in critical condition at a Pittsburgh hospital with a traumatic brain injury.

But that was exactly what happened.

Michael felt bad for making Brian repeat himself, but he felt like he must have misheard. There was no way that what Brian was saying was right. Why was Justin driving to Pittsburgh? Why hadn’t Brian been with him?

What the hell was going on?

Michael hadn’t heard Brian sounding that upset -- that out-of-sorts -- since the night Justin was bashed. The night Brian called him just before was supposed to be getting on a plane to Portland, to start his new life as the doctor’s “wife.”

“I’m on the plane now,” Brian had said. “I’ll be there in a little over an hour. Can you pick me up at the airport?”

“Uh, yeah… Sure.” Michael felt numb. How was this happening again?

He couldn’t imagine how helpless Brian had been feeling. How would he have felt if Ben ended up in the hospital, and he was hundreds of miles away?

Michael didn’t want to think about it.

Brian had already known about the accident for eight hours at that point, Michael found out later.

He really didn’t want to think about that. What torture that would have been. Just sitting and waiting, with your hands tied.

Less than two hours later, Michael was standing in the airport, waiting for Brian. When he saw his friend, he was immediately struck by how absolutely destroyed Brian looked. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he’d slept in them, only Michael could tell he hadn’t slept. He probably hadn’t eaten. Hell, who could eat or sleep when your husband was lying in a hospital bed, unconscious?

Michael had been there before, and Ben hadn’t even been his husband yet back then. But he knew how awful it was to feel so helpless. And he knew how much it had helped when Brian came and held him and told him it was going to be okay and just let him cry.

Michael wanted to hug Brian and never let go. He tried, but Brian had to get to Justin. Michael understood.

Bringing their SUV probably hadn’t been the best idea, Michael thought in hindsight. It was higher off the ground, and gave Brian a complicated transfer to make, which took him a couple of tries to get. But he got it, thank goodness. And one benefit of the SUV was that he could put Brian’s wheelchair in the back without taking it apart. He’d never picked it up like that before -- he’d never had a reason to -- but it was much lighter than he figured it would be.

Michael was surprised that Brian let him help like that, without any sort of a fight. But Brian was clearly distracted -- his mind was elsewhere. Michael was sure he would have felt the same way if it were Ben.

Michael still had a hard time seeing his best friend in pain, because he’d always viewed Brian as kind of a superhero. That was what had inspired him to create Rage. Brian had always seemed larger than life. Invincible. Even when Brian had come away from his own accident with a permanent disability and a new mobility accessory, Michael had still been impressed with how well Brian had dealt with it, all things considered. Certainly better than Michael felt he would have, himself. He knew it hadn’t been easy, but after some time, Brian had accepted it and started using it to find a purpose in his life. Michael didn’t think he would have been able to do that.

He and Brian rode to the hospital in silence. Michael didn’t know what to say, and Brian seemed to be completely lost inside his head. There was nothing Michael could say, really. What he wanted was to not have his best friend sitting in the passenger seat of his car, visibly trembling, breathing a little too fast, staring blankly out the window, in a vast amount of emotional pain that Michael could do absolutely nothing about. But there was no way he could have that. He couldn’t fix this. This was happening. It sucked, and it was scary, but it was reality.

Michael was feeling his way through this one blind.

When they got to the hospital, Michael stood close by -- probably a little too close -- as Brian got out of the car and into his chair. But the last thing Brian needed right now was to fall and hurt himself, and the last thing Michael needed was for it to be his fault because he hadn’t made the trip to Carnegie-Mellon to swap vehicles with Ben. Ben’s Prius would have been much better suited to Brian’s needs of getting in and out of the car. He made a mental note to tell Ben to take the SUV to work tomorrow, just to make things easier.

They’d made their way together to the information desk in the hospital lobby to get Justin’s room number, but there was confusion there as well. First of all, Brian wasn’t making much sense -- he was gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white and asking the poor girl to tell him where his husband was, without even giving Justin’s name. So Michael gave her Justin’s name, and then it turned out there were two Justin Taylors in the hospital that night, and they had to try to figure out which one was the right one, by giving her more of Justin’s personal details, which Brian did manage to give her, thank god.

Eventually, she found the Justin Taylor that Michael and Brian were actually looking for, and sent them up to the third floor -- the ICU.

Michael remembered all too well the last time he and Brian had been there. It was the night Justin was bashed. He’d spent three nights sleeping in the waiting room with Brian, not knowing if Justin was going to make it or not. Brian had been absolutely destroyed then, too. It had been a harrowing three days, but Justin had pulled through. Michael hoped that he would pull through this time, too.

The elevator brought them to the third floor, and they continued on down the familiar pathway to the patient rooms. It hadn’t changed much in 15 years. After they turned the corner that would lead them to Justin’s room, Brian stopped so suddenly that Michael almost ran into him. Brian was staring down the hallway, his eyes wide and glazed over, not moving at all. Michael didn’t know what else to do besides lay his hand on Brian’s shoulder, just to let him know he was there. He knew there wasn’t really any comfort he could possibly provide to his friend right now, even as badly as he wanted there to be. All he could do was be there. So he would.

Brian said he was okay, that he just needed a minute. So they took a minute, right there in the hallway, while Brian closed his eyes and breathed deeply, like he was trying to calm himself down. Michael didn’t blame him for being anxious -- again, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what a basket case he would have been if it were Ben who was injured. Not only was Brian dealing with the fact that his husband was severely hurt, but he was also having to face a very similar situation to one that had affected him deeply 15 years before.

Michael knew full well exactly how much Brian had been affected by what happened to Justin in that parking garage after the prom. Maybe even more so than Brian had been willing to admit to himself. Brian had all but forced Michael to go to Portland right after they found out Justin was going to live and he wouldn’t be a vegetable for the rest of his life. Brian had insisted he’d be alright, just like he always did, but Michael knew him well enough to recognize when something was off. He hadn’t fought Brian on it, though, because he also knew there would be no point in that. Brian would get what he wanted one way or another, at any cost. And apparently what he’d wanted was to be left alone. It was better to just shut up and go to Portland and preserve their friendship, than to have Brian do something to push him away.

After he and David had their falling out, Michael had returned to Pittsburgh to find Brian in a state he’d never seen him in before -- practically fall-down drunk all the time, snorting random substances up his nose at every turn, tricking in the back room at Babylon with this strange, dead look in his eyes. It had been painfully obvious to Michael exactly what Brian was doing -- trying to not have to think about or have feelings about what had happened to Justin. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered to suggest that Brian get some help -- talk to someone about what had happened, so he could process it instead of trying to run from it. He’d known Brian would refuse and make some sarcastic comment, and that was exactly what he’d done. But then Justin had shown up at Woody’s, and Brian had been forced to confront his demons head-on.

Michael would never get the look that had been on Brian’s face in that moment at Woody’s out of his head. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. The way he looked as he sat at the end of that hospital hallway, a decade and a half later, was nearly identical.

After a few minutes, Brian seemed to find his resolve and started moving again, and they were soon outside of Justin’s hospital room, where Michael’s mother, Debbie, was sitting with Justin’s mother, Jennifer. The two of them had been close for a long time -- essentially since Justin had entered their lives. Debbie had supported Jennifer through Justin’s coming out and Jennifer’s divorce, and they’d remained good friends over the years.

Debbie looked up just as they approached the doorway, and Michael saw her make eye contact with Brian. She turned and said something to Jennifer, then got up and came to them. She paused and talked to Brian, trying to offer comfort just as Michael had, then stayed in the hallway with Michael as Brian went into the room. Not wanting to intrude or eavesdrop, they walked back down the hallway toward the waiting room.

“How is he?” she asked. Her voice echoed a little in the empty hallway, even though she was speaking fairly quietly, at least for her.

Michael shrugged. “About as well as could be expected, I guess,” he said. “I know I’d be fucking beside myself if it were Ben lying there in that bed. But, you know Brian… I’m sure he’s not showing us half of what he’s feeling.”

Debbie nodded as they turned the corner and walked through the doorway of the lounge. She sank heavily into a chair in the corner, closed her eyes, and exhaled.

“Poor kid,” she said.

Michael wasn’t sure if she meant Justin or Brian. Or both. He sat down next to his mother, leaned his head back, and closed his own eyes briefly.

“I haven’t seen Brian like that in a long time. Not since…” Michael couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence. But he knew he didn’t need to.

His mother nodded in understanding and pulled him into her arms.

“I love you, don’t you ever forget that,” she said, directly into his ear. “We probably don’t say it often enough.”

She was right, Michael thought. Most people don’t say it enough. They assume that people know how much they love them, but how often do they say it out loud? This whole chain of events was a sobering reminder of just how important it was to tell people how you feel, so you don’t end up with regrets later.

Michael wondered if that wasn’t part of what was eating at Brian. Wondering if he could have done more to show Justin how much he loved him. Michael was sure Justin knew, but whether or not Brian believed that was another story.

Debbie and Michael sat in the waiting room until it was almost dinner time, sort of playing defacto “hosts” as other people drifted in and out during the day, checking on Justin. Michael didn’t see Brian for a long time -- he stayed in the hospital room. As he should. Eventually, things settled down, visitor-wise, and Debbie wanted to head home to get started on the metric ton of food Michael was sure she was about to prepare for Jennifer and Brian.

Michael, tired of feeling helpless, decided to go home with her and help her. Maybe he could at least convince her to make something Brian would actually eat, since her usual repertoire of carb-heavy, cheese-and-cream-laden lasagnas and casseroles wouldn’t be something he’d want to eat on a daily basis. Before they left, Michael stopped by the room again.

Since visiting hours would be over soon, Jennifer and Brian had already made plans -- Jennifer would take Brian to his hotel, and hopefully they’d all be able to get some rest. With as exhausted as Brian was looking, Michael really hoped that his friend would take that to heart.

Before he left, Michael gave Brian another hug. The way his best friend clung to him, his fingers digging into his back, brought back more memories of the last time he and Brian had been there in that hallway. Michael wondered if this feeling of history repeating itself was ever going to go away. Probably not. The whole situation was so eerily similar. The only real difference was that, back then, Justin and Brian were only getting started. Now, they’d been married for close to a decade. But it was apparent from what Michael had seen today that Brian’s feelings were pretty much the same now as they had been back then, giving Michael even more of an appreciation for just how deeply Brian had already loved Justin all those years ago.

The biggest difference was that, this time, Michael hadn’t seen Brian cry.

Michael and Debbie spent the rest of the evening in her kitchen, and Ben came over to help after he finished teaching his last class for the day. None of them really said much. No one wanted to talk about the elephant in the room.

Michael was scared to death for Brian. Even more scared than he had been all those years ago. He could already see what this was doing to his best friend, and he didn’t want to think about what was going to happen if Justin didn’t pull through. Particularly now that Brian had been in New York for ten years. Fifteen years ago, Brian would have had his Pittsburgh family to rally around him, even though he’d surely have tried to act like he didn’t need them or their support. But did Brian have the same kind of support system in New York? Or would he be essentially all alone? Michael had heard the names of a few different people on a consistent basis, and he'd met a couple of them during one of his visits to the city, but he wasn't sure how close they were. That wasn’t really something he and Brian talked about. It wasn’t something he thought they’d ever need to talk about, honestly. And the fact that he was even thinking about it now -- and the reason why he was thinking about it -- was making him uncomfortable.

He sent Brian a couple of text messages that evening, just to check in on him and see if he needed anything, but he never heard back. He really didn’t like the idea that Brian was staying in a hotel room by himself. He wished Brian could stay with him and Ben, but he knew that their house wasn’t exactly wheelchair friendly. It worked just fine for a short visit during the day, but for overnight, there was just no way to make it work. Michael wanted to be able to check in on Brian and make sure he was okay, since he knew Brian would probably never reach out. He was sure he could find out where Brian was staying, but Michael also didn't want to just show up unannounced. It would be a little easier if Brian was in the same house, to check in without being intrusive.

When Carl came home from work, he had a copy of the accident report that he’d managed to get from the state police. Basically, a vehicle had cut off a tractor-trailer, causing the driver to brake and lose traction on a slick overpass. When the tractor-trailer came to a stop, it was blocking the road, and Justin had plowed into it. The driver of the car that started the chain reaction had fled the scene. Just reading the account of it in black-and-white type on paper, Michael couldn’t begin to imagine how scared Justin must have been. And how awful it must be for Brian to know that Justin had been alone.

Just as Michael was sending his second text message to Brian, Ben walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re a good friend, you know that?” Ben said.

“I’m trying,” Michael sighed as he let himself relax into Ben’s arms. “I just wish there was something I could do. I don’t like that there isn’t anything I can do. There wasn’t last time either. I hate feeling like this.”

“Sometimes all you can do is just be there. And that’s enough. Just be there for him.”

And as much as Michael wanted to do more, he knew Ben was right.

As they went home that night, climbed into bed together and turned out the light, Michael couldn’t help but think of Brian, who was sleeping alone, not knowing if he was ever going to be able to share a bed with his husband again. And that thought made Michael’s heart hurt for his friend. He snuggled himself against Ben, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about the possibility.

In the morning, Michael called his daytime cashier at the comic book store to let him know that he wouldn’t be coming in today, or for the next few days, but that he’d be available by phone if needed. Then, he drank his coffee and caught up on his social media just as he’d done the day before, only this time he also kept checking his phone for text messages from Brian.

After Ben left around 9 a.m., Michael decided he couldn’t stand it anymore and called Brian, because he needed to know that his friend was okay.

When Brian answered, he sounded half asleep.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Michael said. “Did I wake you up?”

“S’okay,” Brian mumbled on the other end of the line. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost nine. I’m sorry, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“No, no.” Suddenly Brian sounded a lot more awake. “Shit, I’ve got to get to the hospital. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. Fuck, how the hell am I going to get there? Are you at the store?”

“No, I took the day off. I’ll take you. Just tell me where to go and when to show up.”

Brian gave Michael the address of the hotel, and when they hung up the phone, he could tell he was on speakerphone and could also hear Brian moving around, trying to hurry and get ready. He at first told Michael to show up in an hour and a half, then shortened that to an hour and said he’d figure it out. Michael had no idea what he was referring to there, but it made him think of how different it must be now for Brian to get ready for the day -- something he hadn’t really given much thought to before.

When Michael showed up at the hotel an hour later and knocked on Brian’s door, he answered it with his toothbrush in his mouth, then went back into the bathroom to finish up before coming back out and starting to gather up the rest of the things he’d need for the day. Brian looked quite a bit better than he had the day before, although he still had an unsettled, worried, anxious look about him. But that was to be expected, given the situation.

Brian picked up a small stack of clothing and set it down in his lap.

“I know this is weird, but would you mind washing these for me?” he asked. “I was packed for two days in Rochester, so I don’t have enough clothes. And I don’t know when I’m going to find time to get more.”

“It’s not weird at all. And yes, I’ll do it. I don’t mind. I’ll do whatever you need me to do...just tell me and consider it done.” It really was the least he could do for his friend. But Michael needed that. He needed some way to feel useful.

“Thanks.” Brian nodded once as he continued tossing things into a small backpack. “And I need to run some errands this morning… Fuck, it’s going to be lunch by the time I can get to the hospital. Dammit, I didn’t mean to sleep that long.”

“You needed the rest,” Michael said gently. “I talked to Ma a little bit ago. She’s with Jennifer. She said there’s no change. He’s just holding his own. Take care of whatever you need to take care of. He’s okay.”

Those words felt so empty and meaningless -- he’s okay. They weren’t really true. Justin wasn’t okay. They didn’t know if he ever would be again. But Michael also knew that Brian needed to take care of himself. He wasn’t going to be able to just set all of his own needs aside like he had the last time Justin was lying in bed in a coma. And Michael really didn’t want him to try. So he was going to do everything he could to try to assure Brian that it was okay to take the time he needed to take care of whatever he needed to take care of. Because he needed to stay healthy for Justin.

Brian zipped up the backpack and hung it over the back of his wheelchair.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Brian directed Michael to stop at a pharmacy close by the hospital, where they went inside and Brian picked up several different prescriptions and racked up quite a bill, then they went on their way to the hospital.

Michael noticed Brian’s right leg shaking against the door just as they pulled into a parking space in the hospital parking garage. Brian put his hand on his knee like he was trying to stop it, but his leg paid that no mind and kept right on doing what it was doing. Michael hadn’t seen that happen in a long, long time. It reminded him of the way fidgety people bounce their legs up and down, only this was completely out of Brian’s control.

“Dammit,” Brian said under his breath. “This shit only happens when I’m stressed, and it fucking makes me more stressed.”

“Do you have something you can--”

“I fucking take something for it every goddamn day,” Brian said, cutting Michael off. “I need to get in there. I need it to stop so I can.”

“Okay,” Michael said, trying to keep his voice even and calm, as Brian was getting more agitated. “Just relax, maybe that’ll help.”

“It’s not going to fucking help.”

“Well, I don’t think getting upset is helping either.”

“Shut the fuck up, Michael,” Brian spat. Then he stopped, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, his tone had completely changed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“I know. You don’t have to apologize.”

Michael could tell that there were all sorts of emotions running just below the surface in his friend right now, fighting with one another, threatening to break free. He’d seen the fear, the despondence, the anxiety, and now the anger and frustration. But he still hadn’t seen Brian cry.

He didn’t know if Brian had broken down when he was alone with Justin or not, or maybe when he was with Jennifer, or if he was just holding it all inside, the way he usually did. Trying to pretend that he didn’t have feelings. Locking them up inside the Kinney Fortress. He was impressed with how effectively Brian could still do that, even without the illicit drugs and the copious amounts of alcohol and anonymous sex -- all the ways in which Brian had managed his emotional pain since they were teenagers, all the way up until his life changed in an instant ten years before.

Regardless, Michael could tell there was something building inside Brian that needed to be released. But he also knew there was nothing he could do to make Brian let it go -- he’d do it in his own time, if he did it at all.

It didn’t take much longer before Brian’s leg stopped shaking and they were able to go into the hospital. From there, the day went a lot like the previous one -- with Michael and Debbie spending a lot of time in the waiting room, and Jennifer and Brian in the room with Justin.

“Jennifer said Daphne is coming in from Cincinnati today,” Debbie said, breaking the comfortable silence they’d fallen into.

Michael had wondered where Daphne had ended up. He’d known she was a pre-med major back when Justin still lived in Pittsburgh, but after Justin went to New York, Michael had no reason to know or means to find out any other details about Daphne’s life. He assumed she’d finished medical school and was probably working somewhere as a doctor now. Cincinnati probably wasn’t that different from the Pitts.

“That’s good,” he said, not really knowing what else to say.

Again, they fell into that comfortable silence.

After an hour or so had passed, Jennifer came into the waiting room and said she was going to get some lunch. Debbie agreed to go with her, and Michael said he would go sit with Brian.

It was the first time he’d seen Brian and Justin together in the hospital room. At least, this time around.

It looked a lot like the last time, though. Brian was holding Justin’s hand, and talking to him, although Michael couldn’t hear what he was saying as he approached the door and slowly pushed it open. Brian looked up at him and offered a half-smile. Not a happy one, just an acknowledgment and nothing more.

“Thought I’d come and keep you company for a while,” Michael said. “If you want me to, that is.”

Brian nodded slightly. Michael assumed that was an “okay.” If not an “I want you to.”

Michael hesitantly approached the bed and took a seat in the chair that sat alongside Brian’s. Neither of them said anything for a while. It felt awkward for Michael -- like he was imposing somehow. Intruding on a private moment shared between only Justin and Brian. He was just about to make some excuse to leave Brian alone so he could talk to Justin again, when Brian reached out his other hand and suddenly took Michael’s, so that he was holding Justin’s hand with one and Michael’s with the other. Maybe Brian did want him here, after all.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Brian said softly. Michael was glad for the confirmation. Ben’s words from the night before kept running through his head: sometimes all you can do is just be there.

The three men’s hands were linked together in an odd sort of chain of comfort and presence. Michael and Brian sat there together for a long time without saying a word. Michael was starting to get used to that. Maybe they didn’t need to say anything at all. Maybe they needed to just be.

Brian was the one who broke the silence this time.

“What if he doesn't wake up this time?” Brian whispered, his voice so quiet that Michael barely heard him. Perhaps that was by design, born of fear that if he said it too loudly, it might come true.

Michael squeezed Brian’s hand.

“He will,” Michael said. “They’re just keeping him under and letting him heal right now.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if he’s not…”

Brian didn’t finish that sentence. Michael didn’t really want him to. Hell, he didn’t need him to. He knew how it ended.

“Don’t think like that, okay?” Michael said. God, he remembered the last time he’d said those words to Brian, right here in this same goddamn hospital. Michael wanted nothing more than for this recurring nightmare to end, but he knew they were all a long way from waking up and finding that everything was going to be alright.

Brian nodded, closed his eyes, and swallowed. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

“He’s strong. He’s going to make it through this.” Truthfully, Michael didn’t know if those last words were true, but he needed them to be. Maybe speaking them out loud would make them so. At the very least, he needed Brian to believe that they were true.

The ringing of Brian’s phone in his pocket interrupted their exchange. He let go of Michael’s hand so he could answer it. Michael could see that it was a local number, but he had no idea who it was, and it was clear from Brian’s confused expression that he didn’t know either, but he answered it anyhow.

“Kinney,” he said -- his typical way of answering the phone when he didn’t know who was on the other end of the line. Maybe it was a business call. Someone who hadn’t gotten the memo that the CEO of Kinnetik was dealing with a serious family crisis at the moment.

“Yes, that’s me. … Yes. … Oh.” Brian’s expression suddenly changed into an odd mixture of surprise and realization and…was that fear Michael could see in his eyes? “Yes, I’ll come down there as soon as I can. … Thank you.”

As he hung up the phone and slid it back into the pocket on his shirt, Brian looked a little confused and somehow even more unsettled than he already had been.

“That was the state police post,” Brian said, his voice sounding numb. “They said they have some of my ‘personal articles’ from my vehicle that were recovered from the scene of the accident. It has to be the paintings. It has to be the fucking paintings.” He was slowly getting louder and louder. “I forgot about the goddamn paintings. How the fuck did I forget about the goddamn reason he was driving my fucking car all the way out here by himself?!”

By the time Brian was finished, he was nearly shouting, and Michael was worried that someone was going to come in to warn them that they were disturbing other patients.

“Shh,” Michael said as he put his arm around Brian’s shoulders. “Brian, it’s okay. You’re worried about Justin. It’s understandable that you weren’t thinking about anything else except him.”

“I’m sorry, Justin,” Brian said desperately, still far too loud, although he wasn’t quite shouting anymore. Michael could tell Brian was starting to crack. “I’m so sorry I forgot about the fucking paintings.”

“Shh,” Michael said again. “We’ll go get them.”

“They were important,” Brian said, much more quietly. “They were important. That’s why he was driving them here. He didn’t want them to get lost or damaged.”

“Then I’ll take you over there. Let’s go get them, okay?”

Brian shook his head. “Not until Jen gets back. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“Sure,” Michael said gently. “When you’re ready, we’ll go.”

It wasn’t too long after that, that Michael and Brian were back in Ben’s Prius, heading to the outskirts of town. It took them thirty minutes to get to the state police post that was the closest to where Justin’s accident had occurred. The closer they got, the more agitated Brian got. By the time they actually arrived, Michael was fairly sure Brian was about to come out of his skin.

It was almost like a repeat of what had happened at the hospital the day before, where Brian wasn’t making much sense, because he was so anxious to get to where he needed to go and see what he so desperately needed to see. Michael tried to fill in the gaps as best he could, and eventually they found themselves in a room that seemed to be mostly abandoned save for being utilized as some kind of random storage area. In one corner, sat a pile of canvases in various states of disrepair.

Even from a distance, Michael could tell that several of them were broken and torn, and the one on top looked like it had been very, very wet. But even with as damaged as they were, Michael could tell they were clearly Justin’s work.

Brian made a noise Michael couldn’t identify as he quickly moved into the corner and started frantically pawing through the wreckage, like he was desperately searching for something. Michael wasn’t sure what. Or if Brian even knew, really.

Just as Michael was taking a step toward Brian to help him try to make sense out of what remained of Justin’s artwork, Brian turned suddenly and glared at the officer that had escorted them to the room.

“You!” Brian shouted. “How could you do this? Just toss them away in the corner like they’re trash? Like they didn’t even matter? Like the blood, sweat, and tears my husband put into these didn’t even matter?”

Michael could hear Brian’s voice starting to break as his volume sank lower, and he knew what was coming.

“Like he doesn’t even matter? His existence just...doesn’t matter. He’s just some guy you scraped off the highway. Well, he was my husband.”

Now, the tears were starting to come. Michael could see them.

“He is my husband. And he fucking matters,” Brian whispered thickly. “He fucking matters.”

Michael glanced up at the officer, who was still standing in the doorway, looking confused and awkward. Michael held up his hand as if to silently say, “It’s okay, I’ve got it,” just as Brian collapsed in on himself with silent sobs.

He grabbed his best friend and wrapped him in the tightest hug he could, rubbing Brian’s back while he cried on his shoulder. Michael wanted to tell him it was okay, but he knew that would be a lie. Nothing about this situation was okay. Not in the slightest. All he could do was hold Brian and let him cry. It was his turn to be the strong one again.

It took a while before Brian’s breathing calmed and the tears slowed and eventually stopped. Neither of them said anything about it. They didn’t have to. When you’d been friends for three-plus decades, you didn’t have to. You just knew.

After he let Brian go, he turned back to the haphazard pile of canvases in the corner. Pieces of Justin that had been destroyed by the same tragedy that had landed him in that goddamn hospital bed. One by one, Michael picked them up and started making a more orderly stack on a nearby table, as best he could. Some of them weren’t too bad and could probably be easily salvaged. Others, he wasn’t so sure.

“We can let Lindsay look at them when she gets in tomorrow,” Michael said. “She’ll know more about what we can do to try to save them.” He was trying to be optimistic for Brian’s sake, because he could tell that’s what his best friend needed right now.

Brian was scrutinizing the canvases carefully as Michael laid each one on the table. Just as Michael was picking up the last one out of the corner, Brian said, “That’s not all of them.”

“Huh?”

“That’s not all of them. There were ten. This is eight. Where are the other two?”

“I don’t know, Brian. Maybe they’re still in the car.”

“The car, the fucking car… Of course, the fucking car.”

As if on cue, the officer who had brought them into the room in the first place suddenly reappeared in the doorway, just in time for Brian to bark at him, “Where’s my fucking car?”

Seemingly unbothered by Brian’s language or his tone, the officer said, “I have some paperwork I need you to sign, then you’re free to get whatever you like out of the car in the impound lot. After that, you’ll need to contact your insurance company to see what they want to do with it.”

Fuck. Michael was sure the last thing Brian needed right now was the stress of dealing with the insurance company. That wasn’t fun on a good day, much less when your husband was in a coma and you didn’t know when or if he was going to wake up.

Brian followed the officer to a desk and signed the paperwork, while Michael made two trips to load the paintings into the car. Then, they headed off to the impound lot. And that was where things got even worse for Brian.

It didn’t take them long to find the car. Seeing it nearly took Michael’s breath away. He didn’t see how Justin had survived, much less come through with no other injuries besides the one very serious one he was suffering from. There was blood everywhere. Michael had never seen that much blood in his entire life.

The one thing he didn’t see as he looked through the car was any evidence of two more paintings. Not in the back seat, not in the still-open trunk. Nothing. Wherever they were, they were gone, and there was probably no getting them back.

Michael was so taken aback by the sheer gruesomeness of the scene that it took him a moment to notice how Brian’s breathing had changed, and was now coming in shallow, rapid gasps. He was shaking, and he appeared to be frozen on the spot, his eyes wide and staring blankly at the large, red stains that marred nearly every light colored surface in that car. The physical evidence of the life having bled out of Justin on the side of that highway.

Michael knew he had to get Brian out of there.

“Brian?” he asked, knowing full well that he probably wasn’t going to get a response out of Brian. He was right.

“Brian?” he tried again. Still nothing. He didn’t get a response out of Brian until he physically touched Brian’s arm, and he flinched. “Let’s just go,” Michael said softly. “I don’t see anything else. I don’t know what happened to them.”

Michael started back toward his own car, and gestured for Brian to come with him, but Brian stayed right where he was. Not moving at all.

“Brian,” Michael said gently. “Come on. Let’s go. They’re not here.”

But Brian still didn’t come.

Michael thought about how easy it would be to physically make Brian move, just pushing him along. Removing him from the situation. But he quickly thought better of that. Brian was an adult, and Michael shouldn’t take advantage of the fact that he was in a wheelchair to treat him like a child.

He went back around so that he was standing between Brian and the car, basically forcing Brian to look at him.

“Please, Brian,” he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Let’s go. We need to get you back to Justin.”

Those seemed to be the magic words that broke Brian out of his trance. He blinked up at Michael like he was trying to clear his vision, then nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Justin. I need to get back to Justin.”

They drove the half hour back into the city in silence, although this one was more tense than comfortable. Michael was afraid for Brian’s mental state now. He had absolutely no idea what was going on inside his best friend’s head, but he knew it wasn’t good.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Brian was thinking when he saw all of that blood. The memories it must have brought back for him. Baseball bats and white silk scarves and parking garages.

Brian had calmed down considerably by the time they arrived back at the hospital, but he still seemed on-edge. Michael could tell he was trying to hold it together, probably for Justin.

Brian hadn’t mentioned what he wanted to do with the paintings that were in the back of the car, and Michael didn’t want to bring it up again, so he decided to just take them home. He’d do what he’d promised earlier and have Lindsay take a look at them once she got into town. They were important to Brian, and Michael would do anything that was within his power to return them to what they had been before tragedy had struck.

Because, after all, they were pieces of Justin.

Michael just hoped they wouldn’t end up being all Brian had left to hold onto.

Post Trauma by TrueIllusion

“I saw him. He was coming after you with a bat. But he was moving too fast, and you were too far away. And I ran… But there was no time to stop it. And then he swung. And it was too late. There was nothing I could do. And then you just laid there on the cold cement.”

*****

On the eve of Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor’s ninth wedding anniversary, Brian went back to his hotel room in Pittsburgh alone. Wondering why this was his life. What he’d done to deserve this. What he’d done to deserve any of the for-shit things that had happened to him so far in his life. Justin was one of the positive things that had happened to him in his life -- one thing on what felt like a very short list. And now that might get taken from him.

He was thinking of all of the plans he’d originally had for the next day. The way he’d wanted to celebrate how much it meant to him to have Justin by his side in this life. Now, their partnership hung in the balance.

And Brian wanted nothing more than to go to a bar and try to drown all of the pain and the hurt he was feeling in a large amount of whiskey, but he knew he shouldn’t. If he was hung over, he couldn’t be fully present for Justin. Besides, the alcohol wouldn’t change a damn thing. He wasn’t sure there was anything that could take away this particular pain. Not alcohol, not pills, nothing.

As he settled into a cold, somewhat uncomfortable bed that wasn’t his own for another lonely night without his partner next to him, Brian’s thoughts kept returning to earlier that afternoon, when he and Michael had gone to pick up what was left of Justin’s paintings. When they’d gone to find his car, to see if the two paintings that hadn’t been at the police station were still in the car. When Brian had finally laid eyes on the physical manifestation of exactly what his husband had gone through on the highway two days before.

What Justin had lived through.

Lived.

Lived, lived, lived.

Brian had to keep reminding himself of that. Justin was still alive. He hadn’t left him yet.

He was being kept in a state of suspended animation at the moment, as a way of protecting his brain from any further injury caused by the swelling. Michael had been right -- they were letting Justin heal. But as soon as he was out of the woods, they’d bring Justin back. They’d told Brian as much, and he believed them. He just had to wait for that. And until then, he just had to keep it together. He hoped he could.

He’d completely lost his goddamn mind when he saw the paintings, mangled and laying in a pile, totally disregarded, in the corner. Like they didn’t mean anything. And to those people, they hadn’t. They’d picked them up off the road and brought them there. At least they’d had the decency to do that much. But that was all they’d done, because to those police officers, the canvases didn’t have the same meaning that they did to Brian.

To Brian, they were a part of Justin. And it hurt to see them like that -- broken. Just as much as it hurt to see Justin lying in the hospital bed in much the same state.

The second he saw them like that, he could feel every bit of the control he’d been trying to exert over the broad range of intense emotions he’d had coursing through his body all day dissolve completely, in an instant. So he’d yelled. Then he’d cried. And there was absolutely nothing he could have done to stop either one of those things.

Nor did either one of them make him feel any better.

Michael tried, but there wasn’t anything he could do to make Brian feel better either.

Honestly, Brian wasn’t sure there was anything that could, at this point, aside from seeing his husband’s beautiful blue eyes, open and alert. But he still didn’t know how far away he was from that. So he couldn’t spend too much of his mental energy thinking about it.

When he’d seen the car, Brian had felt like he’d been sent into another dimension, where everything around him was dulled and distant. He couldn’t hear anything except the pounding of his own blood in his ears. Couldn’t see anything except the dark red stains of two-day-old blood smeared across the previously-gray interior of his car. Couldn’t feel much of anything except intense pain and fear. Like he was spiraling out of control, downward into some depth of despair and panic that he could barely fathom. He felt like he couldn't breathe -- like someone was squeezing his chest in a vice. But he kept breathing. Gasping. Fighting. He’d barely registered that Michael might have been speaking to him, but there was no way he could respond. He couldn’t make his mouth move. Couldn’t push air out to form words. Couldn’t find them in his brain, anyhow. The only thing that broke him out of it was Michael coming to stand between him and the car, blocking his view of the horror. Brian was grateful Michael had done that, because otherwise, he didn’t know just how far down he would have gone.

Michael had reminded him that he needed to get back to Justin. That Justin needed him. He was right.

Brian couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t lose it. He couldn’t break. Couldn’t allow himself to get consumed by the memories.

Because Justin needed him. And Justin needed him whole. Fully present. Strong and ready for anything.

Brian didn’t feel like he was any of those things. But he’d have to fake it, and hope he would make it. There really wasn’t any other option.

Daphne had showed up at the hospital in the late afternoon, and Brian could tell that the scene was all too familiar to her as well. Brian hadn’t seen her in a while, because her job kept her very busy almost all the time, but he knew that she and Justin still talked on the phone regularly. Brian wasn’t sure how she’d found out about Justin’s situation, but he was thankful that he hadn’t had to be the one to keep people updated on what was going on. He didn’t think he could do it. He still hadn’t actually looked at his text messages since he’d been in Rochester -- and as the number of notifications climbed, the idea felt more and more overwhelming. So he just kept ignoring them, figuring that if someone really had something important to say, they’d call.

She had immediately given him a hug, and they’d shared a look that said more than words ever could. A look that told him she understood, completely. They were Justin’s people. They always had been. They had been 15 years ago, and they would be again now.

Sure, Justin had Jennifer and Debbie, his two mothers, but Brian and Daphne were different. To both of them, Justin felt like a part of them -- like they were two halves of the same whole.

And Daphne had been almost as concerned with Brian as she was with Justin. Asking him how he was doing. If he was taking care of himself. If he needed anything.

Brian was doing the best he could, and that was about all he could say about that.

He’d struggled with spasms off and on all day, likely because he was so stressed out and his body was reacting to that. He knew he hadn’t had enough to drink or eat for three days now, but he honestly didn’t think he could stomach any more than he’d had. By the time he’d made it back to the hotel room and into the shower, he was ready to take enough painkillers to knock himself out for at least 12 or so hours, but he couldn’t do that because then he would oversleep, again, and miss out on time he could have spent with Justin. So he’d just have to deal with it.

And he knew people meant well, but he really wished they’d stop hovering.

He felt the familiar, irritating ache in his lower back as he used his upper body strength to roll himself over onto his stomach, then reached up to turn the light off. He closed his eyes and tried to will sleep to come quickly.

That night, he had the first bashing-related nightmare he’d had in well over a decade.

Fifteen years before, the nightmares had not only plagued Justin, but Brian as well. Once Justin had come to live with Brian, though, Brian had told himself that he had to ignore them and just keep going, because Justin needed him. Brian didn’t have time to deal with his own shit. Justin was more important. That seemed to work pretty well. It wasn’t long before his own nightmares stopped, and Brian slept fairly soundly again, save for when Justin would wake him up flailing and whimpering in the wee hours of the morning.

This one, though, was more vivid than any he could remember having before.

The predominant color was red -- blood red. Everywhere. Everything was stained red, and every surface was either coated or dripping with the viscous, red liquid. Brian was in his Jeep, watching Justin walk away in his prom tuxedo in the side mirror, thinking about the fact that he just might love the kid. Then, he saw Chris Hobbs stalking Justin from behind, clutching a baseball bat. It was a familiar scene, and Brian knew what step came next -- only this time, he couldn’t get out of the car, couldn’t run, couldn’t warn Justin, because the doors were locked, or jammed, or something. The door wouldn’t open, and it wouldn’t unlock. He was powerless, just watching the horror unfold in the side view mirror. Chris Hobbs swinging the bat, hitting Justin in the head. Justin falling to the ground. Chris Hobbs continuing to beat Justin after he fell, until Brian was sure Justin was dead. Brian was screaming -- begging Chris to stop -- but it seemed like no one could hear him. And there was so much blood. Even more blood than there had been at the beginning. It was filling the garage now, the level rising like a flood, until it was up to the windows on the Jeep and it started to pour in, coating Brian in its stickiness, as the sickening smell of iron filled his nostrils. It continued to rise until it reached his chin and started to fill his mouth, and the smell was replaced by taste, which made him sputter and cough and gag as he screamed and hoped that someone would hear him -- that someone would listen.

He woke up in a cold sweat, his throat hoarse. Apparently he really had been screaming. Shit. He looked at his hands and his body, sure that they’d be coated in blood, but they weren’t. He was wearing the same pair of sweatpants he’d worn to bed, and they were clean. Michael had washed them for him. He wasn’t in the Jeep. He wasn’t in the parking garage. He was in bed, in a hotel room in downtown Pittsburgh. And Justin was lying in a coma, but he wasn’t dead.

Someone would have called Brian if he was, right? If something had happened?

Yes, he told himself as he tried to calm his heart rate and slow his breathing. Someone would have called.

He checked his phone on compulsion. Nobody had called.

He unlocked it just to be absolutely sure there were no missed calls. No notification bubbles on the phone icon. Just 38 unread text messages next to it. All messages that Brian couldn’t bring himself to read or reply to. Probably a bunch of people checking on him, being sure he was okay. Hovering.

He was okay. Wasn’t he?

It took Brian almost an hour to calm down enough to fall asleep again. This time, he was treated to an entirely different set of disturbing images from a different time.

He was watching a car speed down the highway -- his car -- but he wasn’t in it. Justin was in it. It was dark, and it was snowing. Then the whole scene changed, and suddenly there was a crash. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Brian could see Justin go from animated and happy and smiling to bleeding and unconscious in the blink of an eye. He watched the whole thing unfold in horror. He wanted to run to Justin, but he realized he couldn’t feel his legs. It felt like he was standing on the side of the road -- he looked down and he wasn’t in his wheelchair -- but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t walk. His entire lower body was numb. All he could do was scream and beg people to help, but no one was stopping. Again, no one was listening. And blood was pouring out of the car, spreading across the highway. The cars kept speeding by, driving through it like it was nothing more than a rain puddle. But Brian could see that it was blood. Couldn’t they? His screams turned into sobs as he watched Justin bleed out in his car, alone. His blood covered the road, but no one seemed to care. And Brian wanted so desperately to reach him, to touch him, to comfort him and hold his hand, but he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed. And that kept him stuck.

This time, Brian woke up and his face was wet. He put his hand to it and then drew it away to look at it, half expecting the wetness to be blood. But it wasn’t. It was clear. It was tears, because he’d been crying. And his hand was shaking. His heart was pounding in his chest again.

Christ, what was wrong with him?

He felt like he had to piss this time too, so he rolled over and sat up, pushing his legs over the side of the bed like they’d done something wrong, because in that dream, they had. They’d kept him from Justin. He took care of business in the bathroom, thinking it was odd that he was having to go in the middle of the night, but whatever. Maybe it was the dream. Maybe he’d had too much to drink too late at night. He’d long ago lost track of whatever his regular routine was, because his whole fucking life felt like it was upside down.

He washed his face again, taking a long look at it in the mirror. Not really liking what he saw. But it didn’t much matter anymore. It’s not like he was going to be out at Babylon trying to pick up tricks. He was only going to be seeing a handful of people, and none of them were going to care about what he looked like.

Brian went back into the main part of the hotel room and transferred back to the bed, trying to ignore the ache in his left shoulder. The gift that life had apparently given him so he could always remember trying to cruise guys no-handed on the Liberty Ride. Now that he was using his shoulders for every damn thing, he was reminded of his moment of stupidity quite often.

He flipped himself back over and turned out the light again, and hoped that the third time was the charm.

It wasn’t.

This time, he was the one driving the car. Only it was the Corvette. And he was alone. It was raining. He was thinking about how much he missed Justin -- how letting go of the mansion had felt like letting go of any hope that Justin was going to come back to him. Letting go of Justin once and for all because he knew he needed to, so Justin could be the best artist and the best man he could possibly be, without being weighed down by Brian and all of his emotional and relationship baggage. He was late for a meeting, because the closing had run longer than expected. So he was in a hurry. This was the part he remembered.

From there on, everything was new to Brian. Or at least, it felt like it was.

He went around a curve a little too fast, and he could feel the back tires losing traction a little, starting to slide. He tried to steer into it, but overcorrected. One of the trees on the side of the road got closer and closer. Brian felt like he was watching the scene in slow motion as the car skidded off the road, then suddenly time resumed its normal cadence at the second the car slammed into the tree, and Brian’s body slammed into the steering wheel. He instantly felt like he’d been cut in half. He could feel absolutely nothing below his waist, and he actually looked down to see if his body was still there -- still attached. What he could feel was a burning, blinding pain in his back, like someone was pushing a hot poker into it at a very specific point, and the pain radiated outward in pulses. He could feel and hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears. His face felt hot, and he was lightheaded, and weak -- like the intense pain was sucking every bit of life out of him. He felt something warm and wet running down his face as darkness started to cloud his vision, in waves at first, then slowly fading out like a television show just before the end credits.

Brian awoke with a gasp just as the dream world around him faded to black, and it took him a minute to reorient himself. To realize that he still had the numbness and the feeling like he’d been cut in half, but the intense, blinding pain had been replaced with a dull ache. The same ache that was almost always there in some capacity -- sometimes barely at all, and sometimes distracting enough that it made it difficult to concentrate. He looked over at his wheelchair sitting beside the bed -- the reminder that this wasn’t new. He’d been like this for a while. The wear and tear and the chips in the powdercoat and the scrapes on the pushrims told him that he had. Scars of life. From living his life in that chair.

He didn’t think he remembered most of what he’d just seen. He’d never recalled it before. For ten years, the last thing he could remember was thinking, “Fuck, I’m going to be late for this meeting and Cynthia is going to kill me.” How ironic that he’d nearly died shortly after that, and Cynthia had nothing to do with it.

But now, he’d seen and felt it all. And it felt so real. It felt like he was there. Like he’d traveled back in time somehow.

And he kind of wished he could go back to not remembering how it felt to have his spinal cord crushed.

By now, Brian was a mess -- his heart was pounding again, and his head along with it. He felt like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. He was shaking uncontrollably. And he really, really didn’t want to be alone right now. But there was no way to remedy that. He rolled over onto his side and used his hands to pull his legs up so he could hug them to his chest. He’d always found that comforting, ever since he was a kid. He felt protected and safe when he curled up like that. He tried to imagine that he wasn’t alone -- that Justin was with him. Rubbing his back. Telling him that he was okay. Reminding him that it wasn’t real -- it was only a dream.

Well, maybe that last one wasn’t.

It took Brian a long time to get back to a state where he could even try to go back to sleep.

And once he got to that point, he still couldn’t sleep, because every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was blood. So he lay there awake for the next two hours, until it was finally late enough that he could start getting ready for the day, so he could go back to the hospital and see with his own two eyes that Justin was still there.

This certainly wasn’t what he’d had in mind to celebrate their anniversary. But today, he was choosing to be thankful that Justin was still alive. That he hadn’t bled out in a cold, damp parking garage, or on the side of the highway on a cold, snowy night.

The shower felt really good that morning, because his muscles were sore, either from the stress of the dreams or from all he’d put his body through in the past few days. He was sure his legs would have been sore as well if he could feel them, with as jumpy as they’d been the day before. He tried to be sure he took his time with the passive stretches he was supposed to do every day, which he’d neglected the past couple of days. Doing a little bit extra to try to make up for it.

He sat in the shower for a while, just letting the warm water run over his body. Trying to center himself and pull his mind back to the present moment. It might not have been the best present moment, but it would probably better than dredging up unpleasant memories of the past, or worrying about the future. However, he wasn’t very successful with keeping his thoughts out of the past.

Those dreams had taken Brian straight back to the days and weeks after the bashing, when he’d struggled with an enormous amount of guilt -- feeling directly responsible for what had happened to Justin. At first, it had looked like Justin could lose his life, all because Brian went to his prom and danced with him and kissed him and flaunted his sexuality in the faces of a hundred teenagers, one of whom it turned out felt very threatened by that. Brian had spent three days keeping vigil at the hospital with Michael by his side, hoping that wouldn’t be what happened. And in the end, he’d gotten his wish, and Justin had survived. And Brian had gone home. Back to his life. And he’d managed his pain in the only way he knew how -- drinking, drugs, and fucking.

As the extent of Justin’s injuries had emerged, Brian’s guilt only shifted -- it didn’t go away completely. No, Justin hadn’t died, but his right hand had been basically paralyzed when he first awoke from the coma. It took him weeks of rehab to relearn how to use it for even basic activities of daily living. And he exited rehab without the fine motor skills to hold a pencil. Brian knew all of this because he was there -- he’d been there every night, getting updates from the night nurse, but he didn’t want Justin to know he was there. Brian didn’t want to show his face, no matter how much Justin wanted to see him, because he felt like he’d still taken Justin’s life. Justin could no longer draw, and that had been his passion. His life. And Brian’s actions had led to that being taken from him.

Facing Justin would have meant having to face his guilt, so Brian had chosen to avoid seeing him at all. Then, Justin had appeared at Woody’s one night, and he’d had no choice but to acknowledge Justin and try to push past all of his shit.

He remembered Justin sitting at the bar in his loft, recounting how if he’d been hit a fraction of an inch this way or that way, he’d be a complete vegetable or dead, instead of just having a partially paralyzed right hand. He told Brian how they’d had to drill a hole in his skull to drain the blood. And through all of that, Brian thought he’d be sick. His stomach turned, and his guilt only twisted it further. He didn’t want to hear any of that. It physically pained him to know that Justin went through that, and it was all his fault.

Justin went on telling the story he said he couldn’t remember -- the story that happened to somebody else -- and when Brian couldn’t take it anymore, he interrupted him. But then, before his rational mind could stop him, he picked up telling the story, like it was some kind of compulsion. Something he had to get out. He hadn’t done that yet. He’d gone over it a million times in his head, but he hadn’t said it out loud. Justin listened, and assured Brian that it wasn’t his fault, but Brian didn’t believe him. Brian never believed him. He always held the thought in the back of his mind that if he hadn’t gone to that dance, none of this would have happened to Justin.

That was why he could never bring himself to talk about the horrors Justin had endured. Why it caused him so much pain to try to re-enact the events so Justin could hopefully start to remember them. But he’d been willing to do it, for Justin. He’d felt it was the least he could do, given that Justin wouldn’t have been in that mess at all if it weren’t for him. So he suffered through it. But he could never really talk about it. Even now, he didn’t want to talk about it. Or think about it.

Brian had pushed all of the memories and the thoughts and the feelings aside, just like he’d done all of his life. Locked them up behind his walls. And now, if his nightmares were any indication, it seemed the wall had not only been breached, but the floodgates had apparently burst open, drowning Brian in memories he’d much rather forget.

He knew that the horrifying way in which he’d dreamed the bashing was not really the way it happened -- but it was certainly a manifestation of how he’d felt about it at the time, and, he supposed, how his subconscious still felt about it now.

And then, to dream the second horror of Justin’s accident -- to witness it and not be able to do anything to stop it or to bring him comfort -- Brian wasn’t sure what that dream was trying to say to him. He only knew that he didn’t want to hear it.

He wanted to touch Justin. He knew that was going to be the only way he could truly ground himself after the terrible night he’d had.

So he turned off the shower and dried off and dressed, then called Michael to let him know he was ready to go to the hospital. Brian didn’t particularly like feeling dependent on other people to get places, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. Not until he called his insurance company and tried to figure out what to do about the fact that he no longer had a car. But the car was secondary -- what was more important was making sure that Justin was going to be alright. He’d deal with the car later. And in the meantime, he’d deal with Michael. He knew his friend meant well, but sometimes he could be overbearing and a little too helpful. Brian wasn’t as resistant to it now as he had been in the early days of his “new” life, but he still didn’t like it.

Brian and Michael arrived at the hospital that morning to good news -- they’d performed another CT scan on Justin and found that the swelling in his brain had come down, and they could start weaning him off of the drugs that were keeping him in the coma. They still didn’t know what long term effects or damage he might have, since the brain was very complex, but they were seeing what appeared to be normal neurological activity, so they expected him to at least wake up.

Brian would take that -- Justin being awake. Being able to see his husband’s clear, blue eyes. Knowing that he was able to look back at him and see that he was there. That he’d be there. He wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what.

That was one thing that was changing this time for Brian. He wasn’t running away. He was staying right there.

Hearing that news -- that things were starting to right themselves in Justin’s brain -- made Brian feel like he could breathe again. Like maybe for once, something was going to go right. All he cared about was Justin being with him -- awake and alert and aware. And whatever else turned out to be the result of this injury, they’d deal with it together.

The process was slow. Brian spent the day by Justin’s side, holding his hand, trying to keep his own thoughts from drifting back to the awful dreams he’d had that night. Focusing on Justin. Spending so much time sitting still, plus the pain in his shoulder, had him getting creative with his pressure relief methods -- leaning forward and sideways instead of his usual lifting up. But he was remembering to do it. He honestly wasn’t sure he had for the first couple of days, because he’d been so distracted. Debbie, Michael, and Jennifer all three tooks turns forcing him to drink water and making him eat something, even though his stomach was still feeling unsettled from the previous night, and he didn’t manage to eat much. He didn’t want to leave the room, so he ate what little bit he did, right there. He wanted to be the first person Justin saw when he woke up, so he wasn’t going anywhere. He even hated taking bathroom breaks, because he didn’t want to be away from Justin’s bedside at all.

Other people drifted in and out of the room, just as they had for the past two days. Lindsay had stopped by briefly also. Brian wanted to ask her about the paintings, but he was afraid he might lose it again if he tried to talk about that, so he tabled the issue for now and decided to come back to it later. But most of the time, it was Brian and Jennifer in the room, sitting together, usually not saying anything, and not really needing to.

The first step in Justin’s awakening came a while before he ever appeared to be conscious, when he started fighting against the respirator. That scared Brian to death, because it sounded like Justin was choking on the goddamn tube, but the hospital staff wasn’t the slightest bit alarmed. They acted like the entire thing was completely normal -- just another day at work. And soon after that, Justin was breathing on his own, with a mask providing him extra oxygen.

Slowly, he was coming back to Brian. He just wasn’t conscious yet.

And the longer time wore on, the more anxious Brian started getting, anticipating what type of state Justin would be in when he finally woke up. Would he even know who Brian was?

He hoped so, because he wasn’t sure he could take that. He was ready for just about anything else, but having his husband not recognize him would probably tear his heart out.

It took a couple more hours before Justin’s eyelids fluttered open for the first time, then were immediately squeezed shut, as his face twisted into a painful grimace. Jennifer had been sitting beside Brian, and quickly got up and crossed the room to turn the already-dim lights completely off.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Brian said, rubbing his thumb over the back of Justin’s hand. “The light hurts, huh?”

Justin nodded slightly, but it looked like that hurt too. Brian knew Justin was probably in a lot of pain, and confused, and scared, and every bit of that was being confirmed in Justin’s facial expressions and his eyes, even though he would only open them briefly, a couple of seconds at a time, before blinking them closed again.

Brian didn’t know what to say, or if he should talk at all. If talking to Justin might make his pain worse. Jennifer was in tears beside of him, gently pushing Justin’s hair back off his forehead as he fought off sleep. Brian had tears in his eyes too. He didn’t have words for how relieved he was.

Eventually, Justin focused his gaze on Brian, blinking heavily a few more times before he whispered, “Brian…” and let his eyes drift closed again.

Brian let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. Right now, he couldn’t think of a better anniversary gift than this.

He remembers me, Brian thought to himself. He remembers me.

He was awake. He was aware. He was alive.

And all seemed right in Brian’s world.

Take Care by TrueIllusion

“You think you’ve got everybody fooled, don’t you? Well, not me, honey. I’ve known you too long, and regrettably, too well. And no matter how hard you try to deny it, I can tell that you care as much about him as he cares about you. ... That little, persistent kid has somehow gotten in under the wire. And that’s what’s happened, huh? Admit the truth. You love him, don’t you?”

*****

The more Brian Kinney insists that he's fine, the more likely it is that he's not. That was one thing Debbie Novotny had learned in 30 years of knowing the man.

Really, she’d known him since long before he was a man -- when he was navigating that confusing and awkward time between childhood and manhood. It was a confusing time for most anyone, but for Brian, it had been further complicated by his family relationship -- if you could even call it a relationship. Technically, she supposed, it was, even though it wasn’t at all positive, and most of the time it only brought Brian pain.

But getting even a teenaged Brian to admit that the way his parents treated him hurt him -- both physically and mentally -- was difficult, if not impossible. He would always insist that he was okay, and often seemed embarrassed by the physical injuries he’d show up with. Like they demonstrated a weakness he didn’t want to show. Sometimes, though, he’d allow her to take care of him, and it made her want to cry when she’d see in his eyes and the way he leaned just a little into her touch, how much he wanted that comfort, but it seemed like he wasn’t willing to allow himself to have it. Like he thought maybe he didn’t deserve it. Like some part of him was buying into what his parents told him and how they treated him, and he was internalizing all of it. Starting to believe that all he deserved was to be cast aside and left to deal with everything alone. That he wasn’t worthy of care or comfort or love.

Debbie certainly had her share of confrontations with the Kinneys over the years, and she had to admit that she was glad when Brian turned 18 and set forth to immediately separating himself from his parents and their house, and their abuse. She’d been so proud of him when he showed up at her house one afternoon during his and Michael’s senior year of high school, holding a letter that not only admitted him to Carnegie-Mellon University, but also awarded him a full-ride athletic scholarship for soccer. She knew better than to think that Jack and Joan would ever be proud of their son, so she’d tried to make up for it, just as she had been for four years already, by letting Brian know at every turn how thrilled she was for him. What a great opportunity this was. And the unspoken part of that, for her, was how relieved she was that Brian would be getting away from his parents, hopefully once and for all.

But the effects of their treatment of Brian still lingered. In some ways, they still did to this day.

He’d rebelled as much as he could as he got deeper into his teen years -- smoking and drinking, and Debbie knew that he and Michael would sneak into Babylon occasionally with fake IDs. The start of Brian’s “pain management.” In so many ways, Brian had been a terrible influence on Michael, but Debbie was afraid to say too much about it, because she saw how much Brian meant to Michael, and how much Michael meant to Brian, even though the way they each depended on the other was very different. For Michael, Brian was someone he could look up to, who seemed strong and fearless, and played right into his obsession with superheroes. Michael needed that. And for Brian, Michael was someone he could always depend on to be there, who cared about him, and Debbie knew he needed that. Everyone needed that.

So she fought the urge to put her foot down and try to stop them from going out to the club, where she knew there was a lot of promiscuous sex going on in the back room, and it was likely Brian was partaking in it as yet another way of bucking the influence of his strict parents, who didn’t even know he was gay. She had to recognize that Brian and Michael were both growing up, and hope that she’d taught them both well -- that if they chose to have sex, they’d be safe about it. She wanted to try to remain a positive influence in Brian’s life, and it just didn’t seem like trying to restrict him or scold him would be the way to do that. Not when he was already rebelling from his own parents. Her motherly instincts wanted to keep him close and protect him, not push him away or alienate him.

That’s not to say that she wouldn’t occasionally give him a piece of her mind, but the bottom line was that she wasn’t his mother, and he was under no obligation to do what she said. She always remembered that. She had to. Her power over him was limited, and preserving the positive parts of their relationship -- and Brian’s with Michael -- was more important to her.

As a result, she’d kept her mouth shut about a lot of things she probably shouldn’t have during their high school years. But that was all water under the bridge now. And, in the end, both of her boys had turned out okay and made something of themselves. That was really all she could have asked for.

Brian and Michael’s relationship had changed over the years, as had Debbie’s relationship with each of them. But, that was life -- that was what happened as the years passed by and children became adults and started lives and families of their own. And life always had a way of complicating things even further, it seemed, by throwing up more obstacles and forcing people to change even more to work around them. Brian was one person for whom that statement rang very true. But through it all, he always insisted he was okay, even when it was more than obvious that he wasn’t.

Debbie didn’t know why he did that, but she figured it was because he’d had a habit ingrained in him since he was very young that he couldn’t show weakness and shouldn’t ask for help. She’d seen it right after his accident, especially -- a time when he could least afford to be fighting with himself about whether or not to accept help. He’d tried to shut down and shut everyone out, but she wasn’t willing to allow him to do that to her. She wasn’t going to go away. And she didn’t.


“I’m fine,” he’d insist, over and over again. Or, the alternative version, “I’m okay.” Both became his mantras. Debbie was never quite sure who Brian was trying to convince when he’d say those things -- the person he was talking to, or himself. A little bit of both, more than likely. Because the truth was almost always that he wasn’t fine at all -- he just didn’t want to admit that there was something he needed. He didn’t want to show vulnerability. “I’m fine” and “I’m okay” were just two bricks in Brian Kinney’s wall that he’d built to keep everyone out. The wall of protection and self-preservation, that Debbie Novotny had always seen right through.

One thing that Brian kept behind that wall was his caring nature -- if he cared about you, he’d do anything for you, regardless of what it cost him, and he never wanted or expected an acknowledgment or a thank you. Most people saw Brian Kinney as selfish, but the truth was, he could actually be quite selfless. His innate goodness, she’d once called it, as they sat in the floor of the loft and shared a joint after he’d lost his job with VanGard. She meant it when she said she’d never been so fucking proud of him in her life -- for following Justin’s lead and risking everything he had to stand up for his rights and the rights of others like him. He’d given up two things that were very important to him -- money and power. Two of the tenets that symbolized Brian’s independence over his upbringing. But he’d given them up for what was truly important. And, in a way, he’d done it for Justin. Because he cared about him.

Another thing that caring nature would lead him to do was to push his own needs aside when he got focused on something. Debbie was sure that also grew out of being told over and over again growing up that he wasn’t worth anything. While it might have looked from the outside that Brian Kinney valued himself above all others, the truth was that he didn’t value himself much at all. Not really. It was a product of the way he’d been raised. He’d always hidden his low self-esteem behind a large amount of bravado -- his “bad boy” routine that simply wasn’t true, cranked up to eleven. And the times when Brian really needed to take care of himself were when his low opinion of his own worth would come back to bite him in the ass.

This was one of those times.

Debbie got a phone call from Michael early on Monday morning. Michael was simply relaying information Brian had given to him -- retelling a story that threw her for as much of a loop as it had Michael. Justin had been driving to Pittsburgh, alone, in Brian’s car, and had apparently been involved in a serious accident. Meanwhile, Brian was working on making his way from Rochester to Pittsburgh via airplane. It took them awhile to fill in the gaps of why the situation unfolded the way it did. Not that it mattered -- what mattered was that Justin was seriously hurt, and Brian wasn’t there yet.

Debbie immediately called Jennifer, and found that she was at the hospital and had been there all night, mostly sitting in a waiting room. She had finally been allowed in the room with Justin, who was in a medically-induced coma due to a brain injury. Debbie Novotny wasn’t an easy person to shock or overwhelm, but in that moment, someone could have knocked her over with a feather. Why was the worst part of Justin’s history -- something he’d worked so hard to overcome -- happening all over again? And, she couldn’t deny that she knew it was one of the worst parts of Brian’s history was well.

She remembered all too well the state Brian had been in the first time Justin was in the hospital in a coma -- so afraid and filled with guilt that he could barely function. He’d been completely numb. They’d barely managed to get him to eat or sleep.

Justin was in the hospital, and Brian wasn’t focused on anything but him.

Debbie had a feeling that this time might be much the same.

For most people, that would be fine, and it was certainly understandable. But for Brian, this time it wasn’t fine, because he had a lot to do to maintain his own health, and making him see that as an important part of being there for Justin was a tall order. Michael was trying to convince Brian to take care of himself, and Debbie was too, but Brian was too distracted to listen.

At least he didn’t seem to be engaging in any self-destructive behavior, as Brian was prone to do. Debbie was thankful for that, at least, because that wouldn’t help him be there for Justin either.

When Debbie first saw Brian on Monday, he already looked exhausted. Debbie couldn’t imagine the mental state he was probably in after having received a midnight phone call telling him that his husband was in the hospital. She didn’t really want to imagine it either. As a police officer’s wife, that type of phone call was her worst nightmare.

Debbie kept Jennifer company until Brian arrived, then she willingly gave up her spot so Brian could be with his husband.

Who would have ever guessed that 45-year-old Brian Kinney would be married to Justin Taylor? And for nine years now, no less? It was a possibility that had shocked them all the first time it had come up, when she’d joked that Brian must have knocked up Sunshine. But, all jokes aside, even back then, she’d been happy for them both. But she was especially happy that Brian had finally opened his heart to somebody. All she’d ever really wanted was for him to find happiness and fulfillment, like Michael had with Ben. And she knew he’d never find that in the back room at Babylon. But with Sunshine, he could.

She remembered thinking back then, that maybe Brian would finally break free of the baggage Jack and Joan had left him with.

Then, in true Brian Kinney fashion, Brian had sacrificed his own happiness for what he thought was best for Justin. And Debbie had seen every time he came into the diner after Justin left for New York, just how much Brian missed him, even if he’d never admit to it. It was like Brian was missing a piece of himself. He just wasn’t complete without Justin. He was going through the motions, and that was it. And he was back to his old pain management techniques in full force -- drinking, drugging, and tricking every night.

The next summer, everything changed for Brian in the blink of an eye. He’d be living the rest of his life in a wheelchair. It would be a devastating injury for anyone, but it seemed particularly devastating for Brian. And no matter how much he tried to hide that, Debbie saw it.

He could no longer be the same person she’d known for all those years. His whole life had changed, and he had no choice but to change with it.

The old Brian Kinney was still under there, but it seemed like it was only the not-so-pleasant parts. The parts that had never served him well, that Debbie felt had only ever gotten in Brian’s way. The self loathing and the refusal to let anyone get close or to let himself feel any sort of emotion. She knew he needed Justin, because Justin could reach Brian in a way that no one else could, but Michael had told her that Brian had refused to even tell Justin about the accident. So she just had to stand by and watch and do the best she could to keep Brian from self destructing.

“I'm fine,” he would always say, anytime Debbie checked in on him. But it was months before she saw him at the diner again, save for the one time Michael had brought him there when he was still in rehab. He didn't go out anymore with Michael or any of the others. As best she could find out by way of Ted, Brian was going to work and back home and hardly ever leaving his apartment otherwise. And that worried Debbie, because that wasn’t like Brian.

So she had a ramp installed at the back door of her house, and told Brian that if he knew what was good for him, he was coming to family dinner the following Sunday. She had no idea if he’d show up or not, even in spite of her ultimatum, but he did. Only he still wasn’t himself. He was quiet and seemed uncomfortable, and she hadn’t seen him that shrunken in on himself since he was still just a kid, when he’d show up on her doorstep after Jack beat him up and kicked him out. She never thought she would ever miss his sarcastic, smart-assed comments, but she did. And when she got him by himself and quietly asked him how he was doing and if he needed anything, the only response she got was, “I’m fine.”

Debbie didn’t know what to do to make him open up, so she just kept inviting him over. And he kept coming. Slowly, he ventured out more, and he’d at least meet Michael at the diner for lunch once a week or so. He still wasn’t himself, but he seemed to be getting better with time.

Then, Christmas came around, and Sunshine re-entered Brian’s life. She hadn’t seen Brian smile in months, but he sure did when he saw Justin again. They had some shit to talk about and work through, sure, since Michael had never managed to convince Brian to tell Justin what had happened to him, but they seemed to be working things out just fine. And at the end of the night, they’d left together. That made Debbie smile too.

The next thing she knew, Brian was moving to New York, and she could see the old Brian Kinney starting to reawaken, just a little. The good parts, this time. It wasn’t long before Brian and Justin were finally getting married. And she didn’t think she’d ever seen either of them as happy as they had been on the night of their wedding reception.

Now, nine years had gone by since then. Nine more years of memories -- of Thanksgivings and Christmases and birthdays past. And, in a way, Debbie had felt like she was watching Brian grow up again, and really come into his own, with Justin playing an instrumental part this time.

The two of them were good for each other. She had to admit, she’d had some misgivings in the beginning, but who wouldn’t when it came to a 29-year-old grown man getting involved with a 17-year-old kid? The bottom line then, though, had always been that she didn’t want to see Justin get hurt, and she knew Brian far too well. But it hadn’t taken her too long to see straight through Brian’s show of “I don’t care,” right down to the fact that he really did love the kid, even if he didn’t know how to express it. Another result of how he was raised.

And she could see every bit of that love on Brian’s face -- in the palpable relief that spread across it -- the moment Brian took Justin’s hand in that hospital room. It had been all she could do to tear her eyes away and walk back down the hallway with Michael, because it was so beautiful to see how much Brian loved Justin.

Once Brian was there, Debbie felt like she wasn’t doing enough, just sitting out in the waiting room with Michael. So she started making plans to go home and cook, because that was the way she could feel the most helpful -- making lasagnas and casseroles and comfort food. She was Italian, what could she say? They showed love with food -- it was in their genes. Michael did talk her into making some chicken parmesan and a pan of roasted vegetables, because he claimed Brian wouldn’t want any of the other things she was planning to make.

“It won’t kill him to eat some pasta every now and then, you know,” she’d said, rolling her eyes.

But she made the chicken and vegetables anyway, because now probably wasn’t the time to try to contradict Brian Kinney’s food rules, even if she thought they were ridiculous.

The next day was more of the same -- lots of time spent in the waiting room, and no change in Justin’s condition.

The day after that was when things started to change. Justin’s doctors slowly brought him out of his coma and got him off of the respirator, and Justin woke up, albeit briefly, sometime around 3 p.m. All he’d said was Brian’s name, but that simple action had brought all of them a great deal of relief, particularly Brian. Justin woke up one more time for a couple of minutes before visiting hours were over, but he hadn’t said anything that time, according to Jennifer.

They all knew it was normal for him to only awaken briefly, and that it would probably take him a few days of drifting in and out before he was able to be conscious for any length of time. Debbie could imagine how frustrating that must have been for Brian and Jennifer, to want so badly to interact with Justin, but to not be able to.

Debbie had also noticed that day, that something seemed to be off with Brian. He looked exhausted, and he seemed edgy. Like something was bothering him. So when it came time for the hospital to kick them all out yet again, she decided to ask Brian to join her for dinner, in hopes she could get him to talk about whatever it was.

“You know, Carl’s out tonight playing poker with some of the other guys from the force,” she said. “Why don’t you come have dinner with me? Keep an old lady company. Eat something other than room service or that Thai takeout you always liked so much. I made some lasagna the other day that I could heat up.”

She was half expecting him to say no, but she really hoped he’d say yes, because she didn’t want him sitting alone in a hotel room again. Debbie wished she had a way to accommodate Brian, so that he could stay with her instead of by himself. This was a time when a person needed to be surrounded by family, even if that person was Brian Kinney, Mr. I-Don’t-Need-Anybody himself.

But he ended up surprising her.

“I’d like that,” he said as he looked up at her and smiled a little. “Lasagna sounds good. I haven’t had your lasagna in a long time.”

Maybe he'd missed her just as much as she'd missed him, Debbie thought.

“Well, then we need to fix that, honey,” she said, giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder as they waited for the elevator.

Debbie took Brian back to her house and heated up a couple of slices of the lasagna while Brian sat and stared at the table and picked at his fingers, occasionally stopping to fidget with the salt and pepper shakers. He’d always done things like that, ever since he was a kid, and she knew he did it more when he was nervous or upset about something. She was wondering if there was more to what was going on for Brian than just the fact that Justin was hurt, but she knew she couldn’t just come right out and ask, because he probably wouldn’t tell her the truth -- particularly if the truth would prove that he did, indeed, have feelings and emotions. He’d come a long way over the years, but he still wasn't much on talking about feelings. She’d have to be more subtle than that, and hope he might eventually confide in her. Debbie was the first to admit that subtlety wasn’t her game, but she’d try.

“So,” she said as she brought the plates over to the table and set one down in front of Brian before taking her own seat across from him at her small dining room table. “Tell me about what you were doing in Rochester. I heard you were asked to come and talk to some people.”

“Yeah.” Brian shrugged and used the side of his fork to section off a small bite of lasagna while he spoke. “I’m still not sure what it is that makes people think I’m qualified to act as some sort of an inspiration.”

“Because you’re kicking ass and taking names the same way you always did. Maybe they think there need to be more people like you out there in the world.”

Brian chuckled. “That’s a scary thought.”

“Maybe so, but I think you’re a pretty good example of how you can still live your life -- and a full one at that -- even though it’s different than it was before.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Not sure I’m a good example for anything, really.”

“Well, I’m sure about it, honey. You run a successful business, and you spend your spare time trying to help make things easier for other people who don’t have it quite as easy as you do. And I know you don’t have it easy, but you know what I mean.”

“Fuck, the last thing I want to be is inspiration porn, even for other paraplegics. I’m just doing what’s right, that’s all. Just living my life.”

He really had turned out to be a good man, Debbie thought to herself. Even in spite of Jack and Joan’s best efforts to hold him down and leave him jaded.

They talked about Gus and Kinnetik and Brian’s friends in New York, and Debbie could see Brian loosening up a little as his mental focus moved away from the situation Justin was in and more toward other aspects of his life. That was exactly what she’d been going for when she invited him over -- she wanted to give him a mental break as much as she’d wanted to give him some company, and she also wanted to try to keep him from stewing too much about what was going on at the hospital. Providing a little distraction. But even though he seemed to be relaxing a bit, she could also see him constantly shifting positions like he was in pain, which led her to encourage him to lie down for a little while on her couch, while they kept talking about everything that had been going on in Brian’s life. It felt good to catch up with her surrogate son, and it made her wish that they talked more often.

She got up and left the room for a few minutes to use the restroom, and when she came back, Brian was snoring softly. Debbie smiled to herself as she took the crocheted afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over the sleeping man. It reminded her of when Brian and Michael were teenagers, and Brian would come to their house to escape from the toxic environment that he was forced to live in. She'd tuck him in and mother him a bit, and he'd usually let her. This time, she knew she should probably wake him and take him back to his hotel, but she didn’t have the heart to do it. He’d looked so exhausted, and could probably use the rest. So why not let him sleep for a couple of hours, and then take him back?

Carl probably wouldn’t be home until much later, so Debbie decided to give Brian some privacy and go upstairs to her room for a bit. It was around 8 p.m. when she settled into her armchair with a book and propped her feet up. And it was around 10 when a terrorized scream from downstairs jolted her out of the nap she hadn’t even realized she was taking. Shortly after the scream, came a soft thump. At least, it sounded soft from upstairs.

The book that had been resting haphazardly in Debbie’s lap fell to the carpet as she jumped out of the chair and started down the stairs as quickly as her legs would carry her. She found Brian on the floor in front of the couch, lying on his side, obviously disoriented. He blinked and looked around, practically looking right through her as she knelt down next to him. His eyes were wild, his face shone with sweat, and he was breathing hard.

“Shit,” Debbie said frantically. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She cursed herself for not waking him earlier and taking him back to his hotel, but then wondered what would have happened if he’d been alone and fell out of the bed instead of off of her couch. So maybe it was better that he was here, with her.

“Where am I?” Brian mumbled, still looking around with unfocused eyes and breathing way too fast. He pushed his palms into the floor and sat up a little, as if he was trying to give himself a different perspective. He looked like he was trying to figure out if what had been happening in his dream was really what was happening around him.

“You’re at my house,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice calm, even though her mind was racing, trying to figure out what she needed to do.

Brian rolled over onto his back, squeezed his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The grimace on his face made it look like he was in pain.

“Brian, look at me, honey,” Debbie said. She was starting to get worried, and that worry was beginning to bleed through in her voice. “I need you to tell me if you’re hurt.”

He took a few more unsteady breaths, and for Debbie, the wait for a response was agonizing. Finally, his breathing started to slow, and he shook his head a little, as if he was trying to clear his head.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he blinked his eyes open. Realization seemed to have finally dawned in them. “Was I screaming?”

“You were. Has this happened before, honey? Recently?”

Brian looked down and didn’t answer.

“What’s going on, Brian?” Debbie tried to keep her tone as gentle as possible. “Why are you screaming in your sleep?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

It had been a long time since she’d been awakened by a scream like that. She wondered if Brian even remembered the way he’d occasionally have nightmares when he’d stay the night with Michael back when they were teenagers. Sometimes they’d make him scream, and sometimes he’d be crying and whimpering like a kid much younger than what he’d been at the time. She’d always wondered what his dreams were about, but he never would tell her. He’d only tell her that he was fine. Knowing what his home life was like, though, she had a pretty good idea what the nightmares contained, and the thought made her hurt for Brian and want to rage at Jack and Joan. She wondered if it was the same thing, even thirty years later, or if something different was haunting Brian now.

“Brian…” Debbie paused for a moment to try to figure out what to say, but Brian interrupted her thoughts.

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Shit, why am I in the floor?”

“I think you fell off the couch.”

“Fuck,” Brian groaned.

“That must have been a pretty bad dream.”

“I don’t remember,” he said, looking away from Debbie.

She knew just from that simple action that he was probably lying, and she could see exactly what he was doing -- shutting down. She’d seen it many times before. When he’d come over to her house with unexplained bruises or cuts or a split lip or a black eye, and he’d just shrug and look away when she asked him about it. He never really wanted to talk about it -- it was like he was just shoving it all off into some hidden compartment, or at least attempting to. When his eyes would get dark, and Debbie could tell there was pain behind them that Brian was trying desperately to hide.

“You’re not hurt are you?” she asked again.

“I don’t think so,” Brian grunted as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He paused for a moment, seemingly to collect himself, before he started scooting toward his chair. He lined himself up in front of it, then bent his legs at the knees and pulled them in close to his body before grabbing the frame of his chair with his left hand, then simultaneously launching himself upward and rotating his body so that his butt landed perfectly in the seat. Debbie was impressed with the maneuver, and how easy it looked, even though she knew it was anything but.

“You’d better not be lying to me, Brian Kinney.”

“I’m not, mom,” he said. She’d always loved it when he called her mom, even when it was sarcastic. “I promise. I’m fine.” There it was. His mantra. She’d known it was coming eventually, even though it was obvious that he was not fine. He might be fine, physically, but there was clearly something going on inside his head. And Debbie wanted to know about it, so she could help him. But she knew if he was going to tell her, she had to let him do it in his own time. All she could do was let him know she was there if he needed her.

Brian excused himself to go to the bathroom, and was in there for what seemed like a very long time. Debbie had to fight to resist the urge to check on him more than once, but she knew exactly what would happen if she showed too much concern -- Brian would shut down and shut her out.

He looked okay when he came out, but the first thing he said was, “I guess I’d better get back to the hotel. Going to be another early morning tomorrow.”

She’d known that would have to happen eventually, because Brian would need to be able to take a shower, and she was sure there were other things he’d need to do that he couldn’t do in her tiny downstairs half bath in her very-old townhouse. And after that dream he’d had -- no matter it was about -- she wanted even less to drop Brian off at that hotel to spend the night by himself. But she didn’t have a choice, even though her motherly instincts were telling her that it was a bad idea.

They rode to the hotel without saying much. Debbie spent most of the time thinking about how she was going to get to the bottom of what was really going on with Brian. She made up her mind to call Michael first thing in the morning. If Brian wouldn’t open up to her, maybe he would with Michael. Either way, her main focus was making sure Brian was actually okay, and not just saying he was.

Meanwhile, Brian was staring out the window, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

When they got there, Debbie started to get out of the car so she could help Brian, or at least make things easier, but he stopped her the second she put her hand on the door.

“Don’t get out, mom,” he said. “I’m fine.”

So Debbie just watched him as he retrieved the pieces of his chair from the backseat and assembled it right there on the pavement. He made quick work of it, even though it was obvious that he was tired.

“I love you, kiddo,” Debbie said as Brian slid his body from the car seat and into his chair. She needed him to know that, especially tonight.

He looked up at her for a moment, gave her a small smile and said, “Me too.” Then, he backed up and shut the door without saying another word.

She watched him go through the front doors of the hotel, then disappear out of sight.

Debbie still had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if that dream would revisit Brian whenever he finally made it back to sleep. Or if he would be able to sleep at all. She hoped he would at least try, because he needed it. And Debbie hated that she couldn’t be there to help him feel safe, because even though he was a grown man, she still worried about him, just like she did with Michael. They were her boys. And even though they were grown, she knew she’d never stop being a mother. Mothers worry. It’s what they do.

She’d been worried about Brian physically taking care of himself, but now it was looking like her concern needed to be focused on his mental health instead. She felt like her hands were tied, though, and it was frustrating.

But there was one thing she knew for sure -- Brian Kinney wasn’t okay.

Alone by TrueIllusion

“You walked down with me, back to the Jeep. And we were, uh, goofing… singing… We were dancing… I kissed you. We said, ‘Later.’ And then you turned around and, um, smiled. Then I knew why Debbie calls you Sunshine. And then I went back to the Jeep, and I saw him in the mirror, coming after you… Christ! Don’t you...remember anything?”

“I wish I could remember.”

“I wish I could forget.”

*****

Brian managed to make it back to his hotel room before he lost his grip on his emotions, but only just. He hadn’t wanted to do it in front of Debbie, so he’d fought it, and hoped this might be one time when she wouldn’t be able to see straight through him. He knew what she would have done if he had broken down in front of her. Fuck, she probably would have insisted upon staying with him. He was a little surprised she hadn’t anyhow.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel safe showing emotion in front of her, because he did. He always had, ever since he was a kid. He could cry in front of her and Michael, and they wouldn’t yell at him or hit him or make him feel lesser-than. It was just that he didn’t want to tell her why he was upset. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to; maybe she would have just assumed he was upset over Justin being hurt. But given the fact that he’d apparently woken her up screaming after falling asleep on her couch, she probably would have realized there was more to it than that, and Brian wasn’t ready to talk about the dreams.

He wasn’t sure he ever would be, really.

Brian hated how the dream he’d had tonight had made him so disoriented that he’d been doubting what was really happening around him. He’d thought it looked like Deb’s house. That Deb was sitting in front of him. But the dream had been so fucking real that it had been hard to shake it and come back to reality.

He was relieved that it wasn’t. But it was so. Fucking. Real.

Was this shit going to happen every time he went to sleep?

He sure as hell hoped not, but the odds didn’t seem to be in his favor.

Where the hell had they even come from, anyhow? Why had they popped up seemingly out of the blue?

This one had been a sort-of odd mish-mash of the previous three. This time, he was in the car with Justin, but it was like he didn’t really exist. If he tried to talk to Justin, he was ignored completely, as if he wasn’t even there. Like his presence was nothing more than a ghostly apparition. Or maybe he was having some kind of an out-of-body experience. Who the hell knew?

It did seem like it must have been an out-of-body experience, because Brian remembered one of the first things he’d noticed in the dream was that he could feel his legs. It felt strange. Abnormal. Funny how after ten years, what was once normal was so...not.

The third-hand version of Justin’s accident that Brian had heard from Debbie and Michael via the police report started to take shape after several minutes of frustrating non-communication. He saw the swerving car -- the motherfucker who could have killed his husband and left the goddamn scene without even stopping to see if their actions had fucking consequences. He saw the truck driver hit the brakes and start to skid, then crash into the wall. He tried to break through the communication barrier and warn Justin -- although he wasn’t sure what good that would do since there wasn’t anywhere to go. But his warnings went unheeded, and they careened into the truck at what seemed like full speed.

At the moment of impact, Brian’s spine exploded with pain -- the same white-hot, pulsating pain he’d experienced in the dream of his own accident the night before. Again, it seemed to be draining him of all of his energy as his vision faded out completely, but not before he saw a figure in a tuxedo, holding a baseball bat, approaching Justin’s side of the car, preparing to take a swing. He heard the impact -- the same sickening sound of metal meeting bone that he’d never been able to get out of his head. He couldn’t see it, though -- instead, he was struggling to try to make sense of anything through the curtain that seemed to have been pulled over his field of vision. The last thing he heard before he succumbed to the silence that went along with the darkness were the voices of his parents. One and then the other.

First, his father telling him this was what happened to fucking fairies.

Then, his mother telling him he’d gotten what he deserved.

Were they talking about his paralysis? Or were they talking about Justin?

Brian wasn’t sure, but he guessed it didn’t really matter -- shouldn’t really matter. Besides, his father was dead. And for all he knew, his mother could be too, although he assumed that if she’d kicked the bucket, he would have at least found out somehow, or else Claire would have called him begging for money.

How the fuck did they still have power over him after all these years? Why did he still have that inkling of a feeling in the back of his mind that he’d been nothing more than a colossal disappointment? How could they still have the power to make him feel like a worthless son-of-a-bitch, even when their words weren’t real, but were a figment of his imagination?

How could he be so aware of how ridiculous it was for him to still feel that way, at 45 years old -- with a husband and a successful business and everything else he was doing to help other people who were just as frustrated with ableism and lack of awareness as he was? Yet there was still nothing he could do to stop the feeling.

Why did everything good in his life always fall apart? Was Joan right? Was it because he was getting what he deserved?

And why couldn’t he banish the notion that somehow, some way, just like last time, what had happened to Justin was his fault? Just like everything was always his fault and always had been, for his entire life. At least, that was what he’d always been told.

Old habits die hard, even when you know better.

So now, here he was, sitting alone in a hotel room, crying tears of frustration and shame combined with sheer exhaustion, while his husband lay semi-conscious in a hospital bed, and Brian was fucking afraid to go to sleep.

He felt like he was going crazy. All he wanted to do was sleep without dreaming. He was so, so tired. But he knew what was probably going to happen when he closed his eyes. And who knew what horror his imagination would conjure up this time?

In addition to feeling like he was losing his goddamn mind, Brian was also starting to feel pretty shitty, physically. It could have been any number of things -- lack of nutrition, dehydration, and lack of sleep were just a few of the possibilities. He’d thought he might throw up when he was still at Deb’s, but he hadn’t. Thank goodness, because the lasagna was the first decent meal he’d had since Rochester. The queasy feeling still hadn’t gone away though.

He knew he needed to be taking better care of himself than he had been the past few days, but he was already so beyond stressed out with everything else that was happening, that the sheer thought of trying to get all of his routines back in line was overwhelming. He was doing the best he could, but that probably wasn’t good enough. He needed to do better. But he didn’t know where to start.

He couldn’t drink a shit ton of water this late at night unless he wanted to add embarrassment to his misery by pissing himself in the middle of the night. He was feeling too nauseous to eat. And as for sleep, well…

The whole ride back to the hotel, he’d been mostly preoccupied with keeping his emotions in check, although he’d also wondered what Justin was doing. If he’d woken up again after they’d all had to leave for the night. How he’d be tomorrow -- would he be more lucid? How long would it take before Brian had his Sunshine back?

That was all he really wanted -- to take Justin home. Or, at the very least, to not spend any more nights sleeping alone. He just hoped that the nightmares would go away before that happened. And that it wouldn’t be too long. That there wouldn’t be any complications from Justin’s injury that would mean a lengthy stay in rehab this time. Brian had decided he’d had enough of those places for a lifetime, and if he never saw the inside of another one, it would be too soon.

It was late, and Brian knew he should just go to bed. He was too tired to shower, so he decided he’d do it in the morning. Brushing his teeth and washing his face would have to do. After he was done with that, he opened his collection of prescription bottles one-by-one, pausing when he got to the last one. The one he’d been trying not to take, since he didn’t want to end up oversleeping again because he’d dosed himself up on painkillers. That seemed especially important now that Justin was awake, and Brian didn’t want to miss a single minute he could spend with Justin. But on the other hand, if he took two, maybe he wouldn’t have to repeat any of the nightmares. So he took two.

Then he got in bed, painstakingly pulling his clothes off and throwing them in the floor because quite frankly at this point, he didn’t give a fuck. He set an alarm on his phone for 6 a.m., stared at the notification bubble on his text messages again -- 42, now -- then turned the display off, laid the phone face down on the table and flipped the switch to turn off the light.

He reached out and grabbed one of the extra pillows, hugging it in tightly to his body. He wished he was at home right now, because those other pillows would have smelled like Justin, and he could have at least pretended that he wasn’t alone. He lay there awake for a while, with his mind working overtime, until slowly but surely, everything started to feel dull and he drifted off to sleep.

Brian slept straight through until the alarm went off, and probably could have slept even longer if left to his own devices. Apparently the painkillers worked for staving off nightmares, even though that wasn’t their intended purpose, and he hadn’t really needed them otherwise. But what could it possibly hurt? They were prescribed to him, and taking two was still within the scope of “using as directed.” What did it matter whether he took them for physical pain or emotional pain? If it worked, it worked. That was Brian’s philosophy.

Even though Brian had slept through the night, he still felt like shit. His stomach was still in knots, he felt weak, and he woke up with an awful headache.

When Michael picked him up, the first thing he asked was what was wrong.

“Nothing, Mikey. I’m fine,” Brian said as he got in the car, trying not to look as weary as he felt.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am.”

Michael gave him a look that clearly said, I-don’t-believe-you-but-whatever, and didn’t argue any further.

“Ma said you came over to her house last night.”

Shit, Brian thought to himself. He wondered just how much Debbie had told Michael. He decided to let Michael be the one to reveal whatever he knew -- Brian wasn’t going to volunteer any information that hadn’t already been given to Michael by Debbie. So he just nodded and said, “Yeah.”

“I’m glad you had some company. I hate that you’re staying by yourself.”

“That makes two of you. She said the same thing.”

“You’re welcome at our house anytime.”

“I know that, Mikey.”

“Okay, just making sure. You can call me any time, too. If you need to talk. If you need a friendly voice, or whatever.”

Brian knew exactly what Michael was playing at but wouldn’t say. And Brian sure as hell wasn’t going to say, either.

“I know,” Brian said. “I’m okay. I promise.”

He also knew he was lying, just like he’d lied to Debbie the night before. But he still wasn’t ready to talk about the dreams.

Michael had witnessed Brian practically having a panic attack in the police impound lot, so he probably had a pretty good idea that something was wrong. Even Michael wasn’t that dense. But that didn’t mean Brian wanted to talk about it.

He didn’t even want to think about it, to be honest. But his brain was leaving him no choice.

That day, Justin woke for brief periods, slightly longer than they had been the day before. He looked frustrated and disoriented every time. The only thing he really said was that his head hurt, and he was tired. He wasn’t asking about what happened yet. He kept looking at Brian like he was confused about something, but he still knew Brian’s name, and he’d use it occasionally. Every time he spoke, his speech was slow and halting, like he was searching for words.

Brian just kept talking to him and holding his hand, whether he was asleep or awake.

For two more days, nothing really changed.

For two more nights, like clockwork, the nurses would kick out Brian and whomever happened to be in the room with him at the time when visiting hours ended.

And on both of those nights, Brian went back to the hotel, alone, to try to get some sleep. The operative word being “try.” His brain had other ideas, though, and continued to serve up disturbing images that he’d rather forget, or else thought he didn’t even have stored in his memory bank.

He thought better of using his painkillers to try to knock himself out again, though. He knew he was playing with fire, there. Particularly since both of his parents were addicts, although their drug of choice had always been alcohol. And Brian was fully aware that his own pain management methods were probably indicative that he had a bit of a problem with alcohol and drugs as well. He didn’t want to be a junkie, popping pills and lying to doctors to get more prescriptions. He couldn’t really afford to do that anyway, with as many doctors as he had to see on a regular basis. So he’d just have to suffer through the dreams.

Justin was no longer completely unconscious, but it didn’t seem like he was improving either, and that wasn’t giving Brian much hope. He knew that these things took time, and Justin’s doctor had told him so. That he just needed to be patient. But Brian needed to know that Justin was going to be okay, and these brief stints of wakefulness coupled with confusion and pain and fatigue and frustration weren’t giving Brian that impression.

So, when Christmas Eve came around, Brian was feeling pretty down. He’d really hoped that by this time, Justin’s condition might have improved slightly, but that hadn’t happened. He still hadn’t really been able to have a conversation with his husband, because Justin would fall asleep again after just a few words, most of the time.

Justin was asleep when Brian kissed his hand and whispered, “Merry Christmas Sunshine. I love you. I’ll see you in the morning,” before he had to leave that night.

Brian honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent Christmas Eve alone, because the standing assumption was always that Debbie would have your head or your balls or both if you didn’t come to her family dinner that night. But tonight, that was really all he wanted to do was be alone. He felt like shit, and he didn’t want to be around anybody, or try to fake any sort of holiday cheer. He knew they'd understand why he wasn’t cheery, but he really just wanted to sit and sulk, as childish as that sounded. Deb, however, was having none of that. There was no way he could get out of going. At least, not without never hearing the end of it from Debbie, and that wasn’t a position he wanted to be in where she was concerned. She could harp on something with the best of them, and Brian wasn’t going to be her target. So he went, even though he didn’t want to be there at all.

His head was hurting, and Gus and J.R. were fighting loudly like siblings do, and even though the mood was a bit more subdued because they all missed Justin’s presence, everyone else was a little too loud for Brian’s taste as well. There was nowhere quiet that he could escape to. He wished he could go upstairs -- so much so that he briefly considered scooting up there on his ass, even though it would be slow going, and getting somewhere once he reached the top would be even slower. Not to mention the attention that would draw, which would mean that it wouldn’t get him the quiet and the privacy he was seeking.

As it was, he had about as much privacy as he was going to get -- being the only person sitting in the living room while everyone else was crowded into the kitchen and the dining room, either stealing food or trying to help prepare it. Under normal circumstances, Brian would have been right in there with them, snatching bites and having Deb smack him on the hand as he did it. But tonight, he wasn't hungry.

Brian was sitting in front of the window, looking out at the fresh snow that had fallen earlier that day. Watching two kids in the yard across the street, bundled up in their heavy coats and knitted hats and scarves and mittens, throwing snowballs at each other and laughing in the warm glow from the streetlights. He wished he at least felt like smiling, so he could feel a little less like his being there was only going to drag everyone else down.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Michael standing there.

“Sorry,” Michael said. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

Brian shrugged and pulled his lips into his mouth, but didn’t say anything.

“I brought you some of the wassail,” Michael said, holding out a mug that had steam slowly rising out of the top in lazily curled tendrils.

Brian took the mug from him and took a small sip. “Thanks,” he said quietly, still looking out the window.

“I know you don’t want to be here tonight,” Michael said as he took a seat in the recliner that sat just a few feet away. “But we’re glad you are.”

Brian blinked and looked away from Michael. He wasn’t going to cry. He was tired and frustrated and just plain sad, but he wasn’t going to cry.

Michael seemed to sense his struggle, though.

“Hey,” his friend said softly. “Are you okay?”

Brian truly didn’t know how to answer that question. His first impulse was to lie and say yes, he was okay. But he knew Michael wasn’t dumb, and there was no way he’d believe that right now. So he tried to at least blink his face into some semblance of neutrality before turning back to face Michael.

“Brian…” Michael said, sounding more than a little unsure about what he was getting ready to say. “You know you don’t have to deal with all of this on your own, right? You can talk to me about anything. We’re all here for you, and we all want you to be okay as much as we want Justin to be okay.”

Brian knew Michael was there for him. Debbie, too. Even Jennifer and Daphne. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to talk to any of them about the fucked-up shit that was happening inside his head.

“But if you need more than I can give… If you need some help…” Michael paused for a moment and looked straight into Brian’s eyes, causing him to have to look away again. “I want to help you get that, okay? No matter what it is. You can tell me anything, and I won’t judge.”

Shit, Brian thought. Just how much did Michael already know, without Brian having said a word? Did he look as unhinged as he felt?

He should have gotten help for this fifteen years ago, but he never had. His focus had been on Justin’s recovery from being bashed, not himself or his own needs. He’d just fallen back on his mantra of, “Try not to think about it.” And it had worked back then, sort of. Eventually it had all just sort of faded to the background, and the rare times when it was brought up again, he’d successfully been able to cordon it off behind one of his many emotional walls. But now, it felt like the walls were crumbling. Hell, everything was crumbling. His whole fucking life was collapsing around him, leaving him sitting in the middle of the rubble wondering what the hell happened.

And all of the things he thought he’d managed to forget -- and one thing he thought he didn’t even remember in the first place -- were bearing back down on him. Crushing him beneath their enormous weight.

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Michael continued, reaching his hand out until it came to rest on top of Brian’s hand. “You’re still the strongest person I know. But even superheroes need help sometimes. That’s why they have sidekicks.” Michael paused and smiled a little before turning serious again. “I know there’s something going on with you...besides what’s obvious...and I hope you trust me enough to tell me what it is.”

He did trust Michael. He did. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself.

How could he even begin to talk about this without sounding batshit crazy?

So, I’ve been having these dreams… These flashbacks… Are they flashbacks? Memories? Did this shit even really happen this way? Am I making it up?

How do you talk about your past coming back to haunt you, violently, every single night? How do you tell someone that it felt so real that you expected to see the blood when you woke up? That you physically felt the pain?

How do you tell someone that you’ve spent the last few nights waking up screaming or crying, sometimes both, breathless and terrified and confused? And that the only way to stop it is to dope yourself up on painkillers until you couldn’t stay conscious if you tried?

Would Michael think he was crazy? Hell, maybe he was. Maybe he was losing it.

He knew he had to get on the good side of this, because otherwise he wasn’t going to be able to help Justin. He was going to be too busy wading through his own shit, and he didn’t have time for that right now.

But he also didn’t feel like talking to Michael about it, at Debbie’s house on Christmas Eve, no less. Not with his kid and the rest of his family in the next room.

“It’s just…” he started, still not sure exactly how he was going to complete the sentence when he started it. “It’s a lot to deal with. That’s all.”

Michael nodded. “I know. You’re doing a lot better than I would be. Just promise me that you’ll call if you ever need to talk, okay? Even if it’s four in the morning. I don’t care. I just want to know you’re alright.”

“I’m alright,” Brian said almost compulsively, knowing that, at the moment, that was a lie. But he would be alright. He just needed to get through the holiday, so he could call Rochelle, the therapist who’d helped him wrap his head around his injury years ago and figure out what he wanted out of life in a wheelchair. He hadn’t talked to her in years -- hadn’t needed to for a long time. But he didn’t know who else to call. Even if she couldn’t help him directly, it would at least be a start. He trusted her, and that was what was important.

“You always are,” Michael said. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Truthfully, Brian didn’t know either. Most of the time, he faked it, to be honest. Maybe that was how he made it happen. Just pretending that he wasn’t feeling weak or otherwise indisposed, until he made it so, or at the very least had everyone believing that he had everything under control.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt less in control than he did right then.

“I think dinner’s almost ready,” Michael said. “I made you a spot next to me at the table. If it all gets to be too much, just tell me, okay? I’ll make some excuse, and I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

Brian nodded in silent thanks, although he knew he probably wouldn’t take Michael up on the offer. He’d try to stick it out, even though he didn’t really want to. He didn’t want to take his best friend away from his family either.

They were called to gather around in the kitchen not even a few seconds later, and everyone joined hands to say grace, which seemed to be something they only did at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Brian still wasn’t sure what he believed in, or if it was completely crazy to thank some magic man in the sky for your life and your family and and your blessings and the food on your plate. But he bowed his head and closed his eyes anyway, holding Michael’s hand on one side and Gus’s on the other.

Debbie was the one who said the prayer.

“Heavenly Father,” she said. “We thank you for this opportunity to gather together and celebrate the birth of your son together as a family. Most of us may not be related by blood, but we all love each other and care for one another, and that’s what makes a family. We ask that you protect and bless the member of our family who wasn’t able to be with us tonight, and that you lay your healing hands upon him. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”

Brian never thought he’d find himself echoing the sentiment of any sort of a prayer, and he was fairly sure that the last time he’d done that was when he and Debbie sat together in the chapel after Michael was injured in the bombing at Babylon. But he was doing it again now. Desperate times, desperate measures, he supposed. Perhaps that was why people found faith so comforting. Maybe it helped them not feel so alone.

Brian still felt alone, even though he was surrounded by people that he loved and who loved him. Because the one person that truly understood every aspect of him -- the one person he really wanted to be there -- wasn’t there.

He made it through dinner, although he didn’t eat very much. He didn’t say very much either. Michael kept casting him furtive glances, but Brian refused to acknowledge him. By the time everyone was finished, Brian was feeling crowded and a little too warm and slightly sick. He remembered the joint he had stashed in the pocket on the inside of his leather jacket. He’d managed to convince one of his old sources to deliver to his hotel one night, in hopes that it might calm his nerves or help him sleep, but he’d been afraid to smoke it in the hotel room. He didn’t want to end up getting arrested. Pot was the only thing he still smoked, and he rarely did that anymore, but, again, desperate times. He waited until most everyone was distracted by something or another, then quietly slipped out the back door.

He hadn’t smoked a joint in Debbie’s back yard in years, but he remembered when he and Michael used to do it regularly. Debbie probably knew they were doing it, but she never said anything about it. Brian always wondered why, but he guessed at this point, it didn’t really matter. He knew now that she’d smoked more than a few herself in her time, so maybe she’d figured there were worse things they could be doing.

The cold air felt good. Refreshing, he thought to himself as he lit the joint and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and holding the smoke in for as long as he could before slowly letting it out. He wondered how long it would be before someone started missing him. It would probably be Michael, and he knew his friend would know exactly where to find him. In the meantime, he’d enjoy the solitude and try to not think too much.

He missed home. He wanted to go home. He wanted to take Justin home.

But that felt like it was such a long way off.

He wondered if he should start looking for an apartment in Pittsburgh. If he should start planning a trip to New York to get some more of his and Justin’s belongings, so they’d both be more comfortable. The not knowing was what was killing Brian. Not knowing how long they’d have to stay. Not knowing what the process was going to be like. Not knowing if Justin was really going to be okay. Not just in the short term, but...ever.

Brian hated that he was thinking that way, and he knew exactly what it was. This was depression. Catastrophizing. Coming up with the worst-case scenario for everything. Making it fucking impossible to look on the bright side of anything. To see that a bright side even existed. He’d been there before, although he hadn’t felt that way in a long time. And he and Justin had been so happy, that he’d thought he would never feel that way again.

Funny how life can change in an instant. How everything good in Brian’s life had been snatched away in an split second, it seemed.

He tried to focus on the positive -- that Justin was still alive. That he had the rest of his family close by. That he had Michael and Debbie and Jennifer and Gus and Lindsay and everyone else. All he would have to do was say the word, and he’d be surrounded by love and support, instantly. He didn’t know why he couldn’t seem to bring himself to put that plan into action. Why he seemed to prefer to go it alone.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, staring at the red circle that sat atop the text message icon. Forty-six, it read now. Maybe it was time to at least start looking at them.

The oldest two were from Justin, and he wasn’t sure how he’d missed them. They’d come through while he was still in Rochester, obviously. Before the whole goddamn world fell apart. Several of them were from Michael. There were a few from Lindsay. Messages from Ted and Cynthia about work-related problems that they had ultimately ended up calling him about, even though they hated to bother him. He didn't mind, though. It helped him to focus on other things sometimes. Other various members of the family had all sent at least a message or two or three, expressing how sorry they were to hear what had happened, and letting him know they were there and available if he needed anything.

Brian appreciated their willingness to help. The trouble was, he wasn’t exactly sure what he needed, or that anyone could provide it. Unless, of course, they had magic powers, or were some kind of supreme being and ruler of the universe. Maybe he should start talking to God. Maybe that was the one person who could help him. But why the fuck would God want to listen to or help Brian Kinney?

He paused and looked up at the stars for a moment, noticing for the first time how clear the night sky was. All of the snow clouds had cleared, and now all he could see was the moon and the stars. He took a long drag off of the joint and held his breath again before he let the smoke out slowly, blowing a ring or two up into space.

He thought of what he’d say if he did start talking to God. Maybe something along the lines of, “Please, can I just have this one thing? Not for me, but for him. I’ll never ask for anything again.”

Brian would give up anything, do anything, for Justin to come out of this okay.

There were a few messages in there that would have been there regardless of whether or not the accident had happened. Messages from his friends back in New York. Wishing him and Justin a happy holiday and safe travels to and from Pittsburgh. Brian snorted derisively at the irony of that last sentiment, which had come from his closest New York friend.

Brian and Rob weren’t as close as Brian and Michael were, and likely never would be, but that was because he and Michael had history. Michael had seen Brian at his absolute worst, on more than one occasion. But Brian and Rob had a lot in common, mostly going back to the fact that they’d each had their ability to use the lower half of their bodies stolen suddenly by way of an accident resulting from their own stupidity. Although they were the same age, Rob had been injured longer than Brian had -- he’d been in his early 20s when he’d attempted some kind of somersault backflip dive off of a high cliff over a lake, over-rotated or under-rotated or something, and landed flat on his back on top of a log that had been lurking just beneath the surface of the water. Brian couldn’t imagine how much that must have hurt. Probably just as much as what Brian had been experiencing in his dreams. Maybe more. If Rob hadn’t been with friends, he probably would have drowned in that lake. Brian was glad he hadn’t, and that life had eventually brought them together.

In a lot of ways, Rob had become like Brian’s big brother, sort of like how Michael felt like his little brother. He refused to let Brian get dragged down into any sort of bullshit when it came to living life as a disabled person. And he’d played a big part in pushing Brian to get involved politically, campaigning for the rights of disabled people to have access to everything that able-bodied people did. Rob probably embodied Brian’s old mantra of, “No excuses, no apologies, no regrets,” even better than Brian ever had.

Brian’s thumb hovered for a moment over the button that would cause his phone to call Rob, but he decided he didn’t want to interrupt any festivities his friend might have been participating in. Rob and his partner had two kids under the age of 10, so it was likely that he’d be doing something with his family. Now probably wouldn’t be the time to slam him with the news of what had happened to Justin on the way to Pittsburgh.

Now that the text messages had been read and were no longer piling up, Brian felt a small bit of relief. Inconsequential relief, but still relief, nonetheless. That was one less thing that was looming over his head.

The joint was just about gone when Brian heard the door open behind him.

“I thought I might find you out here,” Michael said. He grabbed one of the plastic chairs from around Debbie’s old, decrepit patio furniture and sat down next to Brian. “I didn’t know you still smoked that stuff.”

“Yeah,” Brian said simply, pausing before adding, “sometimes. Now seemed like one of those times.” The pot had done a lot to calm his anxiety and mellow him out, and his head wasn’t pounding anymore. He was glad he’d bought it, and glad he’d brought some with him tonight. He just wished that he could do it anytime, anywhere -- that someday politicians might realize that it wasn’t the gateway drug they all seemed to think it was. Brian’s affinity for pot had nothing to do with the love he’d once had for cocaine and amyl nitrate and ecstasy and ketamine.

He offered the joint to Michael, but the smaller man shook his head. Brian shrugged and took another drag.

“Lindsay was looking for you,” Michael said. “She’s been over at our place, looking at the paintings. She thinks she can fix almost all of them.”

“That’s good.” Brian tried not to sound disinterested, because he really wasn’t -- it was just that he didn’t want to talk about Justin tonight. He didn’t need any more reminders of everything that was wrong in his life right now.

“She was just wanting to get your permission before she did anything to them.”

“Well, she’s got it. There’s no point in leaving them broken. Might as well at least try to fix them.”

If only fixing the paintings would fix Justin as well.

“Okay,” Michael said. “I’ll tell her. Unless you want to.”

Brian shrugged. He didn’t particularly want to talk to anybody.

He stubbed out what was left of the joint in the ashtray that, for some reason, still sat on the patio table even though he was fairly sure that he was the only one who had ever used it, and he hadn’t smoked a cigarette since before his accident. Maybe Carl Horvath’s blushing bride still snuck out occasionally for a smoke herself, reliving the thrilling days of yesteryear.

Then he put his hands behind his head, elbows out, and leaned back, arching his spine over the back of his wheelchair and stretching as he looked up at the sky once again. He took a deep breath and let it out. This time, there was no smoke -- just the vapor from his breath. The cold air stung his lungs and his throat, but he didn’t care.

“He’s going to be okay, Brian,” Michael said.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but I just have a feeling.”

“Since when are you psychic?” Brian scoffed. “You got some kind of a hotline to the guy upstairs?”

“Shut up. I know I’m not psychic. I just feel it, you know?”

“Well, I’m glad somebody does.”

“He’s got you. He’ll get through this. You both will.”

Brian wished he was as sure about that as Michael sounded.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that there’s cake inside. Some kind of chocolate peppermint thing. Gus said it was good, but he’s a teenager, and I’m pretty sure they’ll eat anything,” Michael laughed as he stood up and returned the chair to its position at the table. “Ma made a pot of coffee. Mel and J.R. made some hot chocolate. You can take your pick, I guess.”

“I need a drink. And not either of those.”

“There’s some of that, too.”

Michael gave Brian a wary look that Brian tried not to read too much into, then turned and opened the back door to his mother’s house.

Brian followed Michael back inside and looked around the kitchen until he saw a bottle of Maker’s Mark sitting next to a plate of fudge on the counter. He reached up to open the cabinet and find a glass, then poured himself a couple of fingers of bourbon. Straight-up was the name of the game tonight -- no mixing it with the eggnog or trying to make it festive. All he wanted was the numbing effect. He knew it would be a struggle to keep it to one glass, but he’d try.

He stuck the glass between his thighs and went into the living room to join the others. Gus and J.R. each had a stack of gifts in front of them, and nearly everyone else had one each. Brian hadn’t even thought about the fact that he didn’t have the gifts that were to be given on his and Justin’s behalf, because he hadn’t returned to their apartment before coming to Pittsburgh as planned. He’d been so preoccupied with everything that had happened, that the thought had never even crossed his mind. But he knew no one would say anything, so there was no need for him to say anything either. He’d ship them when he got back to New York. Whenever that was. Hopefully soon.

Brian watched and tried to slowly sip his liquor as the kids opened their gifts. Gus almost wasn’t a kid anymore, he suddenly realized. He was nearly a grown man. Brian still didn’t know if Gus was straight or gay. Lindsay said he’d dated guys and girls from his high school, and she and Mel didn’t want to pressure him to label himself, so they hadn’t asked. Brian guessed he could get behind that. The world seemed a little bit different now than it had been when he’d realized he preferred boys to girls, or even when he’d told Lindsay that it was okay to like dick and okay to like pussy, but not at the same time. Brian liked the idea of Gus just being himself, with no excuses, no apologies, and no regrets. It wouldn’t be long until Gus would be going off to college, then maybe marrying some lucky guy or girl, and perhaps even starting a family of his own. The idea of being a grandfather still felt jarring to Brian. Back when Gus was born, Brian had honestly thought he probably wouldn’t live to be old enough to become a grandfather. He hadn’t wanted to. But, things change. And Brian was glad they had. He just hoped he wasn’t in for any particularly unpleasant changes coming up.

When it was Brian’s turn to open his gift, he tore open the paper to reveal a pair of nice, black leather gloves from Ben, who had apparently drawn his name from the hat back at Thanksgiving. Brian thanked him and tried them on. They fit perfectly, and would be a nice replacement for the pair that he’d nearly worn out last year. All of the pushing he had to do to get places wore out a pair of gloves much more quickly, and New York was cold. It seemed colder than Pittsburgh, although it probably wasn’t. Since he couldn’t have his hands in his pockets and move at the same time, gloves were a necessity. So they were a perfect gift.

Not too long after that, Michael asked him if he was ready to call it a night. The answer was definitely yes. He was completely spent, both physically and mentally. He was starting to wonder if he was getting sick. He hoped not, because he didn't have time for that, either. All of his focus needed to be on Justin. He didn't need any diversions.

Debbie sent him home with a few repurposed margarine tubs full of leftovers, just like she always had. There was no saying no to her, so he always took them anyway. He usually enjoyed them, even in spite of himself. Maybe some home-cooked food would be more appetizing than cafeteria slop or the limited room service menu.

He sat in the back seat of Ben’s car for the ride back to the hotel. When they arrived, Ben stayed in the car and Michael came inside with Brian to help him carry the stack of containers without spilling anything. After they reached the room, though, Michael seemed reluctant to leave.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

Michael raised an eyebrow and gave Brian a look, but he didn’t object. At least not verbally.

“I meant what I told you earlier,” Michael said. “Call me anytime, day or night, okay? Wake me up, I don’t care. If you just want somebody to scream at or cry to, or just somebody to listen, call me. Please. Just promise me you’ll call.”

Brian nodded but didn’t say anything as he shed his jacket and tossed it over onto the side of the bed he wouldn’t be sleeping on. He never thought he’d ever be so glad to see a hotel room, but that night he was, because it meant he would finally have some quiet. That he didn’t have to try to pretend to be okay anymore.

Before he left, Michael took a step toward Brian and hugged him, then kissed him on the lips just like they always did as he said, “Love you. Always have.”

“Always will.”

Danger by TrueIllusion

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing... the fuck is going on.”

“You’re a fucking fall-down mess.”

“I’m beautiful. I’ll always be beautiful, you said so yourself.”

“You’ve cut yourself off from everyone, including me. You’re drinking... Christ, like I’ve never seen you before. Maybe you need to talk to someone.”

*****

“I haven’t seen him like that in, well… ten years. Not since right after his accident.”

On Christmas morning, Michael sat at the table in his kitchen just like he did every morning, with his coffee and his laptop. It was just him and Ben. Hunter and his fiancee had decided to go on a cruise, and they wouldn’t be back in town until the new year. Mel and Linds would be over later with Gus and J.R., but other than that, it felt like any other normal day. Not like a holiday at all.

“I think it’s understandable,” Ben said, stirring some soy milk into his coffee. “I know how I’d feel if it were you in the hospital. If I didn’t know if you were going to be alright or not.”

“I know. I get that. If it were you, I’d be a fucking basket case, but… Ben, he’s scaring me. This is worse than it was before. And I don’t know what’s wrong, because he won’t tell me. When I ask, he just shuts down. Insists he’s okay. But I know he’s not.”

Ben stood up, walked over behind Michael, and started rubbing his shoulders.

“You can’t make him tell you if he’s not ready,” Ben said. “Just keep reminding him that you’re there. I think he’ll come around.”

“I did, but God, Ben… Last night, I saw exactly what Ma was talking about when she told me she hadn’t wanted to leave him alone. I didn’t want to leave him either. I’ve known him long enough to be able to see when he’s just trying to stuff something down, or trying to wait it out until no one else is around so he can let it go then. And that’s exactly what he was doing last night.”

“You can’t smother him though, Michael. He’ll only push you away. You have to let him come to you in his own time.”

“I just… I don’t want him to have to go through this alone.”

“He’s not. You’re there. We’re all there. He’s not alone. But if he needs some time to himself, we have to let him have that.”

“Ma said he woke her up screaming the other night. That he fell asleep on her couch and had some kind of nightmare. Ended up in the floor, fucking screaming, and he didn’t know where he was. Clearly, something is wrong.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you. I’m just telling you that you have to be patient. And you have to accept that he might not want to tell you.”

“I don’t like not being able to help him, that’s all.”

“I know. You care about him. You love him. You want to fix this. That’s just who you are. But you can’t fix this. You couldn’t fix it ten years ago, and you can’t fix it now. You just have to know that you’re doing what you can, and right now, that’s all you can do.”

“But I want to do more.”

“You have to wait for him.” Ben released Michael’s shoulders and walked back over to his chair, taking a seat across from Michael.

“I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid.”

“Do you think he’s a danger to himself?”

“I don’t know, Ben, because he won’t fucking tell me what’s going on!” Michael’s voice was rising.

“I’m on your side, Michael,” Ben said, keeping his tone calm and even, like he always did.

Michael sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m scared. Last night, I think I would have given anything to go back to when we were kids, when he’d come over after his dad went on a rampage, and he’d let me hold him until he fell asleep.”

“You’re not kids anymore, though.”

“I know we’re not. But that’s what I wanted to do last night. And I think if I could have done that, maybe I could have gotten him to open up.”

Michael spent Christmas Eve trying to get Brian to talk to him -- really talk to him -- all night, to no avail. But Brian wasn’t engaging with anyone, much less Michael. He kept finding ways to go off by himself -- at least, as much as one could do that in Debbie Novotny’s house on a holiday. Brian accomplished it by doing the exact opposite of what everyone else was doing for most of the night.

They hadn’t been there for very long, and Michael was helping his mother pull every plate she owned out of the cabinet, when he noticed that although everyone else was in the kitchen or hovering near it because dinner was almost ready, Brian was sitting in the living room by himself, looking out the window.

Michael needed a convenient excuse to go over to Brian and check on him without looking like that’s all he was doing, so he told his mother he’d be right back, grabbed a mug, and filled it up with a ladle full of the spiced apple cider that was steaming in a pot on the stove.

Brian nearly jumped out of his skin when Michael touched him. Apparently he’d been off somewhere, lost in his thoughts. The first thing Michael noticed was that Brian didn’t look good -- he didn’t look like himself at all. His color was off and he just looked...worn out. His eyes looked so weary. They were dark -- just pools of blackness that echoed the despair that seemed to be etched all over his face.

Michael told Brian how glad he was that he was there, even in spite of everything that was going on. Brian turned away for a moment, and Michael thought it looked like he was trying not to cry. Michael had seen that enough times to be able to identify it, whether Brian wanted him to or not. It was something Brian did as a result of the years of training he’d had to never show any sort of emotion. And it was often followed by a sarcastic remark to try to throw people off the trail, although it never did for Michael. Usually, Michael knew what it was about and could easily redirect Brian’s energy to help him save face. Only this time, he didn’t know what it was really about. Was it about Justin? Was it about not feeling like he deserved to have people care about him? Some combination of the two? Or was he just emotionally on-edge because of something else that was going on in his mind? Did it have something to do with waking up screaming?

Michael tried to get Brian to talk to him then, but Brian wouldn’t engage.

He also tried to give Brian an out -- letting him know that if he needed or wanted to leave, all he had to do was say the word. But he didn’t take Michael up on it. He just sat there through dinner, hardly saying anything, and hardly eating anything either. Gus tried to make a joke that ordinarily Michael knew Brian would have laughed at, but it didn’t seem like Brian had even heard him. They were all gathered around together in the same room, but Brian might as well have been on another planet.

After dinner, Lindsay had been looking for Brian so she could ask his permission to try to repair Justin’s paintings, but he was nowhere to be found. Michael had excused himself to go to the restroom right after dinner, and hadn’t seen Brian since then. Trying to conceal his worry and not run through a million possibilities in his head of where his friend could have disappeared off to and what kind of trouble he could be in, Michael walked over to Ben and asked him quietly if he’d seen Brian. Ben tilted his head slightly in the direction of the back door, where, sure enough, through the window, Michael could see Brian’s back. He was sitting out there by himself, and it looked like he was smoking a joint.

Ben must have been able to read Michael’s mind, or else he knew him far too well, because the next thing he did was whisper in Michael’s ear, “Let him have some time. He’s okay.”

Resisting the urge to go outside immediately was like torture for Michael, who instead took a seat at the table where he could still see the back door, and kept glancing out at Brian, attempting to be as furtive as possible, since it didn’t look like anyone else had noticed him out there. Michael could see him looking up and blowing smoke into the sky for a few minutes, then he could see the faint glow of what appeared to be Brian’s phone in the darkness. Maybe he was calling someone, or thinking about it. As much as Michael wanted to be the person Brian confided in, he had to admit that he’d be relieved if Brian just called someone -- anyone -- to talk about what he was feeling, even if it wasn’t him.

But he never called anyone -- at least, it didn’t look like he did, unless it was brief and Michael had missed it while he was trying to not stare. The glow from the phone went out, and Brian continued to sit outside in the darkness. Michael couldn’t stand it anymore, so he looked over his shoulder to check and see that Ben was occupied talking to someone else, before he got up and slipped outside.

Brian offered Michael the joint, but he didn’t take it. He hadn’t smoked in years. The last time he smoked had been with Brian, actually.

They talked about Lindsay and the paintings, and Michael couldn’t help but notice how despondent Brian sounded. Even more than he had earlier that night, in the living room. It seemed like he was withdrawing. Like he just didn’t care anymore. Michael knew that never led to anything good where Brian was concerned. And it also drove the “fixer” in Michael to try to reassure Brian that Justin was going to be fine, even though, truthfully, Michael didn’t know that any more than Brian did.

Brian had made fun of him a little, asking him if he thought he was psychic or something, and Michael was relieved to see that tiny bit of the sarcastic side of his best friend that he knew so well, coming through. Normally, Brian’s penchant for sarcasm could be a bit annoying, but that night, it was so good to hear. Maybe it was the pot talking, but whatever it was, it felt normal. It let Michael forget for a split second that, in his friend’s world, things were anything but normal at that moment.

When it didn’t seem like his reassurance was working, Michael thought he’d try the promise of sugar -- Brian’s secret love that directly contradicted his whole “no carbs after seven” bullshit that he still pretended to follow for some reason. There were desserts and sweet beverages to be had inside, where all of the other people who loved and cared about Brian were. Maybe if Michael got Brian surrounded by people again, it might bring him back to life. It turned out that the promise of liquor was the actual way to Brian’s heart, and that only served to add to Michael’s worry. Was Brian about to go inside and get drunk? Was he about to fall into one of his old standby “pain management” methods?

Michael was a little surprised when Brian didn’t do that, and didn’t seem to even have the intention of doing that. He only had one glass of the bourbon that one of Carl’s coworkers had given him as a gift. Maybe Brian was a bit more in control than he looked. That still didn’t stop Michael from being concerned, though.

When Michael decided that he’d had enough of watching Brian try to navigate the social circus that was “Christmas Eve at the Novotny house,” he asked him if he was ready to call it a night. The relief on Brian’s face was clear. Michael only wished that “calling it a night” didn’t mean what it did -- taking Brian back to his hotel, where he’d be alone for the rest of the night.

Michael went into the hotel with Brian, supposedly to help him carry the containers of leftovers his mother had sent back with them, but really, it was to buy Michael more time to try to see with his own eyes whether or not Brian was okay. What his friend was saying at the moment couldn’t really be trusted. The truth would lie in how he looked and how he acted. And his looks and actions belied the aloof confidence he tried -- and failed -- to exude.

Giving Brian that hug and kiss and telling him he loved him felt so strangely final, and Michael didn’t know why. It wasn’t final at all. They were going to see each other the next morning. But Michael’s subconscious kept pulling his worries and concerns back to the forefront. Drawing his attention to the fear and uncertainty that lay just beneath the surface in his best friend’s eyes. Michael kept telling himself that he was being ridiculous -- that Brian would be fine. He didn’t seem particularly unstable -- he just seemed sad and disengaged, and maybe a little bit afraid. And there was nothing Michael could do about it that he hadn’t already tried to do.

There was only so much he could do, if Brian wouldn’t tell him what was really going on.

Michael didn’t think he’d felt this helpless since he’d been sitting in the hospital waiting room with Ben after having gotten a phone call telling him Brian had been involved in an accident. He hadn’t liked it then, and he definitely didn’t like it any better now.

It was past the time when Brian had typically been calling Michael to come pick him up and take him to the hospital, and Michael was fighting the impulse to call his friend and be sure he was alright. He hoped that Brian was sleeping, because Michael knew he needed the rest. He’d been looking exhausted ever since he arrived in Pittsburgh, and it seemed to only get worse with each passing day. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much at all.

Michael was really wishing that he knew what had Brian screaming in his sleep the night he was at his mother’s house. Was it something that was happening often?

He could remember that Brian used to have nightmares occasionally when they were kids and he’d spend the night at the Novotny house. Sometimes they sounded pretty violent and scary, but Brian never would talk about them. Then, they’d graduated from high school and gone to college and started their adult lives, which meant no more sleepovers. That is, unless Brian had gone out and gotten drunk with his dad and ended up stumbling into Michael’s apartment late at night, so smashed that Michael was sure Brian wouldn’t have remembered any dreams he had. So Michael hadn’t given any thought to Brian’s nightmares in a long time.

Brian didn’t call until after 9 a.m., and the first thing Michael noticed when he met Brian at the hotel was that he didn’t look any better than he had the night before. He also hadn’t bothered to shave, so the five o’clock shadow was adding to just how tired and harried he looked.

Michael noticed that Brian kept rubbing his hands on his thighs as they drove to the hospital.

“Something wrong?” Michael asked. He remembered Brian having some problems with something that was basically like phantom pain, that had started a few months after his injury and really put him through hell until they found the right medication for it. But he didn’t think it had been an issue in a long time.

“My fucking legs are burning… Have been since late last night. I don’t know why I think rubbing them will help, considering that it’s all in my goddamn head anyhow.” He paused and leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on with my body, but I don’t have time for this shit.”

Michael had a number of things that he would have liked to have said, and lots of advice he’d like to give -- such as reducing stress by fucking telling someone what was bothering him and letting them help -- but he knew that if he said any of it, he would only incur Brian’s wrath. He didn’t want to do or say anything that might make Brian even less inclined to reach out to Michael if he needed something. So he kept his mouth shut.

When they arrived, Michael started to turn to park the car in the garage so he could go in with Brian, but Brian stopped him.

“You can just drop me off,” he said. “I don’t want to take up your whole day.”

“I don’t mind. We’re not doing anything until later. Until then, it’s just Ben and I. We’ll probably just be watching TV or something.”

“You should go enjoy your time with your husband.”

“Brian, I really don’t mind--”

“It’s fine. Just drop me off.”

Michael knew better than to argue with Brian when his mind was made up. All that would do was create a rift as well -- a rift that neither of them could afford to have between them right now. So he dropped Brian off at the door, and obeyed when he was told not to get out of the car.

“Do you want me to come by later and pick you up?” he asked as he watched Brian assemble his chair.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch a ride with Jennifer. I’ll be fine,” Brian said as he moved his body from the car seat to the wheelchair. “Go be with your family, Mikey.”

“It’s your family too,” Michael said. “Mel and Linds and Gus and J.R. will be there later. We’d love to have you, if you want to come.”

Michael honestly wasn’t expecting Brian to accept the invitation, considering that he’d been spending almost every waking minute he was allowed to next to Justin’s hospital bed. But he figured he’d put it out there anyway.

“Thanks, but I want to stay here as long as I can today.”

“I understand,” Michael replied. And he did. But he didn’t like watching Brian torture himself, day after day. Particularly when it was so obvious that he wasn’t getting the rest he needed. Michael wasn’t sure he was caring for himself very well at all, to be honest. And it sounded like Brian’s body was starting to fight against him, which wasn’t a good thing.

However, he knew better than to try to convince his hard-headed friend that he needed to take better care of himself. Brian was probably already well aware of that, but with everything else that was going on, Michael knew he’d probably never take time for himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mikey,” Brian said. “Love you.”

“You too. Call me if you need--”

“I know.” Brian cut him off. “Thanks, Mikey. I’m okay.” With that, Brian closed the car door, then turned and disappeared through the sliding glass doors at the front of the hospital.

Michael drove back to the house, having to remind himself that Brian wasn’t upset with him -- he was probably just angry at the world. And that was certainly understandable. Michael still didn’t like being shut out, though. He wondered if perhaps he’d pushed too hard the night before, trying to get Brian to tell him what was wrong.

He and Ben spent most of the day watching marathons of cheesy holiday movies on cable TV, in between eating the leftovers his mother had sent him home with. Ben had planned a mostly vegetarian meal for them to share with their guests later, with the exception of the turkey that they knew they had to have if they didn’t want a revolt from Gus, who truly was his father’s son and would not hesitate to express his displeasure with the lack of meat via a heaping helping of sarcasm. And, honestly, Michael wanted the turkey too, so he didn’t mind helping to prepare it.

Melanie, Lindsay, and the kids showed up in the late afternoon, as planned.

“We just came from the hospital,” Lindsay said as she took off her coat and scarf and hung them up on the coat rack by the door. “Looks like Brian got a good Christmas present today -- Justin was quite a bit more awake. And believe it or not, Brian was smiling. After the way he looked last night, I was so glad to see that. Justin’s still pretty confused and said his head hurts, but he was talking some.”

“That’s great to hear,” Michael said. Actually, he was downright relieved to hear it. Maybe that might help pull Brian out of his funk, Michael thought to himself. It sounded like it might already be.

Lindsay nodded and followed Michael into the kitchen, while Mel, Gus, and J.R. went into the living room, where Ben already was. “I hadn’t really talked to him since the first night we got into town. I couldn’t figure out if he was consciously avoiding me last night or not, but I kept getting pulled away by other people every time I’d start to approach him, and then he’d slip off somewhere else.”

“I think he was avoiding everybody. I wouldn’t take it personally. He didn’t want to come, but you know Ma. She left him no choice.”

“Well, I don’t really blame him. I just wanted to check in with him, see if there’s anything I can do to help besides what I’m already doing with the paintings. I wish we could stay in town longer, but Mel has to go back to work.”

“I know he really appreciates what you’re doing for the paintings, even if he hasn’t said anything. I know he’s kind of...preoccupied.” Michael stopped himself from adding that he was fairly sure there was more to Brian’s preoccupation than met the eye.

“Gus was even getting worried last night,” Lindsay said, keeping her voice low so no one in the living room would hear her. “And I know I was. He just didn’t seem like himself. Not that I was really expecting him to be the same old Brian, not with Justin in the hospital. But something was just...off.”

Michael certainly knew the feeling. While he knew that Justin starting to come around more fully probably wouldn’t be a quick fix for Brian’s mental state, he was sure that it would be a huge help.

Michael and Ben spent the evening with their little nontraditional family, part of which was Brian’s as well, and they all missed his presence. They understood why he was missing, though, and they were all happy that he was finally getting something he’d been wanting so badly. Maybe Brian’s week of torture had finally ended, and Justin would continue to be on the upswing from here on out. Michael hoped that would be the case, because he wasn’t sure how much more Brian could stand.

Eventually, Mel and Linds left with the kids, and Michael and Ben settled into bed together for the night. It felt to Michael like things were finally starting to look up, and he was thankful for that. Brian deserved to have a little peace -- for things to settle down a bit.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to get a phone call in the middle of the night, but around 3 a.m., his phone started to ring.

Michael fumbled around in the dark for his cell phone until he finally located it. He squinted at the screen, but barely registered whose name was on the display before he answered it.

“Hello?” he mumbled, about as clearly as he could when he had been startled out of a sound sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

No one said anything on the other end. He could hear someone breathing, and he thought it sounded like Brian. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. It was Brian. Or at least, someone using Brian’s phone. Although he didn’t know who else would be.

“Brian?” he said. “Is everything alright?”

Still, all he could hear was the sound of someone breathing. Sounding upset. Maybe a little scared. Or in pain? He couldn’t tell if the sound he was hearing in the breath on the other end of the line was a tremble or a hitch or a quiet sob.

Michael sat up in the bed and turned the light on. Ben was awake now too, and was looking at him with concern in his eyes.

“Talk to me,” Michael said, keeping his voice gentle as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, grabbing a pair of jeans and starting to pull them on while he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

It was several more seconds -- with more unsteady breathing -- before Brian finally responded. His voice was quiet, and he sounded like he’d been crying. He sounded exactly like he had when Michael had sat with him in the hospital hallway on the night Justin was bashed. So much so that it gave Michael chills.

“I fucked up.”

Pain Management by TrueIllusion

“I still don’t remember anything. Last thing I remember is you telling me that you wouldn’t come to my prom. But they said that you showed up, after all. And that we danced together, and it was amazing. Daphne said that we were amazing.”

“We were alright.”

“Shit. I wish I could remember that.”

*****

It was a fucking Christmas miracle. At least, that was how it seemed at first.

When Brian first arrived at the hospital grounds with Michael that morning, his only focus had been getting Michael to drop him off without coming in. He loved Michael and appreciated everything his friend was doing for him, but he wasn’t loving how Michael was constantly trying to get him to talk about his feelings. He didn’t want to talk about them, because talking about how he felt would almost certainly lead to talking about his nightmares, which would lead to talking about the bashing, and he still didn’t want to talk about that, even after all these years. He knew he was going to have to talk about it with someone, but that someone wasn't going to be Michael. It needed to be someone with a college education in psychology, and Brian knew it. He didn’t like it, but he knew it.

He was fucked up in the head right now, and it was scaring him a little, but it was also a holiday, so there was no one to call. He just needed to make it through 24 more hours without losing control. He could make it through 24 more hours. Until then, he just had to keep the way he was feeling to himself and try to not let it show through too much.

And, on top of everything else, last night his head had apparently decided to add in some good old fashioned neuropathic leg pain. It hadn’t been this bad in for-fucking-ever. It was bad enough that it kept Brian from falling asleep for a long time -- not exactly the way he wanted to get a reprieve from the nightmares. This morning, he hadn’t even wanted to get out of bed, much less go anywhere, but he had no choice. He wasn’t going to spend any more time away from Justin than he absolutely had to. So he’d grit his teeth and bear it and try not to let anyone see how much pain he was in. That was all there was to do, because this wasn’t about him.

He managed to shrug off Michael, but not without noticing the slightly hurt look in his friend’s eyes after Brian told him he should go spend the day with his husband and not worry about him. He told Michael he was fine. That lie was getting easier and easier. By now, it was like the words meant nothing. They were just words. Words intended solely to allay people’s fears and guilt and get them off of Brian’s back. And the words seemed to be working.

Brian had never liked hurting Michael, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

Besides, there was no point in dragging Michael down into the shit day that Brian was sure he was about to have. It was fucking Christmas, and he was going to be spending it sitting by his husband’s hospital bed, wishing and hoping for said husband to suddenly become fully coherent and, well, his husband again. Michael deserved to spend Christmas at home with his own husband.

Brian would resume what had now become a daily vigil with Jennifer Taylor, sitting by Justin’s bedside, waiting for him to come back to them.

An hour into said vigil, just a few minutes after Jennifer stepped out to get some coffee and food for both of them, it seemed that Brian had at least partially gotten his wish. Justin fluttered his eyes open, said Brian’s name again, complained about his head hurting again, then added a new question to the mix: “What happened?”

It was said in a stilted way -- like the word “happened” didn’t come easily -- but it was still something that was new. Something that indicated that Justin was ready to engage in at least some sort of conversation, since he was asking a question.

Brian wasn’t sure how much detail he should give. He didn’t want to overwhelm Justin, so he went with, “You were in a car accident, Sunshine.”

Justin nodded slowly as he studied Brian’s face, like he was trying to wrap his head around those words.

“You hit your head, and there was some swelling in your brain, so they put you in a coma,” Brian continued, still not sure where he should stop with his explanation.

Justin was staring at Brian, blinking as he digested what Brian was saying. At least, Brian hoped Justin was understanding what he was saying. He was looking awfully confused, so Brian wasn’t sure.

“Were you…” Justin said, pausing and then squeezing his eyes shut like he was concentrating really hard before continuing, “...with me?”

Fuck. As if Brian didn’t already feel bad enough that Justin had been alone. Now he was going to have to tell Justin that no, he hadn’t been there. Brian took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was about Justin, not him.

“No, I wasn’t. I was in Rochester.”

Suddenly, Justin looked even more confused, and Brian wished he had left it at, “No, I wasn’t,” rather than adding the detail about being in Rochester. Now he’d have a lot more to explain, and Justin would have more to try to wrap his addled brain around, and it would all be pretty goddamn pointless because it really didn’t fucking matter where Brian was at the time. All that mattered was that he wasn’t there.

“What happened...to you?” Justin asked.

Now it was Brian’s turn to be confused. What was Justin asking? Had he already forgotten that Brian wasn’t there when the accident happened? He’d just said that. Fuck, how bad was this?

“What do you mean, Sunshine? I’m fine,” Brian said, hoping his voice wasn’t belying the worry that was building in his head. “Nothing happened to me. I wasn’t with you.”

“No…” Justin started to speak, then closed his eyes again, sinking back into the pillows for a moment and taking a deep breath.

Brian hated that it seemed like all of this was such an effort for Justin. It looked like just the simple act of speaking wasn’t so simple anymore.

“It’s okay,” Brian said as he took Justin’s left hand between both of his. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. If it’s too hard.” Fuck, he wanted to hear Justin’s voice, but he didn’t want to cause him pain.

Justin opened his eyes again and focused them first on Brian’s face, then looked down, toward Brian’s legs.

“Were you…” Justin started and stopped, seeming to lose the words he wanted to use to complete that sentence. “How long…” Another pause, this time accompanied by a look of frustration. “How long...was I...asleep?”

“Just a few days,” Brian said. “Not too long. We’re all just glad you’re okay. Why don’t you just rest and relax for a little bit... Don’t try to talk.”

“No…” Justin pulled his hand out from between Brian’s and gestured toward Brian’s lower body. “What...happened?”

Shit. Brian knew that memory loss was a distinct possibility here, given the extent of Justin’s brain injury and the fact that it wasn’t his first one, but was Justin really telling him that he didn’t remember that Brian was paralyzed? How much did he not remember? Maybe it was still just the confusion of waking up in a strange place and not remembering how he’d gotten there. At least, that’s what Brian hoped it was.

“You mean this?” Brian laid his hands on the wheels of his chair and backed up a few inches.

Justin nodded.

“I was in an accident.” Brian wasn’t sure how much he should say. If he should try to explain it, or if he should let Justin rest and wait for Justin’s brain to fill in the gaps. Hell, Brian didn’t even know what the gap was or exactly how big it was, much less where to start or how to fill it in.

“But...you said…”

Fuck, Brian thought to himself. Justin was still thinking that all of this had happened at the same time, apparently, and was trying to reconcile the information he knew -- whatever that was -- with what Brian had already given him, and Brian could see it clear as day on Justin’s face that none of it was making any sense. He wished he would have just kept his goddamn mouth shut and encouraged Justin to rest, rather than trying to explain any of this. It seemed like every time he answered one of Justin’s questions, he was only making things worse. But he was already in too deep to stop now.

“I’ve been like this for a long time,” Brian said gently, hoping that he was keeping his face neutral and free of the anxiety that was quickly rising inside him. “Ten years.”

Justin took in another deep breath, let it out, and turned his head to look away just slightly. Brian could see from Justin’s facial expression and the look in his eyes, that he was trying to put things together. Running through whatever information was in his head to try to figure out how Brian had been in a wheelchair for ten years and he hadn’t known about it.

Justin was still looking away from Brian when Dr. Helton came in and greeted them both with a smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Taylor,” she said, “I’m glad I’ve caught you awake. How are you feeling?”

“Head hurts.”

“Yes, that’s normal. It might not go away for a while. We can try to adjust your pain medication to see if that helps make it a little more bearable, at least.”

Justin pushed his head back deeper into the pillows again and closed his eyes. “Tired,” he mumbled.

“That’s normal too,” the doctor said. “Your brain needs rest. It’s asking you to give it what it needs. Don’t fight it; just let yourself rest.”

Justin nodded slowly but didn’t open his eyes. Less than ten seconds passed before Justin’s breathing deepened and it seemed like he was already asleep. Part of Brian was jealous of how quickly and easily Justin had fallen into slumber. He wished he could sleep without his brain constantly conjuring up nightmares of past horrors, embellished with extra blood and gore and misery and fear. But that didn’t matter right now. He was here for Justin and needed to focus on Justin. His own problems could wait. They had to.

Dr. Helton studied a couple of the monitors that were attached to Justin and noted some things on the tablet she was carrying around. Brian assumed she was writing the order to adjust Justin’s pain medication. He hoped she was, because he clearly remembered how much it sucked to be lying in a hospital bed in an extreme amount of pain with no end in sight, particularly when the meds only really took the edge off and didn’t resolve it completely. The doctor tapped the screen a few more times in different places, then turned her attention to Brian.

“How long had he been awake? How did he seem?” she asked.

“Uh...maybe about five or ten minutes. And confused, mostly. He was asking me what happened to him.”

“That’s normal for there to be some amnesia surrounding the event.”

“I know,” Brian said. “He, uh… he’s had that before. With his prior brain injury. He never remembered most of it.”

Dr. Helton nodded. “Did he ask anything else?”

“He asked what happened to me. He wanted to know if I was with him. I think maybe he thought I’d been hurt in the accident too. I’ve been like this for ten years, so...that’s a little strange.” Saying it out loud made Brian realize just how significant it sounded that Justin had forgotten about that. Had he forgotten the last ten years entirely?

Brian didn’t have much time to worry over that thought before Dr. Helton told him that was normal as well.

“The human brain is very complex, and there’s a lot we don’t completely understand about it,” she continued. “And every brain and every injury is unique. Particularly after an injury like this, there can be some temporary amnesia as the brain works to rebuild connections and reorganize information. I wouldn’t worry too much about the memory loss yet. Just keep answering his questions as he asks them. That should help as well.”

Dr. Helton told Brian that they might be able to move Justin to a regular room soon, which was a relief for Brian, because once that happened he would no longer be beholden to the intensive care unit’s strict visiting hours, and he’d be able to spend even more time with Justin. Maybe he could even work out a way to spend the night, so neither of them would have to be alone. Brian knew he didn’t want to be alone; he assumed Justin probably wanted the same.

For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, Brian stayed with Justin, answering questions as simply as he possibly could. Justin would sleep for an hour or two, then wake up and ask a couple of questions, and go back to sleep. He asked about Brian’s accident, and Brian ended up having to tell him the whole story again, but most of the questions were related to Justin’s accident. He seemed to be trying to fill in why he’d been driving to Pittsburgh without Brian. Brian wasn’t sure if Justin remembered if they lived in New York or not, but Justin didn’t ask, and Brian didn’t volunteer the information, not wanting to confuse Justin any further than he already was. He just answered the questions at face value and tried not to read too much into them or allow his own worry to run away with worst-case scenarios. He had to keep remembering what Dr. Helton had said -- this was all perfectly normal.

Talking with Justin more often also provided a nice distraction from the fact that Brian still felt like absolute shit, and it wasn’t getting any better. He’d had a headache now for days, he was still feeling nauseous, and his legs really seemed to have a lot to say, between the burning and the random spasms. And he was so exhausted, but he couldn’t seem to get any decent sleep without drugs, which he was trying hard not to fall back on. But he was starting to get desperate.

Even though Brian felt crappy and Justin’s memory loss was making him very apprehensive, he still couldn’t seem to wipe the stupid grin off his face that had appeared when Justin first opened his eyes that morning. And it only got better when Justin kept waking up, and kept talking. The day had definitely been better than anticipated. Maybe his husband was coming back to him, finally. Merry Christmas.

In the late afternoon, Lindsay and Mel stopped by, along with Gus and Jenny Rebecca. Brian noticed that when Gus hugged him, he held on for longer and much more tightly than normal, particularly for a 16-year-old boy hugging his dad, who by default was considered old and uncool and not to be too closely associated with. Then, the Peterson-Marcus family went on to the Novotny-Bruckner house, and Lindsay tried to talk Brian into coming with them. He declined, of course, not wanting to take any time away from Justin -- especially not now that he was starting to come around. Gus looked disappointed for a very brief moment before he managed to rearrange his face into a neutral expression. Man, was that kid his son -- so much so that it was like watching a past version of himself -- and fuck did it make Brian feel guilty to have made him feel that way. He made a mental note to himself that he’d have to plan an extra trip to Toronto just to visit Gus, once things settled down with Justin. Hopefully soon.

Right around dinner time was when things started to fall apart.

Justin was awake again, and complaining less often about his head hurting, which Brian was thankful for -- maybe the medication was working a little better now. He still wasn’t any less confused, though, and his speech was slow and it seemed like he needed to search for words quite often. This time, he lifted up his right hand, slowly, like it weighed much more than any hand ever should, and studied it. Brian noticed that it was curled into a familiar shape -- the shape it took on when Justin overworked it and it gave out on him. The same shape it had been stuck in for so many months after the bashing. Goddamn it, Brian thought. That hand was Justin’s sanity. His livelihood. But he had to keep it together for Justin -- he couldn’t let his own worry show through, or it would only make things worse for Justin.

So he reached across and took Justin’s right hand between both of his. He tried to give Justin his most reassuring smile, which seemed very un-Brian-Kinney-like, but whatever. Since when had Brian Kinney ever been the same person around Justin Taylor that he was around the rest of the world?

“It’ll be okay, Sunshine,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

Brian didn’t even know what “it” was, but he had a pretty good idea that they’d probably just reset the damn clock on Justin’s use of his dominant hand. However, he didn’t have much time to entertain that thought, before Justin was reaching his left hand up and running a finger over Brian’s wedding ring. Justin looked at Brian and cocked his head slightly, his eyes inquisitive. Justin looked down at his own left hand -- at his finger that didn’t have his matching wedding band because the hospital had taken it off and given it to Brian what felt like ages ago -- then back up at Brian.

“Are we…” Justin started to speak.

Brian felt his heart drop into his stomach. Justin seemed to be taking forever to finish this sentence, but Brian didn’t even need him to finish it. He knew what it was, and it hurt. But he couldn’t show that to Justin.

Brian had almost forgotten that Jennifer was next to him until she spoke up.

“Yes, sweetheart, you and Brian are married,” she said. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

Justin started chewing his lip anxiously, looking back and forth between Jennifer and Brian. Brian didn’t know how to read Justin’s reaction, but he knew it wasn’t the happy one he’d expected and wanted so badly to see.

Suddenly, Brian had to get out of that room. He excused himself by saying he needed to go to the bathroom, although he didn’t, not really. For once, anyway. He’d already been what felt like a dozen times that day, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was all the excess coffee that he wasn’t supposed to be drinking but was drinking anyway to try to stay awake because he wasn’t sleeping. This time, though, he just needed to get away for a moment to collect himself before he ended up making Justin feel guilty for not remembering that they were married.

He decided to go ahead and take a piss for good measure, since he was already in the bathroom and it made for a decent distraction for a few minutes. He was feeling unusually warm, particularly since it was December and it was cold as balls outside, so while he was in there, he also shed his sweater and went with just the t-shirt underneath.

When he came back out of the bathroom, Justin was still awake, talking to his mother. Brian still couldn’t quite read Justin’s expression, and they were talking in such low voices that he couldn’t hear what was being said. Justin’s eyelids were quickly getting heavier, though. Just as Brian got back to his bedside, Justin closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

After that, Justin stayed asleep until it was time for Jennifer and Brian to leave for the evening. They each gave him a kiss -- Jennifer on the cheek and Brian on the hand because it was all he could get his lips to. Brian was more than ready to give Justin a real kiss, but it would have to wait. Although now, he was wondering if it would come at all, depending on how much Justin remembered and how much he’d forgotten. Together, Brian and Jennifer headed back down that long hallway to the elevator.

Tonight, Brian wasn’t quite as reluctant to leave as he had been for the past several days. It wasn’t that he wanted to leave Justin -- not at all. It was that he needed some time to himself, so he wouldn’t have to hide how much it hurt that Justin didn’t remember they were married. Brian felt guilty for even feeling that way, because, again, this was not about him. But his chest was aching, and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold back the emotions that were threatening to spill over. If Justin didn’t remember that, what else did he not remember?

Jennifer dropped Brian off at the hotel, hugging him as they both sat in the parked car, then kissing his cheek.

“Love you,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. “Take care of yourself, please. Get some rest. You feel warm...are you feeling okay?”

Brian shrugged. “Just tired, mom,” he said. He knew he wasn’t okay, but fuck if he knew what was going on or if he had time to try to find out.

“Get some sleep,” Jennifer said as she moved her hand down and patted Brian’s shoulder, then returned it to the steering wheel.

Yeah, right, Brian thought to himself. Sleep. If only it were that simple.

Brian completed the whole fucking process that was getting in and out of a car -- Christ, this was one of the times when he really missed having legs that worked -- and bid Jennifer farewell. He could already feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he made his way up to his room. His hands were shaking as he stuck the keycard in the lock and pushed the door open before pushing himself into the room and shutting the door behind him.

At that point, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. This was too fucking much. Brian had reached his breaking point.

This pain was far too familiar. The feeling of having his heart ripped out of his chest and stomped on by the only man he’d ever seen fit to give it to.

He still remembered what it had felt like to stand in his kitchen at the loft while Justin told him that the last thing he remembered was Brian telling him that he wouldn’t come to his prom. It hurt because he had gone to the prom. He’d pulled off a ridiculously romantic gesture that Brian Fucking Kinney just didn’t do, and he’d done it for Justin. He’d done it to show that he did care. He’d taken a scary and uncertain step into unfamiliar territory when he entered that ballroom. He’d let himself show love. Brian Kinney didn’t feel love, at least not in a romantic way. And he certainly didn’t outwardly display it in a public setting.

Sure, he could go to Babylon and show lust all night long, but love? Brian Kinney didn’t do love.

At least, not until Justin Taylor came along.

Justin Taylor made Brian Kinney feel things he’d never wanted to feel.

He wasn’t sure of exactly when he’d changed his mind about going to the prom. He’d told Justin no, because he wouldn’t be caught dead in a room full of teenagers. Fuck, he was a 30-year-old man. Newly 30, yes, but still...30. He was officially old. What the fuck would he want with a bunch of 17- and 18-year-olds? But then Michael told him he’d always be young and he’d always be beautiful. Was that what made Brian want to recapture his lost youth?

Brian didn’t know why it had hurt so damn much all those years ago to hear Justin say that he didn’t remember any of it -- not the dance, not the kiss, not the things they’d said to each other in the garage. Brian had put himself out there, for the first time. He’d let himself be vulnerable, and Justin didn’t remember a goddamn thing. He’d never recovered the memory. The only one he ever got back was the moment just before Chris Hobbs swung that damn bat.

The one that probably would have been best if it remained forgotten.

And it didn’t matter that Justin knew the story of the prom by heart because he’d heard it from other people. It still hurt that Justin didn’t remember seeing it with his own two eyes. That he’d never remember what he felt. That they’d never be able to reminisce together about that night, because Brian’s feelings about it were now tainted by baseball bats and blood and sheer terror, and Justin’s had been stolen completely.

Now, it seemed that their marriage had suffered the same fate. And that fucking hurt more than Brian thought was possible.

It had taken Brian years to come around to liking the idea of being married to Justin. Of being married, period. It was something Justin had wanted long before that, though. Something Brian had resisted, because along with marriage came the other m-word: monogamy. That wasn’t something Brian thought he could ever do or would ever want to do. Sex wasn’t something that only came along with love in Brian’s world. It was also a release. A way to escape. With Justin, it was different, but he still hadn’t wanted to let go of the part of him that loved being sucked off by some random guy in the back room at Babylon, or bringing home a particularly hot specimen to fuck. And, at one point, Brian’s refusal to let go of that had looked like it was going to cost him Justin. It hurt, but Brian still didn’t change his mind.

It took a bomb to change his mind. To make him realize what he’d almost let go of and then lost forever. He couldn’t stand the thought that Justin could have died without ever knowing exactly how much he meant to Brian. He could have died before Brian had the balls to say those three little words: I love you. So, motivated by the desire to hold onto Justin and never let him go again, he proposed. They planned a wedding. Then they mutually decided it would be best not to get married -- not to sacrifice who they were and what they each wanted, purely for the sake of vows and rings and a piece of paper.

Over the next year, though, everything changed. The next time Brian proposed, there were no feelings of fear underlying a desperate need to tie the knot with the one person who had cracked him wide open. The one person he felt incomplete without. The second time, it was only love. No desperation. No fear. Only a desire to share his life -- forever -- with Justin Taylor. This time, they were both so sure it was exactly what they wanted.

They’d planned it together, and it was the best day of Brian’s life. He still loved thinking about it. Remembering it. It was the day he’d finally gotten what he’d known he wanted for a long time but simply hadn’t been willing to allow himself to have. And he’d stood on his own two feet in front of Justin as they vowed to love each other for the rest of their lives, no matter what. Brian had meant every word he said on that day nine years before, and he wasn’t going to go back on it now, but damn was it painful to think that Justin didn’t remember any of it.

Now, it seemed those memories were lost to brain injury, just like the prom. And Brian felt like he’d lost a piece of himself.

If Justin didn’t remember they were married, did he even remember that he loved Brian? That thought hurt most of all. That was what was tearing Brian’s heart out.

That was what made him cry.

That was what made him throw things.

That was what made him need a drink.

He didn’t think he’d ever needed or wanted liquor that badly in his life, but he needed something to numb the pain. He didn’t even give a fuck that he was doing exactly what Jack Kinney would have done -- using alcohol to try to escape from the shitshow that was his life.

So he left his coat on, grabbed his new gloves, turned back around, and headed out into the Pittsburgh winter in search of a liquor store that was open on Christmas day. It didn't take him long to find one. He guessed he wasn't the only one needing to numb some pain on the holiday. But he probably was the only visibly distraught, angry, borderline-rude customer in a wheelchair. Hell, the clerk probably shouldn't have sold him the alcohol in the first place. Although he hadn't been drunk then, and he supposed that being pissed off at the world probably wasn't enough to disqualify someone from being able to buy a bottle of Jim Beam.

He took it back to his hotel room, got into bed, propped himself up on the pillows, and settled in with the bottle. He turned on the television, which really made him think of his dad, who would get shitfaced in front of it regularly. Sometimes he'd make Brian sit in there with him while he drank and groused and occasionally yelled about whatever was happening on the screen. Brian hadn't ever really wanted to join him, but he also didn't want to be the one being yelled at. And he definitely didn’t want his father to hit him, which was likely to happen if he refused. So he'd sit through it and try to nod and agree with Jack at all the right times.

He felt the familiar burn of the whiskey as it slid down his throat. He hadn't drunk straight from the bottle in a long time. Not since the night he'd pretty much had a nervous breakdown in front of Justin because he was so fucking frustrated with living life in a wheelchair and how hard it made everything. How it had seemed back then like everything revolved around it and it was all anyone ever saw.

Brian couldn't deny that Justin forgetting that not-so-minor detail about Brian's existence hurt a little bit too. It had made him feel like he was repeating that Christmas Eve scene where he had to come out of the paraplegic closet to Justin and tell him what had happened. He had to explain it to new clients and contacts all the time simply because they were curious, and he didn’t usually mind getting it all out in the open so they could focus on the task at hand, but explaining it again to his fucking husband? He shouldn't have had to do that. He knew it wasn't Justin's fault, and it was stupid and irrational for Brian to bitter about it. But, well, here he was. Being bitter.

Why the hell couldn't he just be thankful that Justin was alive and talking? Why was he feeling like his husband was suddenly a different person?

Of course Brian still loved Justin and would do anything for him. But he wasn't sure how much he could take, and he felt like a selfish, insensitive son-of-a-bitch for even feeling the way he did. This wasn't about him. It was about Justin.

But even that knowledge didn't take away the fact that Brian was starting to feel like every time he got a good thing going, it would all turn to shit. Like his goddamn parents had put some kind of a curse on him to make sure he remained just as unhappy as he had been for most of his childhood.

The alcohol started going to his head rather quickly, and he wasn't sure if it was because he hardly drank anymore or if it was because he was gulping it straight from the bottle. Or maybe it was interacting with all of the medication he took now. He didn't give a shit, to be honest. All he wanted was to not feel anything anymore. And it seemed to be working.

His phone rang about an hour into his binge. It was Rob. He didn’t want to talk to Rob right now, because Rob would try to talk some sense into him. Brian didn’t want to be sensible. He wanted to escape. So he didn’t answer. He did listen to the voicemail, though, wishing him and Justin a merry Christmas. Yeah, right, Brian thought to himself. A very merry Christmas indeed.

Brian kept drinking until his head was swimming and he could no longer focus his vision on anything. He kept waiting for the numbness to kick in, but he was still really fucking frustrated and angry. He wasn’t even sure what he was angry at. He couldn’t be angry at Justin -- that wouldn’t be fair. The whole situation was just so fucked up. Again, Brian had to ask himself, how was this his life? What had he done to deserve this?

He was well into the bottle when he realized he had to piss, for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. But alcohol will do that to you. He was well acquainted with that, thanks to his past as a frequent and often heavy drinker, and he also knew it was one reason why getting drunk for him now was particularly ill-advised. But fuck it. He didn’t care anymore. If Justin didn’t remember he loved him, then what the hell else was there to live for? Fuck his health. Fuck trying to keep his shit together. He was done with it. To hell with it all.

Brian sat up slowly. He had to wait for the room to stop spinning before he could even attempt to move. It seemed to take a long time for that to happen, and it started up again as soon as he pushed his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up further. He waited for it to stop again, but once he reached for his wheelchair, he felt like the entire room had been turned up onto its side. The increasing tightness in his lower abdomen told him he didn’t have any more time to waste, so he pushed his body weight into his right arm, then suddenly realized that he was feeling weak and shaky. Some combination of that plus the strange tilt of the room ended with Brian on his ass in between the bed and his chair.

The jarring motion caused by landing square on his ass -- hard -- sent pain shooting up his spine the second he hit the floor. Brian squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that sprang to them, grateful that it also kept him from having to watch the room continue to rotate around him. Fuck. Now he had to figure out how to get back up into his chair from the floor, which was going to be a hell of a lot harder than doing it from the bed. He managed to slowly maneuver himself into the right position, but he couldn’t seem to gather enough strength to push his body up far enough to get his ass into the seat. After three attempts, he was feeling even more exhausted than he’d ever thought was humanly possible. He used what little remained of his strength to push himself over just enough where he could lie down and close his eyes while he tried to figure out a way out of his predicament.

Brian wasn’t sure if he’d passed out or fallen asleep, but when he opened his eyes, he was suddenly nauseous on top of everything else. Goddamn it. He pushed himself to sit up and repositioned his body so he could try once again to get back into his chair, at which point he realized that his pants were wet and so was the carpet around him. Fuck fuck fuck. He hadn’t had a bladder accident this bad since he was just a few months out of rehab and he’d ignored his body’s signals so he could sit through a meeting with a client because he’d been too embarrassed to ask if they could take a break. He’d made it through the meeting, just barely, but he hadn’t made it to his private bathroom in his office in time. That unpredictability and lack of control was one of the things he hated most about his injury -- not that there was much that was particularly fun. But this part definitely sucked balls. Right then, on the floor of a hotel room in wet pants and sitting in a puddle of his own mess, it seriously sucked balls, and not in a positive, life-affirming way.

He used his arms to pull his legs in as close to his body as he could get them, trying to ignore the fact that he felt like he was falling because he was so damn dizzy. He gripped the frame of his wheelchair with one hand and pushed off the ground with the other, but he still couldn’t get his body up far enough to get into the seat. The second try, he barely managed to move himself at all. He was completely spent, and he didn’t know what was wrong with him. The churning in his stomach continued until it overpowered him, and he ended up vomiting on the floor. As if sitting in his own piss wasn’t bad enough.

The tears came as the reality sank in of what he’d done and just how fucked he was now. He laid back down again and covered his eyes with his hand, shielding them against the light that was starting to make his head pound. Here he was, lying on the floor, surrounded by his own bodily fluids that he’d lost control of, and he couldn’t even get back up. What the fuck was he going to do now? Just lie there until someone started missing him in the morning and thought to check on him?

Shit, he didn’t even have his phone. Not that he relished the thought of calling anyone in his current condition. The only person he could even think of calling was Michael, who he knew would probably lecture him about getting shitfaced, and Brian didn’t think he wanted to listen to that. But he didn’t have a choice, unless he wanted to stay in the floor all night, which he knew he couldn’t do. Even in his inebriated state, he wasn’t stupid enough to chance getting a pressure sore by sleeping on the floor. So he had to find his phone, so he could call Michael.

First, he pulled the bedspread down into the floor to see if he’d left his phone on the bed. It wasn’t there. So that meant it had to be on the nightstand, which was on the other side of his wheelchair. He pushed himself over onto his side so he could unlock the brakes and push the chair out of the way, then painstakingly dragged himself toward the nightstand until he was close enough that he could reach up to it. He groped around for his phone until he found it, knocking the bottle of whiskey to the floor in the process.

When he looked at the time on his phone’s display, he thought his eyes must have been playing tricks on him. No fucking way was it almost three in the morning. Apparently he’d been passed out or asleep for a while, although he still didn’t know how long, since he’d lost all sense of time shortly after Rob’s phone call. He hated to call Michael at this hour, but he honestly didn’t know what else to do. So before he could talk himself out of it, he scrolled through his contacts and tapped on Michael’s entry, then called his oldest and dearest friend.

He let himself lay back down as the phone connected and started to ring. He was doing his best to stay away from the mess he’d made, but he didn’t have the strength to go far. What dignity did he have left to save anyhow? Did it really fucking matter?

The phone kept ringing, and Brian kept trying to breathe. He realized he was crying again, and he didn’t know why. Fucking alcohol. What the fuck had he been doing when he’d started this shit? Oh, yeah...trying to escape. He’d escaped alright. Now he’d been knocked right back into reality -- the reality that he couldn’t drink like this anymore, and that his body had betrayed him.

Finally, Michael answered.

“Hello?” he said. He sounded sleepy.

For some reason, Brian couldn’t find his voice to speak. He kept trying to get control over his breath -- to stop crying, at least.

“Brian? Is everything alright?”

Brian tried and failed to keep the shakiness out of his breath as the tears fell from his eyes and ran down his face. Now that he had Michael on the phone, he didn’t even know what to say. Where to start.

“Talk to me,” came Michael’s voice again. Gentle and encouraging. Not judgmental. Brian really needed Michael not to judge him right now. He knew he’d done this to himself. He’d fucked things up royally this time, and he hated that he needed help, but he needed it. There was no getting around that.

“Please,” Michael said. His voice was quiet now, and Brian could hear an edge of desperation starting to come in. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Brian took a few more deep breaths -- cursing how emotional he knew he sounded -- before he managed to choke out three words: “I fucked up.”

“Where are you?” Michael asked after a few beats. “Are you hurt?”

Brian barely managed to tell Michael he was at the hotel and he wasn’t hurt, before he could feel himself losing his grip on consciousness again. Michael’s voice sounded far away as he said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you. Just hang on… Can you do that for me? You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

He definitely wasn’t okay. He didn’t know if he was ever going to be okay again. He’d already let Justin go too many times in the past -- he didn’t think he could do it again. Not now. Not after nine years of marriage.

Brian pulled the bedspread around himself and tried to tuck some of it under his head, doing his best to keep it out of the mess he’d made, and let his eyes close again. The phone slid out of his hand and fell to the floor.

Michael would be there soon. But that wasn’t really who he needed.

He needed Justin. He needed to hear Justin say the words. He needed to know Justin still loved him.

He had to.

Or Brian didn’t know what he’d do.

Sleep by TrueIllusion

“If I could sleep forever… I could forget about everything.”

- “Sleep,” The Dandy Warhols

*****

Michael had no idea what he’d find when he got to that hotel room. He’d hung up the phone with shaking hands, pulled on a t-shirt, kissed Ben goodbye, and headed out the door. He broke about a million traffic laws on his way downtown, but he didn’t care -- this was an emergency. Brian needed him. He didn’t know what condition his best friend was in, but he knew it hadn’t sounded good. It hadn’t sounded like Brian, to be honest, which made it even more frightening.

And what was it even about? Last he’d heard, it sounded like things were getting better where Justin was concerned, so he didn’t understand what would have driven Brian to do something that would get him into such a state.

Michael was thankful that he still had the extra keycard to Brian’s hotel room after he’d used it to drop off some clothes a couple of days before, so he wouldn’t have to involve anyone from the hotel in getting him into the room, particularly if Brian couldn’t get to the door. The whole way over to the hotel, Michael’s mind was running through various scenarios for what Brian might have done that had him crying and saying he’d fucked up. Brian didn’t cry easily -- he generally wasn’t very emotional at all -- so whatever this was, it was bad.

Had he brought a trick back to his hotel room? Michael didn’t even know how that would work, but he guessed it could probably be done. Although it didn’t seem like something Brian would do anymore. The Brian Kinney of his 20s and early 30s, sure, but now? It didn’t sound like Brian now. Not at all.

Had he tried to kill himself? God, Michael hoped not. Brian had said he wasn’t hurt, so Michael hoped he was telling the truth and he wasn’t going to walk into that room and find Brian bleeding or worse. Besides, why would he do that? That didn’t make any sense either.

None of this was making any sense. But what was anymore, really?

All Michael could think of as he’d gotten ready to hang up the phone was that it sounded like Brian could use some encouraging words, so Michael told him that he loved him and that he was going to be okay. He just needed to hang on. And that applied to so much more than just what was happening in that very moment -- it extended to what was happening in Brian’s life in general. He would be okay; he just had to get through it. And Michael knew he would. Brian Kinney was still the strongest person Michael Novotny knew, and had been for more than 30 years. Brian not being okay was not an option.

Michael parked the car and walked into the hotel as quickly as he could. He wanted to run, but he figured that would probably raise all sorts of alarm bells for the hotel staff, so a brisk walk it was. The elevator took fucking forever to reach the fourth floor, where Brian’s room was. Thankfully Michael didn’t have to go far after that, because Brian’s room was right outside the little alcove where the elevator bank was. He unlocked the door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

He saw Brian on the floor -- either asleep or passed out, Michael wasn’t sure which. The TV was on, but the sound was muted for some reason. Most of the bedding had been pulled off the bed, and part of it was wrapped around Brian. Brian’s phone was on the floor by his head, and there was a bottle of Jim Beam on its side not far away. Michael could smell the alcohol from the doorway. He also thought he smelled urine. It looked like Brian had vomited on the floor. His wheelchair was sitting at an odd angle, too far away from the bed. Michael guessed Brian had fallen, and apparently he couldn’t get up. It also appeared he was likely drunk off his ass, if the strong smell of alcohol and Brian’s current unconscious state were any indication. It was not a scene that Michael Novotny ever thought he’d see Brian Kinney in. He’d seen him drunk plenty of times, but never like this.

Michael entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him, then took a couple of steps toward Brian and knelt down on the floor next to his friend. He gently laid a hand on Brian’s shoulder, hoping not to startle him.

“Brian?” he said softly.

Brian moaned and stirred a little bit, but didn’t open his eyes.

“It’s me,” Michael continued, hoping if he kept talking, he might bring Brian back to consciousness. “You’re alright. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Brian blinked his eyes open and turned his head to face Michael. God, he looked awful. His eyes were red and swollen, and Michael didn’t think he’d seen them look that empty since...well...since that night fifteen years ago in the hospital hallway. Michael nearly had to look away.

“What happened?” Michael asked, keeping his voice low.

“Got drunk,” Brian mumbled. “Long story.”

“I can see that you got drunk… Why did you get drunk?”

“I told you, long story.”

Apparently Brian wasn’t going to tell him the story, at least not yet. Christ, all Michael wanted was for Brian to tell him what the fuck was going on. He was tired of being in the dark. He needed Brian to trust him. And he wasn’t sure why Brian didn’t seem to think he could trust him with this, whatever it was.

Brian’s eyes drifted closed again, and Michael took another look at his friend, trying to assess the situation. His legs were in an odd position, although it didn’t appear to be a dangerous one or like he might have hurt himself -- it looked more like Brian just hadn’t bothered to reposition them after he fell, and like maybe he’d dragged himself across the floor at an angle. His pants were wet, confirming that it likely was urine that Michael was smelling, through the alcohol and the vomit. Jesus. Michael couldn’t imagine Brian ever wanting to be seen like this, so he had to have been desperate to have called Michael. He’d obviously called because he needed help.

And Michael wasn’t even sure where to start when it came to helping Brian. Even with all the times he’d dragged Brian back to his loft, drunk off his ass or high as a kite, or let him into his own apartment to sleep it off in his bed, he’d never seen anything like this.

“Can you sit up?” He kept his voice quiet. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Brian took a couple of shaky breaths, then slowly started pushing himself up into a sitting position, propping himself up with his arms -- at first, on his hands, then slumping back to balance himself on his elbows instead.

Michael was still at a loss for what to do first.

“Do you want me to help you back into bed? Into your chair?” he asked.

“Chair,” Brian murmured. “Need to piss again. Need a shower... Need to change clothes…” He was slurring his words worse than Michael had ever heard him, which was a little scary given how many times he’d seen Brian very, very drunk.

“I don’t think the shower is a good idea right now,” Michael said. There was absolutely no way Brian would be able to do that without help, and he really didn’t think Brian would want him in there helping him. Even if it would probably help sober him up. Michael was wondering if he might need to take Brian to the hospital, especially since he didn’t know how much he’d had to drink.

Brian nodded and let his eyes close again. Michael moved around behind him so he could prop Brian’s body up on his and make it easier for him to sit up, while he tried to figure out how on earth he was going to get Brian -- who was six inches taller than him and was probably going to be around 180 pounds of dead weight at this point -- up off the ground and into his wheelchair.

It took several tries, but eventually they got it. Brian seemed to need a moment to catch his breath and get his bearings, during which time he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, just breathing. Then, slowly, he sat up and started moving around, pulled a couple of things out of his suitcase and proceeded into the bathroom, where he stayed for several minutes. Minutes that felt like they took forever to Michael. He could hear noises that sounded like Brian was struggling with something -- probably trying to change clothes. The longer the struggle went on, the more Michael had to resist the urge to go in and help Brian. That wouldn’t be his place. He knew Brian needed his privacy and to try to preserve at least some of his dignity. And as much as Michael wanted to help make things easier, he knew he had to give Brian that. Maybe Ben was rubbing off on him after all.

Meanwhile, Michael tried to busy himself by putting the bed back together. Thankfully, it all appeared to be clean and dry.

Eventually, the struggle seemed to be over, and Michael heard the faucet turn on. Water ran for a couple of minutes before Brian came out, his hair a little wet around his face like he’d been splashing water on it. Probably in an effort to sober up a little. He did look slightly more alert when he came back into the room, although the image of Brian that was currently in front of Michael was still one that was more than a bit off, and also very, very tired.

Michael watched as Brian, now clad in sweatpants with no shirt, pulled his wheelchair up as close alongside the bed as he could get it, then basically dragged his body out of the chair and onto the bed -- not at all the usual quick, seemingly effortless maneuver he often executed to move from his chair to another surface. He pulled his legs slowly up onto the bed, one by one, then laid back onto the pillows and closed his eyes.

“You alright?” Michael asked, only because he really didn’t know what else to say, even though the question sounded completely stupid at this point, given what he’d already seen. Clearly, Brian was not alright. But would he tell Michael what was wrong now? That was the question.

“Can you take me to urgent care in the morning?” Brian’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he didn’t open his eyes.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t go to the emergency room now?”

Brian shook his head but still didn’t open his eyes. “It’s not that.” He paused for a moment and took a breath, like he was trying to decide whether or not to elaborate. “I’ve got blood in my urine.” He said it so casually -- like it was nothing at all. No big deal.

“Then I think my question still stands. Are you sure we shouldn’t go now?”

“It’s not an emergency,” he mumbled.

“It sure as fuck sounds like one.” Michael was trying to keep control of himself, but he’d had enough of Brian downplaying things, and he’d be damned if he was going to sit here while Brian let something like that go, like it was nothing. Blood was not nothing. Blood was never nothing.

“Happens a few times a year.” Brian’s voice was getting quieter as he slipped toward unconsciousness. “It’s not a big deal. Just need some antibiotics.”

Clearly, Michael was missing some of this story, because Brian was leaving some things out in his still-inebriated state. But it was obvious that Brian was starting to drift off, so Michael wasn’t going to argue. He’d just let him sleep. He needed it. Especially if he was sick on top of everything else that was already going on.

Michael quietly cleaned up the room as best he could, although he knew it was likely that Brian’s credit card was going to take a hit for this one, because there would be no way of keeping this from the hotel staff. There was more that needed to be done than what he could do, and the room reeked of alcohol from where Brian had spilled most of the bottle of Beam when he’d apparently knocked it off the table. At least, Michael hoped it had been most of the bottle. He assumed if Brian had drank most of it, he would be even worse off than he was right now.

It was almost four in the morning, and Michael was beginning to crash from his own adrenaline rush after getting Brian’s phone call, so he settled into the chair in the corner of Brian’s room, kicked his shoes off, and put his feet up on the ottoman. He thought better of climbing in bed with Brian without him knowing it, even though he really wanted to comfort his friend. He’d looked so lost and lonely and scared, just like he had so many times when they were kids. But Ben was right -- they weren’t kids anymore. And that wasn’t Michael’s place anymore; it was Justin’s.

The only person who was going to be able to fix this for Brian was Justin.

Michael wondered what on earth had happened after Lindsay and Mel had left the hospital. Lindsay had happily reported that Justin was talking and Brian was smiling. So how did Brian get to this point? What happened in the middle to send Brian off on a drinking binge?

Michael hoped he’d be able to get a more sober Brian to tell him in the morning. In the meantime, he was tired, so he turned off the light and settled in to try to get a few more hours’ sleep.

Some time later, Michael was awakened by shouting.

“No no no no no no no...God!”

At first, Michael was confused about where he was. Why was he sleeping in a chair? Why wasn’t he in bed with Ben? Then he remembered where he was and why he was there, and simultaneously realized that the sounds were coming from Brian. Michael could see him clinging to a pillow in the shadowy light coming through the window as the shouts dissolved into quiet sobs.

“No… no… not him… not tonight…”

Not really knowing what to do, but also not wanting to see Brian scared or in pain, Michael got up from the chair and sat down on the bed, then carefully laid his hand on Brian’s arm that was clinging to the pillow. But instead of waking up, Brian seemed to incorporate Michael into his dream. He pushed Michael away -- hard.

“Get the fuck away from him, you homophobic asshole,” Brian growled.

Michael tried again -- he was now fairly sure he knew what this dream was about, and he knew he needed to somehow find a way to pull Brian out of the nightmare and back into reality. So he got closer to Brian again, put his hand back on Brian’s shoulder, and pressed a little harder this time, shaking his friend’s shoulder a little.

Only this time, Brian actually swung his arm and hit Michael hard enough to make him cry out in pain.

And that cry was what seemed to finally break Brian loose from the grips of the nightmare. Michael was rubbing his upper arm, where he was sure he was going to have a bruise, when Brian opened his eyes and started looking around, at first seeming just as confused as Michael had been when Brian woke him up, then slowly seeming to realize where he was and what had happened.

“Shit,” Brian said. “I hit you, didn’t I? Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was my fault. I startled you, and I shouldn’t have.”

Brian turned his head and buried his face in the pillow.

“Was this what you were dreaming about when you woke up screaming at Ma’s house? Were you dreaming about the night Justin was bashed?” Michael said quietly. He was starting to put the pieces together. He wondered how long this had been going on. He knew that what had happened at Justin’s prom had affected Brian much more deeply than anyone else seemed to realize at the time -- or ever, really -- but Brian had seemed okay for such a long time. Were these violent nightmares being brought on by Justin’s accident, and the overwhelming sense of deja vu that seemed ever-present lately? They’d all lived all of these moments before, and were trapped once again, reliving the nightmare. Michael wanted it to end, and he was sure Brian and Justin did too.

Brian turned his head a little, so he was facing Michael again. “No,” he mumbled. “That one was different. They’re all different. And they’re all fucking awful.”

Fuck, Michael thought to himself. How many were there? How often was this happening? He started to ask that, but he didn’t have to.

“Every night,” Brian said, as if he’d read Michael’s mind. He still seemed very out-of-it, and was still slurring his words a little, either from sleep or from the alcohol. “Every damn night.”

No wonder Brian was so exhausted. Michael had a feeling that the alcohol was the only reason Brian was being this forthcoming about the dreams, but he was glad that he was finally getting the full picture of what was going on with his friend. But even with that information, Michael still wasn’t sure what to do. How to help. All he could do was think to himself what he would want if he was waking up from horrible nightmares every night. He’d want to have someone there with him, so he’d know he was safe. That he wasn’t alone. He would want that from Ben, though, and he was sure that Brian wanted it from Justin. Only he couldn’t have that right now. All Michael could do was reassure him, and hope that it helped.

“Well, I’m here,” Michael said. “You’re safe. You’re not alone. Go back to sleep, okay?”

Brian nodded and closed his eyes again. It only took a few minutes for his breathing to even out. Once Michael was sure Brian was asleep, he carefully moved off the bed and back to the chair so he could try to get a little more sleep himself. Hopefully, the nightmares were over for the night. But even if they weren’t, he was there. Hopefully that was enough.

The next time Michael was awakened, it was by a groan coming from the bed in front of him. Sunlight was streaming in the window, across his face and Brian’s. Michael blinked his eyes open just as Brian was turning his face into the pillow again.

“Fuck,” Brian moaned. “I think this might be the worst hangover I’ve ever had in my life.”

“How much did you drink?”

“I don’t even know,” Brian said, sighing as he pushed his palms into the mattress and rolled over onto his back. “I think I spilled most of it when I knocked it off the table, but I was too drunk to care.”

“How much do you remember of last night?”

“Enough. Maybe more than I’d like to.”

Michael was fairly sure he knew exactly what Brian meant there. Perhaps some memories of the previous night would have been best forgotten, or at the very least, not witnessed by someone else. “I’m glad you called,” he said. “None of that is going to leave this room. I promise.” He’d have to tell Ben something, but he could leave out the most embarrassing details. Those would stay between him and Brian, just like they always had.

Brian nodded and held Michael’s gaze for a moment in what Michael knew was a silent “thank you.” He knew those words didn’t come easily to Brian, much like how it still wasn’t easy for him to say that he loved someone. And it was for the same reason -- because he didn’t feel worthy. He’d come a long way over the years -- the decades -- but the hesitation still lingered, and would probably never be fully gone. It was too entrenched. Beaten into Brian by his parents during his formative years.

“Well,” Brian said suddenly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Guess I’d better start getting ready, so we can see if I can undo some of what I’ve already done to myself.”

“You don’t know if you’ve done it to yourself. Maybe it would have happened anyway, and it just has piss-poor timing.”

“Nice choice of words, Mikey,” Brian said sarcastically. He pushed his legs off the edge of the bed, then slid his body into his wheelchair, slightly more gracefully than he had several hours prior.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“This is what happens when I don’t drink enough water, and when I try to pretend that I don’t have a bladder that doesn’t work right anymore.” Brian shrugged as he shifted things around in his suitcase until he had a full set of clothing in his lap. “It does some weird shit sometimes. It’s real fun. Trust me, I did this to myself. But it is what it is. I just need to go get it taken care of.”

An hour later, Michael was sitting in a waiting room, listening to people hack and cough and hoping he wasn’t going to pick up some kind of superbug just sitting there. Brian had only been back there a few minutes, but Michael was praying it wouldn’t be much longer. The last thing he wanted to do was bring home some mutant virus to his HIV-positive husband.

Brian had seemed anxious in the car -- Michael guessed that he really just wanted to get this taken care of so he could move on to more important things, like Justin. He could only imagine how frustrating it must be to have a medical condition getting in your way all the time, whether it was a physical disability like Brian had, or HIV like Ben had. Brian was also a little bit grouchy, which was understandable, so Michael didn’t say anything about it when Brian grumbled at him or said things he probably didn’t mean.

Michael put in a quick phone call to Ben, just to let him know that he’d probably be gone the rest of the day helping Brian, but that it looked like he was going to be alright. He still needed to come up with something else to tell Ben later to explain the late night phone call that had sent him into a panic and had Ben deeply concerned as well, since he intended to keep his word to Brian that the details would stay between them.

Just after he hung up with Ben, Michael heard what was clearly Brian’s voice on the other side of the wall.

“I told you, all of my doctors are in fucking New York! If I could go see my regular urologist, I would! But I can’t, so I’m coming to you. I just need some antibiotics. Surely you can handle that!”

And a few seconds after that...

“Fuck past records! I’ll tell you whatever you fucking need to know! Just ask me! Last I checked, I’m quite familiar with my body! You’ve got the goddamn expert right in front of you! Jesus Christ, didn’t you people take some kind of oath? To help people and shit? Not do harm? If you don’t give me what I need, I’m pretty damn sure you’re going to be doing harm.”

After that, Michael couldn’t discern anything else being said. And a few minutes later, Brian emerged with a small sheet of paper in between his fingers as he pushed his wheelchair through the doorway. The nurse holding the door open looked relieved that this particular patient was leaving.

“Christ,” Brian grumbled as he went past Michael and headed straight for the door. “Can’t anybody just do their damn job?”

Michael stood up and followed behind Brian, just glad that Brian had apparently gotten what he needed, and that he was going to be getting out of that waiting room, which seemed to be quickly becoming a makeshift tuberculosis ward. He really hoped he wasn’t going to end up getting sick, and made a note to himself to take lots of extra vitamins when he got home.

They drove to a pharmacy Michael had seen on the way over to urgent care, where Brian turned in the prescription and the two of them sat in silence, waiting for what seemed like an unusually long time, given that there were only a couple of other people there.

During that time, Michael had a lot of time to observe Brian, who seemed to be a combination of agitated and absolutely exhausted. He spent most of the time leaning over, with his elbows resting on his knees, alternating between propping his head up in his hands and rubbing his temples. Michael was sure Brian must have had one hell of a headache after consuming all of that whiskey, in addition to whatever other symptoms he was experiencing because he was just plain sick. In that moment, Michael wished there was more he could do -- that there was some way he could fix this. But again, he had to sit with the fact that he couldn’t fix it. All he could do was be there for Brian.

And that was what he was doing, but he also had to wonder whether or not Brian was making the right decisions for himself. He knew that was a stupid thing to be questioning, given that they were both adults, but it was becoming painfully obvious that Brian was taking selflessness to a somewhat dangerous level here. Yes, Justin needed Brian to be there for him, but Brian also needed to take care of himself. And Justin needed that too.

Brian needed to go back to bed and try to rest so he could at least start toward getting back to 100%, but how on earth was Michael going to tell him that? How much risk would he be taking if he tried? How much was he willing to take?

As they left the pharmacy, Michael decided he was willing to take the risk. That Brian taking care of himself was more important than Brian being upset with him. He’d deal with that. He couldn’t deal with continuing to watch Brian self destruct. So at the next intersection, he turned right -- back toward the hotel -- instead of making the left turn that would have taken them toward the hospital.

“Where are we going? Why aren’t you taking me to the hospital? I asked to go to the hospital.”

“Brian, you're sick. You need to rest.” Michael tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to steel his resolve along with it.

“What are you, my goddamn mother?”

“No, just someone who cares about you and doesn't want to see you destroy yourself.”

“I need to go to the hospital,” Brian said through clenched teeth.

“You need to take a nap first. I’ll stay there with you--”

“You’re not fucking telling me what to do, Michael!” Brian cut Michael off. His voice was rising, quickly. “I’m not a fucking toddler who needs to be told to take a nap! And I definitely don’t need a babysitter!”

“Brian, you’re exhausted. And you’re sick, maybe even because of it. You have got to get some sleep. It’s not negotiable. You can’t function without it.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what’s best for me?!” Brian shouted. “If you won’t take me to the hospital, then stop the goddamn car and I’ll get out and I’ll call a cab, but I’m getting there one way or another!”

“No, you’re not getting out and calling a cab. All I’m asking you to do is try to get a few hours of sleep, then we will go to the hospital if you’re feeling up to it.” Michael was trying really hard to keep his voice calm, even though Brian was practically screaming at him in the passenger seat. Michael knew he was sticking his neck out here, but he also knew that sometimes the only way to get Brian to do something that he needed to do and didn’t want to do was to leave him no choice. Michael was the one in control here, since he was driving the car, and he knew he was taking advantage of it, but he hoped that Brian might eventually see that he was only trying to help.

“Stop the fucking car, Michael!” Brian roared, reaching out and pounding his fist on the dash. “Stop the fucking car!” Brian’s voice had started to break, and although he was still hitting the dash, he wasn’t hitting it as hard as he had been at first.

“Brian, what is going on with you? Do you hear yourself right now?” Michael was becoming alarmed at his friend’s reaction to a simple request that he take a nap and address the fact that he was physically ill, and then reevaluate before spending the entire day at the hospital again. But he tried not to let that show through. There was clearly something else going on with Brian at the moment -- much more than met the eye -- and it was now much worse than it had been on Christmas Eve. “Why are you outright refusing to take care of yourself? Justin would want you to take care of yourself. All I’m asking you to do is take a couple of hours to rest, and then let’s see how you feel, okay?”

The entire time Michael had been speaking, Brian had his head down and one hand still on the dash, taking uneven, very audible breaths. As soon Michael he was done speaking, the breaths dissolved into silent sobs. Brian’s hand slid down off the dash and into his lap as he folded in on himself. Michael immediately started looking for a parking lot he could pull over into. He didn’t know what this was or what Brian needed, but it was obvious that he needed something. Michael was feeling far out of his element here. He had no idea what was happening -- all he knew was that it was scary as shit, and he was pretty sure Brian was having some kind of a breakdown.

“Because if I’m not there, he might forget about me,” Brian said, his voice suddenly small and soft as he spoke through the tears.

“What? Brian, what are you talking about?” Michael was relieved to find an open parking space on the next block, and he pulled over into it. “Why would Justin forget about you? You’re his husband.”

“Not as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t even remember that we’re married. I don’t even know if he still remembers he loves me.”

Instantly, Michael knew exactly what had Brian so upset the night before. God, it would have killed him if Ben didn’t remember they were married. If suddenly their past history was gone. And it had done the same to his best friend -- the man who’d spat in the face of marriage for so many years, who had finally found the courage to commit his life to one person forever. Now, that commitment hung in the balance. No wonder Brian had practically lost his mind. Michael was sure he would have too.

“Brian, look at me.” Michael paused and waited several seconds until Brian raised his gaze to meet his. “Justin has never not loved you. Even when you weren't together, he loved you. And you loved him. We could all see it. It’s just… it’s the way it is. The way it should be. You love him and he loves you. Why would he stop now?”

“It's different now.”

“How is it different? Even if he doesn't remember now, I'm sure he will. He's recovering from a brain injury, but he's still the same person. A person who has loved you since he was 17 and never stopped. He isn't going to forget you. He would want you to take care of yourself. Because he loves you.”

Michael watched as Brian breathed in and then out, like he was trying to get ahold of himself and his emotions. Michael had never seen Brian like this, even with as much as he and Brian had shared growing up that Brian never shared with anyone else. And he had to admit, it was a little bit frightening to see the man who was almost always completely in-control, suddenly lose that control.

“Brian…” Michael began, then stopped, not quite sure if he should say what he was about to. If it was his place. He’d already offered to help Brian in any way he could, but maybe it was time to be more direct. “I think maybe you need to talk to someone.”

“I know,” Brian said, so quietly that Michael could barely hear it. He sat up and leaned back into the seat, leaving his eyes closed.

That certainly wasn’t the reaction Michael had anticipated. He’d expected Brian to argue with him, to once again say he’d be alright. But he hadn’t.

“Okay,” Michael said. “Good. Do you have someone you can talk to?”

Brian nodded and pulled his lips into his mouth. “I think so,” he said. “She’s in New York, but...maybe we could talk on the phone.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Michael laid his hand over Brian’s, which was now resting on Brian’s thigh. “Like I said the other night, we all just want you to be okay. I want you to be okay. And I’ll help you get whatever you need to be okay.”

“I’m so tired, Mikey.”

“I know. I know you are.” Probably in more ways that one, Michael added, silently to himself. “So why don’t you try to lie down for a while, then maybe we can go to the hospital later, when you’re feeling a little better.”

“Okay,” Brian whispered. “Okay. Probably best not to go looking like this anyhow.”

“Probably not,” Michael smiled a little. Leave it to Brian to be cracking some sort of sarcastic joke right after having some kind of an emotional breakdown. “You alright now?”

Brian looked out the window and ran his hand over his mouth. “I will be,” he said quietly.

And that was a start.

Michael put the car back in gear and drove the rest of the way to the hotel. Brian was quiet in the passenger seat, chewing his thumbnail and continuing to look out the window.

The first place Brian went when they got back upstairs was the bathroom, and Michael took the opportunity to order some food he thought Brian might eat and something for himself, and then make a phone call to Jennifer to tell her Brian wasn’t feeling well and he might not be coming to the hospital today.

Jennifer was concerned, as any mother would be, but she didn’t seem surprised. She’d been spending a lot of time with Brian, so Michael was sure that she probably had known as well as he had that something was brewing and it wasn’t good.

Michael wasn’t sure if he should mention it, but he ended up telling Jennifer what Brian had said in the car -- that he was afraid Justin was going to forget him. That he was afraid Justin didn’t love him anymore.

Jennifer was just as surprised as he had been to hear that. Actually, even more so, because she said Brian was the only thing Justin had talked about all morning. And that although there were still plenty of pieces missing, Justin was starting to put them together as best he could.

Mostly, it was clear that Justin still loved Brian. That Brian had nothing to worry about.

The food arrived just as Brian was emerging from the bathroom. He’d changed back into his sweats and looked ready for bed, but he did sit with Michael at the small table in his hotel room and eat something. It was progress, at least. Michael would take that.

Just as Brian was getting situated in the bed, Michael’s phone rang. It was Jennifer. Justin was awake, and he wanted to talk to Brian.

Michael handed the phone over to his friend. “It’s Justin,” he said.

Brian looked confused and apprehensive, but he took the phone from Michael and held it to his ear. And it didn’t take long for relief to spread across Brian’s features, and seemingly through his entire body.

Brian wasn’t saying much other than, “I know,” and “Okay,” but Michael watched as his friend’s face and spirit continued to lift. The difference was palpable.

There were tears in Brian’s eyes as he said, “Me too, Sunshine. Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and then hung up the phone.

He laid the phone down on the bed and leaned back into the pillows.

“He remembers,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Relief by TrueIllusion

“He won’t let anyone touch him. Won’t let anyone near him. Shows practically no emotion except when he’s in one of his rages or he wakes up screaming from a nightmare, but that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is standing there, helpless. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

*****

“I love you… I’m glad we...got married...after all.”

Brian didn’t have words for how much it meant to him -- how much relief it gave him -- to hear Justin’s voice say those words.

It made him want to cry again, which told him exactly how wrung out and not-himself he was, just from the lack of sleep. At least, he hoped that was all it was from. He hadn’t felt this on-edge since the last time he’d had a breakdown, ten years ago. He didn’t like feeling this way -- not at all. And he didn’t want to cry while he was on the phone with Justin. He didn’t want to give Justin anything to feel guilty about.

He knew he needed to call Rochelle, but he was so physically and emotionally spent as he hung up the phone after talking with Justin that he didn’t think he could keep his eyes open. Nor did he think he could talk to Rochelle right now without completely breaking down. He hadn’t talked to her in years, and he definitely didn’t want to sock her with that right off the bat. Maybe he needed to just let it go, let it out and quit trying to hold it back -- even in his foggy brain, he knew that was probably what she would tell him -- but he didn’t want to do that right then. He had to get on top of this shit, and he knew that, but it would have to wait.

Right then, he just wanted to sleep. So he closed his eyes and let himself drift off, already feeling so much more at peace just from hearing Justin’s voice, reassuring him.

When he woke up, he was disoriented for a moment, because it seemed darker outside than it should have been. He squinted at his watch and saw that it was almost 5 p.m. Then he looked over and saw Michael sitting in the chair in the corner of his hotel room, by the window, seemingly absorbed in something on his phone.

“Hey Mikey.”

Michael looked up from his phone and smiled at Brian. “Hey,” he said. “Feeling better?”

“Eh, that’s relative I guess. Shit, I didn’t mean to sleep for that long. Have you been here all day?”

“Yeah. I wanted to be here if you needed something. Or if something...happened.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Brian rolled onto his side so that he was facing Michael, using his hands to move his legs so that they were keeping him stable in that position. When he got there, he closed his eyes again and sighed. “This fucking sucks,” he said. “Sorry for taking up your whole day.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I told you, I wanted to stay. I care about you. I love you. I mean it when I say that -- I’m not just saying it. I know it’s not like what you have with Justin or what I have with Ben, but it’s something. I hope we’ll always share that. That you’ll always trust me.” Michael paused as he took in a breath and let it out. “I’m glad you finally trusted me with some of this, so you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Brian didn’t really remember how much he’d told Michael. He remembered having a nightmare, and hitting Michael because he’d thought he was Chris Hobbs in the dream, but beyond that, everything was fuzzy, because he’d still been so drunk at the time, and out-of-sorts from the dream. But he did remember their conversation in the car -- what a mess he’d been, and how he’d acted. How he’d laid it all out there for Michael, only not exactly in the nicest way. He’d tried to hold it in for so long, but his walls had failed in that moment, and he could no longer hold it back. He’d lost control, really. He hated losing control.

“I guess I’m not going to the hospital today. By the time we’d get there, it would be time to leave. Fuck.”

“Brian, he’s fine. He’s got Jennifer. He knows you’re sick. You talked to him. He knows you haven’t abandoned him.”

“Christ, who’d have ever thought I’d be so codependent on another human being?”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Michael laughed. “You and Justin have been pretty codependent for a long time.”

“Whatever, Mikey,” Brian huffed.

“Whatever, yourself. You were never fooling anyone, least of all me. Even when I didn’t like the idea of you two together, I knew there wasn’t going to be any separating you. That something was different between you and Justin. You’d found your person, I guess.”

“Why did you let me fuck it all up so many times, then?”

“Do you really think you would have listened to me?”

“Point taken.” Brian pushed himself over onto his back, then sat up. “Well, the bathroom calls… Fuck, this sucks.” He completed the process of getting himself into his wheelchair -- which was much easier than it had been the previous night -- and did what he needed to do. He was glad that he still had a couple of the guards he usually used for added insurance on airplanes -- something he’d learned over time was a good idea if he wanted to avoid embarrassing situations. (Although he wondered why they didn’t just call them what they were: pads. Making it masculine, he guessed. Not that it really mattered. It was still disconcerting no matter what they called it.) Paralysis fun, item #876: leaky bladders, particularly when they're angry. But he was probably going to need more before this stupid infection he’d brought on himself finally ran its course, and he’d have to figure something out, because there was absolutely no way he was making that purchase with Mikey -- or anyone else -- there.

Although after the way Michael had seen him last night, Brian didn’t even know why he cared anymore. He remembered deciding that he needed to call Michael even though he really didn’t want to, but he only vaguely remembered actually making the call. And, unfortunately, he did remember enough to know exactly what sort of state he’d been in when Michael had arrived. Frankly, he was a bit surprised that Michael hadn’t forced him to go to the emergency room, given his tendency to overreact. But he hadn’t. And he hadn’t said a word about any of the things he had witnessed that Brian really didn’t want to talk about. Brian was thankful for that, and he hoped Michael wouldn’t bring any of it up later.

Pissing all over himself definitely fell into the category of “aspects of paraplegia that Brian Kinney does not want to discuss with anyone.” He still remembered the blase way in which it had all been discussed while he was in rehab -- like it was no big deal. They’d just finished telling Brian that he was going to have no control over his most basic bodily functions for the rest of his life, and then proceeded to discuss them like they were talking about the weather. Like they talked about shit like that every day. Although he guessed, technically, they did. And past the talking about it, there was actually learning how to do it, and training his body to operate on a schedule, which took more trial and error than Brian would have liked. And “error” meant exactly what one would think it meant. He’d been glad that he worked for himself, and that he had a private bathroom in his office. It took months to get it to what he’d call manageable. They’d told him a million times that it was normal, but that didn’t help. Not when you’re a grown man and you feel like you’ve been set back to being a toddler.

If Brian had to pick a least favorite part of the effects of spinal cord injury, that would be it. And if he could pick just one thing to get back, that would be it. Even the sexual dysfunction, while extremely frustrating, particularly for someone like Brian, wasn’t as awful as not being able to control his bodily functions. He could deal with the wheelchair -- it really wasn’t that bad once he got used to it -- but he’d much rather not depend on a schedule to keep the odds in his favor in some sort of bizarre game of Russian roulette with his body.

Now, he just hoped he hadn’t shot his schedule all to hell.

This was definitely a wake-up call for Brian. He couldn’t afford to neglect himself or his own health. He’d known that all along, but with everything else going on, it had been too easy to let things fall by the wayside. He just hoped he hadn’t done too much damage already. A urinary tract infection was quite enough; hopefully there wouldn’t be anything else.

He’d also really like it if his legs would stop hurting. The pain was much duller than it had been the day before or even earlier that morning, but it was still there. He much preferred numbness to this over-the-top sensation that didn’t really even exist. He hoped it would go away on its own -- that they wouldn’t have to crank his meds up again, because he really didn’t like how that one had made him feel when the dose was higher. But at the time, the slight dizziness and feeling more tired than normal (although at that point, normal was relative) had been necessary side effects that he was willing to deal with in order to get rid of the intense burning that sometimes got so bad that it made him want to scream. So bad he couldn’t think straight, which made it hard to do his job. Thankfully it hadn’t been like that all the time, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with any of it at all. Back then, all it did was remind him how fucked up his body was and always would be, which kind of pissed him off.

He was past the point of anger now, but it was still irritating to have to deal with some of this shit. And the less his injury and everything that came along with it were getting in the way of him being fully present for Justin, the better.

He’d really fucked up the last several days, and he knew it. But it was time to work on changing all of that.

As he lifted up his ass so he could pull his sweatpants back up over it, then set it back down fully clothed, Brian looked down briefly at his bare feet sitting on the metal of the footplate of his chair. Even after ten years, sometimes it still felt strange to look at something that should have had a strong sensation with it -- the metal was probably cold, especially since he’d been out of his chair and in bed all day -- but feel nothing at all. He idly thought he should probably put socks on, since it was cold outside and he knew his body’s ability to regulate temperature below his waist was compromised, since his brain could no longer tell his blood vessels to dilate or constrict in response to changing ambient temperature. Another thing he’d stopped giving a shit about the last several days, but really needed to be more mindful of.

Really, what he missed the most was just being able to do whatever the fuck he wanted to or felt like without having so many different things to keep track of and think about.

For the next hour, Brian and Michael watched some television and shot the shit, just talking about nothing, which was kind of nice. Brian was grateful for the distraction. He supposed Michael knew he would be, and that was why he was providing it. Michael did know him very well. And, really, he was nice to have around. Brian didn’t know what he would have done the previous night -- or what kind of trouble he would have been in by morning -- if it hadn’t been for Michael.

Then, there was a knock on the door. Michael answered it, since Brian was back in the bed. Jennifer was on the other side, holding a large, brown paper sack in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Michael moved aside to let her in.

“I thought I’d bring some dinner,” she said as she set the bag and the bottle of wine down on the small table with two chairs that sat along one wall of Brian’s hotel room. “I wasn’t sure if there would be two of us or three, so I brought some extra.”

“I should get going,” Michael said suddenly. Brian figured he probably wanted to give he and Jen some privacy. “I’m sure Ben misses me.” He crossed the room to grab his coat, while Brian was getting himself out of bed and into his chair. Michael paused to give Brian a hug and a kiss on the lips like they always did. “Call me if you need me.”

“I’m hoping not to have to repeat history tonight.”

“Still...just... call me, okay?”

“I will. But I think I’m okay now.”

“Good. Love you.”

“Always have.”

“Always will.”

With that, Michael walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Jennifer was unloading containers from the bag of food, and Brian detected the familiar scent of curry from his favorite Thai restaurant -- the one whose takeout used to be his standby dinner on most nights when he lived alone in the loft.

“Justin said you loved this place,” she said.

“Funny that he remembers that,” Brian said, half to himself, even though he said it out loud. He pushed himself over to the table and picked up one of the containers to see what was inside.

“He’s remembering quite a bit more now. I think he’s starting to piece things together.” She paused for a moment, and seemed to be deciding whether or not to continue. “He’s trying really hard to remember your wedding.”

Brian was quiet. He didn’t want to express any of the irrational bitterness he felt at the fact that Justin didn’t remember their wedding ceremony. Brian had so many good memories of it, that it was difficult to imagine not being able to share them with Justin anymore. That they might now be his and his alone, just like the prom. It made him sad, and it made him a little bit angry. He wasn’t angry at Justin; he was angry at the circumstances. But he felt ashamed that he was angry at all. He was still having to remind himself that this wasn’t about him.

“So, what did you mean when you said you were hoping not to repeat history?” Jennifer said as she started to open the bottle of wine.

Brian wasn’t sure if he should tell her or not, but when she offered him the wine, he decided to go ahead and come clean, at least in some capacity.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’ve had more enough alcohol in the last 24 hours.”

“Brian…” She looked at him pointedly, as she let her voice trail off, like she was waiting for more information, and the look in her eyes made Brian feel like he was looking at Justin instead.

“Christ, your son got so many of his mannerisms from you.” Brian shook his head, picked up a set of chopsticks and took a bite of the curry noodles that were in the container she’d set down in front of him. He was hungrier than he remembered being in days. That was probably a good thing.

“What happened last night?” Jennifer asked as she poured herself a glass of wine.

“Let’s just say me and my old buddy Jim Beam had quite a reunion.”

Jennifer nodded slightly and raised an eyebrow. Brian knew that she wanted him to continue, or at least say why he got drunk, but he didn’t really want to.

Turned out, he didn't have to.

“Michael told me you were upset. And why you were upset.”

Brian exhaled. “Christ, can’t tell him anything unless you want it on the front page of the paper.”

“Don’t be mad at him; he was only trying to help you. He was concerned. And don’t worry, I didn’t mention it to Justin. But I was really hoping I could get him to reassure you, so I was happy when he woke up a little bit after that and wanted to talk to you.”

Brian was glad too.

“Anyway, I’m sorry that you’re sick, but I hope you’re going to start taking better care of yourself. I’d been trying not to say anything -- you’re a grown man, after all, and I know you can handle yourself and you don’t need me hovering over you -- but it’s been really hard to stand by and watch. I thought you felt warm last night. You looked like you really felt bad.”

“I felt like shit, but to be honest I didn’t put it together until this morning. I thought I was just tired. And I really don’t want to talk about this.”

He also didn’t really want to talk about why he was so tired. Revealing that to Michael had been more than enough.

Jennifer nodded and, thankfully, changed the subject. “So, they’re planning on moving Justin to a regular room tomorrow. Maybe getting him up and walking a bit.”

She continued updating Brian on Justin’s progress with his memory and his speech and staying awake for longer periods, and starting to eat some real food. She told him how much Deb was itching for that to happen, so she could bring him his favorite -- chicken parmesan.

“Yeah I bet,” Brian said. “I’m pretty sure Deb thinks food heals all.”

Once they’d polished off all of the boxes of noodles and spring rolls and chicken and vegetables and eaten the fortune cookies, they sat and talked for a while, Jennifer sipping wine while Brian had water. He was trying to start keeping better track of his water intake. He hadn’t realized how dependent he was on using one particular container so he’d know that he just needed to pace out drinking three of them during the day, but be done at least a few hours before bed. He knew that ramping it up now was probably going to be an unpleasant process, involving a lot of alarms set in the middle of the night to get up and take a piss, but it had to be done, unless he wanted things to get even worse than they already were. And there was definitely room for them to get worse, unfortunately.

After another hour of conversation, Jennifer started yawning.

“Well, I guess I’d better head out. All of these early mornings and late nights are catching up with me,” she said. “You look tired, too. You should go to bed.”

“I slept all day.”

“Well, sleep some more then.”

“Yes, mother.” Brian fought the impulse to roll his eyes at his mother-in-law being, well, motherly. If he was being honest, sometimes he kind of liked it, and it made him wonder what it would have been like to grow up with parents who gave a shit.

“But before I go, I’ve got something I think you might want to see.” She pulled her phone out of her purse and seemed to be looking for something for a moment, before she handed the phone to Brian, with a video queued up and paused on the screen. “I’m going to go to the restroom,” she said. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and watch it while I’m gone.”

When he pressed play, he saw Justin, sitting in his hospital bed, holding his right hand against his chest with his left -- a familiar sight that hurt Brian’s heart. He hated that so much for Justin -- to come so far and then have it all reset. But they’d deal with it. He’d gotten Justin through it once, and he’d do it again. No matter what it took.

“Hey,” Justin said. He was smiling. God, Brian had missed that smile. “I miss you...but… I know mom said...you were sick.” His speech was still slow and a bit halting, but it sounded better than it had the day before. That was a good thing. “Anyway… I just… wanted to tell you… I love you. I want you to get...better. Take care of...you...because...I said so. You better...listen to me. Love you. Love that you’re my husband.”

By the time the video ended, Brian’s vision was blurred a little by the tears that had welled up in his eyes. He was wondering when he was going to stop being so goddamn emotional. Sure, he was no longer the heartless bastard that so many people had thought he was for so long, but he was starting to feel like he was turning into Michael, who had always worn his heart on his sleeve.

He had successfully blinked back the wetness by the time Jennifer came back into the room. She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek.

“Take care of yourself,” she said. “Love you.”

Brian nodded and said, “You too.”

After she left, Brian figured he might as well go ahead and shower so he could just go to bed. He knew he had a lot of sleep to catch up on -- he just hoped that he would actually be able to sleep, instead of waking up every few hours from nightmares.

He was just settling in, ready to watch some bad television while he waited to fall asleep, when he heard the text message notification on his phone. It was a message from Rob.

Hey man, I’m getting worried. It’s not like you to not call me back or at least shoot me a text. Are you okay? I’m sure you’re busy with your family...just let me know you’re alright.

Brian sighed. He definitely wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. And he didn’t really want to talk about it or have to rehash the story to anyone. But he knew Rob cared about him, and about Justin. He was a good friend. He’d want to know. He deserved to know. So Brian would have to tell him. But where the fuck would he start? And was he ready to do it now?

His thumb hovered over the icon that would transform the text message into a phone call for a long time before he finally said, “Fuck it,” to himself and made the call.

Rob answered after one ring. “Thank god,” he said. He paused for a moment and then added, “It is you, isn’t it? And not someone else using your phone to call me back and tell me you’re dead?”

“It’s me.”

“Alright, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Jesus, how the fuck did he already know? All Brian had said was two words: it’s me.

“What’s wrong?” Rob repeated. “You didn’t laugh. The normal you would laugh at that and tell me to shut up and stop being dramatic. But you didn’t laugh. So, something’s wrong.”

Brian sighed and picked up the television remote, just so he’d have something to fidget with while he talked about something that he really didn’t want to talk about.

“Brian, I’m serious. What’s going on?”

Brian took a deep breath and let it out. He knew he was stalling. Finally, he blurted it out: “Justin was in an accident. On his way to Pittsburgh.”

“What? Why didn’t you call me? That was last week. Fuck, is he alright?”

“He’s alive.”

“And…?”

“And he’s not paralyzed.”

“Um, okay… You and I both know that’s not exactly the best outcome, but it’s also not the end of the world. So, he’s okay then?”

“Not really.”

“Jesus, Brian. Would you stop talking in riddles and just tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“He has a brain injury. Spent a few days in a medically induced coma. His hand is fucked up again. He’s having trouble talking.” Brian stopped and ran a hand through his hair. He’d already started, so he might as well just give Rob the full picture. “He, uh… he didn’t remember we were married.”

“Shit, man… How’s he doing now?”

“Holding his own, I guess. He was surprised about me being in a wheelchair, so there’s that too. I don’t even know what to do with that. I don’t know what he remembers and what he doesn’t.”

“And how are you doing?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Bullshit. He’s your husband. I’d be fucking dying if we were talking about Adam here, and you know it. I’m sure you are too, but you’d hide it until it really did kill you. So, let’s try this again… How are you doing?”

Brian sighed and let the remote drop back down to the bed. “I’ve been better.”

“What’s going on?”

“Made myself sick. Stressed myself out until it all fell apart and I got shitfaced drunk. Now I’ve spent the day in bed because I’ve got a fucking UTI in addition to the worst hangover I’ve ever had in my life, which I don’t have time for.”

“Damn, dude… That--”

“I don’t need a lecture. I know I fucked up.”

“I wasn’t going to give you a lecture. I was going to say, that really sucks. What can I do to help?”

“There’s nothing anyone can do. Not unless you can turn back time and make it not happen. Or at least keep me from agreeing to let him go by himself.”

“What would that do? Then you’d probably both be in the hospital. Don’t beat yourself up over whatever happened. Sometimes things just happen. I know that, and you know that. You’ll drive yourself nuts playing the what-if game.”

Brian started to answer but was distracted by a sudden, sharp pain in his back. This was different from the usual ache that he lived with all the time, that shifted in intensity from day to day -- this felt like it was coming from deep inside. He was sure it was probably related to the UTI. At least, he hoped so. He didn’t think he could handle much else at the moment. He shut his eyes and waited for it to pass.

“You still there?” Rob asked.

“Yeah,” Brian answered, hating how his discomfort was clear in his voice. He knew Rob would pick up on it, and he wasn’t wrong.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Alright, I’m coming out there.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You don’t need to be here; I’m fine.”

“Ah, there he is. The Brian Kinney we all know and love. Refuses to be anything but fine, even when he’s not.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do. Now, stop being a pain in the ass. We’re friends. I’m coming out there to help you.”

“I’ve got plenty of people breathing down my neck already. Believe me, it’s covered.”

“What makes you think I’ll be breathing down your neck? I know your Pittsburgh family means well but they don’t always get it...you know? Well, I get it.” Brian knew what Rob was trying to say without really saying it -- that he understood what was happening to Brian from a physical standpoint, when no one else did. He knew exactly how it complicated everything. “Let me come help you.”

“Should I even try to stop you, or am I just wasting my breath?”

“You’re wasting your breath. I’m looking at flights now. Looks like I can be there tomorrow night.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to.”

Brian still wasn’t quite sure how to handle people wanting to do things for him just because they cared, even after all these years. It went against his independent nature, he guessed. He wanted to prove he could do everything by himself. But this...maybe he couldn’t, and he was going to have to accept help. Maybe having Rob there could help him be less dependent on Michael. And he already knew he wasn’t going to be changing Rob’s mind, so he might as well not bother.

“Look, I know you don't like needing things. That's part of what makes you, you, and it's why you're so damn strong,” Rob said, as if he was reading Brian's mind. Only he didn't feel very strong at the moment. “But take it from the guy you wanted to hate and kind of ended up loving -- sometimes it's nice to not have to do it all alone. You know I'm right. I've got you, man. Just like you'd have me if it was Adam. So shut up -- I’m buying the ticket now, and I'll see you tomorrow.”

They hung up after Rob bought his plane ticket and asked Brian if he had anything he wanted Rob to grab from his and Justin’s apartment. Clothes were the main thing he needed, and he knew Justin would need them too. He didn’t even know what had happened to Justin’s luggage, and he supposed it didn’t really matter at this point. At least they’d recovered most of the paintings -- that, aside from Justin himself, was probably the most important thing that had been in the car.

Thinking of the car made Brian suddenly remember that he hadn’t yet called his insurance company to get the ball rolling on a claim. Shit. He had too many things to think about and not enough time or brain space to deal with them. He’d have to add that to his list of things to take care of tomorrow. But he knew exactly who his first call would be tomorrow -- Rochelle. He had to start working on figuring out why seeing all the blood in the car had sent him off the deep end -- even though he kind of already knew but just didn’t want to admit it. He had to get back to feeling more in control and less like he was drowning.

That night, Brian slept peacefully for the first time in what felt like forever, content in the knowledge that Justin was getting better, even if there were still a lot of unanswered questions and they still had a long way to go. Brian knew it would be awhile before everything was okay. But as long as they still had each other, he knew they’d get through it, just like they always had.

The next morning, Brian called Rochelle, as he had promised himself he would. And, as predicted, she was surprised to hear from him, but she remembered him and seemed to know what it had taken for him to make that call. He managed to tell her what was happening, and he must have sounded fairly desperate, because she immediately agreed that they could talk via video call until he and Justin were back in New York, and then she wanted to see him in person as soon as possible. He hated needing help as much now as he had ten years ago. But he knew that she understood that, and was willing to work with it. She was well-versed in the enigma that was Brian Kinney.

Mostly, he hated feeling helpless. He’d felt it when Justin was bashed. He’d felt it when he wrecked the Corvette and woke up feeling like half a man. And he was feeling it again now. He wanted his control back. His predictability. To get back to his normal life, where everything was good and all was well. Only he didn’t know when it would come. If it would come. If he'd ever get off of this emotional merry-go-round that he felt like he was stuck on. He hoped Rochelle would at least be able to help him find some stable ground.

He called the insurance company too, so they could deal with the car. He knew it was going to be totaled. Mostly, he’d just have to decide if he wanted to get a new car, and if so, what kind. He could certainly use one right now, because he was tired of having to depend on other people to haul his ass around all the time.

Michael picked Brian up at the hotel and dropped him off at the hospital yet again. They’d fallen into a nice little routine, it seemed. But this time, Michael didn’t even try to come in.

“Um, I really need to go into the store today,” Michael said, as if he was somehow ashamed of having to work.

“That’s fine. You should get back to your life.” Brian, who was already out of the car, started to close the door, but Michael stopped him.

“Brian, I don’t want--”

“I know. There’s no sense in everyone having to put their lives on hold. I’m alright. I promise.”

Michael sighed loudly and gave Brian a look that said exactly how much he was not buying those last four words. “You don’t have to put an act on for me, Brian. I swear I won’t tell anyone that the great god Kinney needs help sometimes.”

“You’d better not,” Brian said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

“I won’t.” Michael was suddenly serious again. “Just… promise me you’ll tell me next time. Before it gets bad.”

“Michael…” Brian looked down at his lap. He didn’t want to have this conversation here. Or anywhere, for that matter. But definitely not in public.

“You fucking scared the shit out of me. Do you know that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s bullshit, to use one of your lines. Just don’t let it happen again. Stop pretending to be alright when you’re not. Anyway, I have to go. Hopefully I’ll only have to be there for a couple of hours. I just need to put some orders in--”

“Go, Mikey. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. If you say so. Love you.”

“Yep. I’ll call you later.”

“You’d better, asshole.”

Brian chuckled to himself and shook his head as he closed the door and rolled away from the car before turning around so he could go into the hospital. His and Michael’s relationship was definitely...something. It was unique, for sure. To the untrained ear, it probably sounded like they were fighting, but it was really just part of how they loved each other. Always had been, and probably always would be.

When Brian got upstairs, Justin was awake, and Jennifer was gathering up all of Justin’s things and putting them in a bag.

He went straight to Justin, who was sitting up in the bed, smiling. Brian wondered what it would take to make this kid not smile. Then he remembered the last time that smile had gone away -- right after the bashing -- and hoped that they were not about to enter another dark period. He liked seeing Justin happy, and was willing to do just about anything to keep him that way.

Brian took Justin’s left hand and kissed it. He’d taken Justin’s ring out of the pocket in his suitcase where he’d stuck it for safe keeping, and it was currently in one of the pockets of his jacket. He intended on giving it back to Justin that day, but wanted to wait for the right time. Preferably, when they were alone, because he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to cry.

“Getting out...of the…” Justin stopped and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before continuing, “ICU...today.”

“Moving on up, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s…” Justin paused again, then pulled his hand out of Brian’s grip and pressed it to his forehead. He looked like he was in pain.

“You alright? Headache?” Brian asked. He hated knowing that Justin was in pain and he could do nothing about it.

“No…” Justin’s face was looking more and more frustrated by the second. “Fuck!”

“Hey, what’s going on? How can I help?”

“Can’t… Words…” Justin trailed off again and smacked his left hand on the mattress. “Fuck!”

“Well, you’ve got that one down, at least. All the essentials.” Brian tried to make a joke, knowing all too well what he was covering up with it. It was one of his old defense mechanisms -- making a sarcastic comment when he was uncomfortable. And right then, he was scared shitless. Justin had seemed so much better the day before, on the phone, and then on the video Jennifer had shown him. Why was he suddenly having so much trouble again?

“Honey, you know the doctor said that’s normal,” Jennifer said as she zipped the bag she’d put Justin’s personal things into. “You need to rest. I swear, both of you -- two peas in a pod.”

Justin glared at his mother, and it almost made Brian laugh. Now that was the Justin he knew -- he never wanted to rest. If he wanted something, he’d push for it until he had it. That trait had served him well in his recovery fifteen years ago, and Brian hoped it would now as well.

“Sunshine… Don’t try to talk. Just do what she says. It’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

Brian had two motives there. He not only wanted Justin to do what he needed to do to get better, but he also didn’t want to be reminded of how much Justin had potentially lost. He’d rather not talk with Justin at all than have to think about that.

They got Justin moved upstairs within the hour. Brian had briefly brought up the idea that now he could spend the night, but Justin and Jennifer both quickly shut him down. Mostly Jennifer, but Justin was definitely backing her up. Jennifer told Brian in no uncertain terms that he was not spending the night sleeping in a recliner, while Justin nodded and gave Brian that no-nonsense, I-mean-business look he was so good at.

Justin didn’t do much talking for the rest of the morning and early afternoon, and although Brian missed hearing his voice, he knew Justin was really frustrated. To be honest, it frustrated Brian as well, because he didn’t want to think about Justin backsliding, or maybe never fully recovering his ability to speak normally.

Jennifer got a phone call in the early afternoon, while Justin was taking a nap. She had to go to her office for a bit to take care of some disaster caused by someone else’s idiocy -- a situation Brian was far too well acquainted with at his own office. So he and Justin were alone. Justin was asleep, and Brian was watching a soap opera, which he’d begrudgingly gotten sucked into over the last week spent mostly sitting at the hospital while Justin slept.

He was completely enthralled in a scene between a gay couple involved in a love triangle -- and was quite frankly surprised that there were gay characters on the show at all, considering that he figured the main audience was likely midwestern housewives and women old enough to be his mother -- when Justin’s voice nearly made him jump.

“Didn’t know you liked...soap operas.”

When Brian turned around, Justin was grinning at him teasingly.

“Shut up, you twat. There’s nothing else on at this hour.”

Justin gave Brian a look that said, sure, whatever, I believe you.

Brian turned off the TV, then unzipped his jacket pocket, figuring now was as good a time as any to unofficially remarry his husband. He pulled the ring out and held it in his palm, showing it to Justin.

“Now that you’re awake, and we’re alone… I brought you something.”

Justin smiled at him and held his hand up. Brian took it in his.

“It just doesn’t feel right not seeing this on your finger,” Brian said. “I know we don’t need rings or vows to prove we love each other, but we did take vows, and we do have rings, so...we might as well wear them.”

Brian didn’t even know what he was blathering about, but at the moment, he was completely overwhelmed by how it felt to be putting this ring back on Justin’s finger. It felt like he was marrying him all over again. Like as long as they had each other, everything would be okay. The ring was a reminder of that. Of all they’d promised to each other nine years before. Brian didn’t like having it happen in a hospital room, but seeing that ring back on Justin’s finger was going to go a long way toward making himself feel better, and hopefully Justin as well. His hands were shaking as he slid the ring onto Justin’s finger.

As soon as the ring was in place, Justin turned his hand over and interlaced his fingers through Brian’s, squeezing it.

“This was what I always wanted,” Justin said. “I’m glad I have it. I have you.”

Those words had come out perfectly. Brian had to fight hard to stop the tears that he could feel threatening to fall. Maybe things would be alright after all.

Justin napped for most of the afternoon, waking up in time for dinner, which didn’t look too appetizing -- broth and jello. So much for Deb’s chicken parmesan. It would have to wait until Justin was cleared for food that he actually had to chew. The nurse had said he could perhaps graduate to mashed potatoes tomorrow, so...baby steps.

Brian still wasn’t feeling great, but getting some good sleep seemed to have done him quite a bit of good. The headache wasn’t as bad today, and the burning in his legs was much more tolerable. He was drinking a shit ton of water, and taking a shit ton of bathroom breaks to go with it, but it had to be done. He was turning things around, starting now.

Rob was due to arrive in the late evening. He’d texted Brian a few times during the day with status updates and rants about incompetent airline and airport personnel, while Brian reminded him that he didn’t have to come, and Rob reminded Brian that he wanted to come.

Brian called Michael to let him know that he’d be going back to the hotel with Rob later that night. He hoped that Michael wasn’t feeling slighted. He loved Michael -- Michael was his best friend, and had always done so much for him. The night before was certainly no exception. But Brian didn’t want to feel like he was taking over Michael’s entire life, and the past 24 hours had made him feel that way.

Justin was taking yet another nap while Brian and Jennifer each sat absorbed in answering work-related email, just trying to get back to normal, when Brian heard a soft knock on the door. He looked up to see Lindsay standing there.

“How’s he doing?” she whispered as she came into the room.

“Better, I think. It’s been an okay day.” At least, it had gotten more okay as the day went on, even though it had started off more than a bit unsettling. “He’s out of the ICU, so that’s something.”

Lindsay bent down and gave Brian a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad,” she said. “I wanted to stop by and see if I could borrow you for an hour or so. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Brian looked at Jennifer, not really sure why he felt like he should ask permission, but somehow it just felt appropriate. She smiled and said, “Go. Take a break. We’re fine here.”

“Tell him I’ll be back later, if he wakes up,” Brian said.

“I will.”

Brian followed Lindsay outside and to her car.

“Where are we going?” he asked as he worked on getting his chair into the backseat.

“You’ll see.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were parked in front of the Sidney Bloom Gallery, and Brian had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen. He just wasn’t sure he was ready.

“Did you--”

“You’ll see,” Lindsay said, smiling.

Brian felt like he was holding his breath the entire ride up in the elevator to the second floor of the gallery. When the doors slid open, the first thing he saw was one of the paintings he’d picked out to be included in the show, looking a lot different than it had been the last time he saw it in the police station. There were five more surrounding it. The entire far wall of the gallery was nothing but works by Justin Taylor.

“I still have two of them,” Lindsay said. “I can’t fix them without making them smaller, and I didn’t want to do that without Justin’s permission.”

Brian was still sitting and staring, unsure of what to say. He still didn’t quite feel like he could breathe. He felt Lindsay’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, and reached his hand up to cover hers.

“Thank you,” he said. That was about all he could trust himself to say, considering that he felt like he was about to cry, and he didn’t want to do that here, even though they were alone.

“It was my pleasure. I love you both. I wanted so badly for this to still happen for Justin. It’s a few days late, but, they’re here.”

Brian nodded and moved closer, with Lindsay following behind.

“You can’t even tell,” he said, marveling at how well Lindsay had restored what had looked ruined on that dirty floor at the state police post. He reached out and touched the corner of one of the paintings.

“Good, I’m glad. I’ve been doing some of this for the gallery I work for in Toronto. People pay a lot of money to have this done.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It’s my gift to you both.”

She bent down to give Brian another hug, and he found that he couldn’t hold himself together any longer. The tears started to fall as her arms tightened around him.

“Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. You need to let it go. You can’t keep it inside forever.”

They stayed that way for a long time, with Brian crying on Lindsay’s shoulder for the first time in more than twenty years. And when he was done, he felt just a little bit lighter. It was progress.

Sure, they’d had their issues in the past, but at the end of the day, they each meant a lot to the other and they always would. They’d been there for each other at a time when their entire lives were changing, as they navigated the uncertain time between childhood and adulthood. And her actions this week had shown Brian how much she truly still cared.

After he’d pulled himself together, Brian took some pictures with his phone for Justin, so he could see how his work was being displayed. Then he and Lindsay headed back to the hospital.

Thankfully, Justin was awake when they got back, so he and Lindsay could discuss what to do with the two paintings that she couldn’t repair without modifying them. They showed Justin the pictures, and he seemed happy with how things had turned out. He was just as grateful to Lindsay as Brian had been, for taking the time to repair his work so the show could still happen. But Brian didn’t have the heart to tell Justin that two of the paintings had been completely missing and he didn’t know where they’d ended up, or if they’d ever find them.

It wasn’t long after that, that Justin started to get sleepy, and Lindsay said her goodbyes. She and Mel only had a couple more days left in the Pitts before they had to go back to Canada. Brian hoped he’d be able to see Gus one more time before they left too. He had too many things right now pulling him in different directions, but the last thing he wanted was for his son to feel neglected. Brian knew that it didn’t matter if you were six or sixteen -- it hurt to have parents who didn’t care. He didn’t want to be anything like his parents. He’d do whatever it took not to be.

Brian was lost in his thoughts about Gus when he received a text from Rob, letting him know that he’d be there to pick him up out front in 20 minutes. How he was pulling that off, Brian didn’t know, but he guessed he would find out.

Jennifer kissed Justin’s forehead, and Brian kissed his hand, still wishing that he could kiss him on the lips. Soon, hopefully. At least Justin had his wedding ring back now.

“Night, Sunshine,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

Tomorrow, he hoped, would hold even more progress.

Slowly but surely, he was getting his husband back.

Friendship by TrueIllusion

“I love your friends. They are like family.”

“Not like. They are.”

*****

As the plane made its descent, Rob Anderson looked out the window at the glittering lights of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania -- a city he'd never been to before, oddly enough, even though he did quite a bit of business travel. He wasn't opposed to visiting, but he certainly wished it were under better circumstances.

When he’d first run into Brian -- or, really, when Brian had run into him -- at a coffee shop in Manhattan nearly nine years ago, he’d never thought it would be the start of a close friendship. But now, he was grateful that life had brought them together on that snowy Tuesday afternoon.

Rob had been sitting at one of the tiny shop’s few tables, working on some spreadsheets on his laptop and sipping herbal tea from a ceramic mug. He was finishing up the last of his drink, since he only had about thirty minutes until his next meeting, which was at his office, not too far from the shop. He’d noticed the dark-haired, hazel-eyed man when he came in, only because it wasn’t every day that he ran into another wheelchair user at random. He also thought he’d seen the man before, although he couldn’t quite place him. In his line of work, he saw a lot of people with various disabilities, so it was entirely possible that he’d seen him in passing somewhere at a medical office. He didn’t really know why this man had apparently stuck in his memory, given the number of people he interacted with for his job, but he definitely looked familiar.

As the man rolled up to the counter and ordered a drink, Rob had noticed that he looked frustrated. Rob wondered what his story was, and what was going on in his day. That was just the sort of thing Rob often wondered about people, and it was why he enjoyed people-watching. Hell, people-watching was why he chose to do so much of his work in coffee shops instead of in his office. He liked the challenge of trying to figure people out. He could hear the man’s exchange with the barista, which was very short and clipped. Yes, this man definitely seemed to be having a bad day. After he finished placing his order, he moved to the area at the other end of the counter to wait for his coffee. He was drumming his fingers on his thighs impatiently.

Rob had glanced down at his watch again, and noticed that he really needed to get going, so he folded his laptop and slid it into the backpack he had hanging on the back of his wheelchair, put his coat on, then placed his now-empty mug in his lap so he could take it up to the counter. He was just passing the impatient patron he’d been observing, when the other man received his coffee and turned abruptly, running straight into Rob.

The collision caused the man’s coffee to splash all over him, resulting in him sputtering and cursing.

“Fuck!” the man said, clearly disgusted. “Of fucking course this would happen today. The train being late and the goddamn foot of snow outside wasn’t enough for you, universe? I have to spill my fucking coffee all over myself too?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Rob said sarcastically. Although he wasn’t too surprised that the man was so absorbed in his own problems that he hadn’t even acknowledged the fact that he’d run right into him. “Are you really that clumsy, or did you get your driver’s license out of a cracker jack box?”

“Sorry,” the man spat without looking up, as he frantically dabbed at his coat with a wad of napkins he’d grabbed off the counter.

“You know, sometimes life has this way of making us slow down when we really need to, even if we don’t want to.”

“Who the fuck are you? I don’t remember asking for any sage advice, thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late to my meeting.”

With that, the dark-haired, hazel-eyed man secured the cup containing what was left of his nonfat latte between his thighs, turned, and pushed past Rob and out the door. Rob watched him for a few more seconds, until he was past the shop’s front window and he could no longer see him, then placed his own mug into the dishpan at the end of the counter and rolled out the door himself.

When Rob got back to his office, he still had a few minutes before he was due to be in the conference room. He knew that they had some sort of marketing genius coming, who was supposed to blow them all away with a new ad campaign for some of their new products. They mostly advertised in trade magazines directed at physicians, physical therapists, and the like, but they still needed a great campaign to make their custom prosthetics and mobility aids stand out above their competitors’ offerings. One of his coworkers had heard of this guy named Brian Kinney, who was supposed to be one of the best in his field -- award-winning, even.

Rob wasn’t too fond of these sorts of meetings, because he wasn't even really the decision-maker. He only had to sit in on them because the person who did make the decisions always wanted his opinion first. He really wished she would just decide for herself this time, and spare him having to sit through yet another sales pitch. But, it was what it was, and he had just enough time to make himself another cup of tea before heading to the conference room.

When he pushed himself through the door to the conference room, he was taken aback to see the same man he’d just seen in the coffee shop. The man seemed to be trying his best to look put together and on top of things, but Rob could tell that he was still flustered and frustrated by the apparent disaster that had been his day so far.

“Brian Kinney?” Rob said as he set his cup down on the conference table and rolled up to the man, who was hooking up his laptop to their projector system. Rob stuck his hand out just as Brian looked up and made eye contact with him. Rob saw a brief moment of surprise cross the man’s features before he hid it behind a stoic mask of businesslike indifference.

“That’s me,” Brian said as he shook Rob’s hand. “And you are?”

“Rob Anderson. Director of sales.”

“Nice to meet you.” Brian turned his attention back to his laptop.

“I think we’ve already met. Or did you think I’d forgotten you in the last twenty minutes?”

“I was hoping for that, maybe,” Brian huffed.

“Well, no such luck. I see you made it to your meeting in time.”

“Yeah, if I can get this thing to do what it’s supposed to do. Jesus…what a day.”

“Would you like me to try?”

“Be my guest.” Brian put his hands up and shrugged, then backed up so that Rob could get a closer look.

Within a few seconds, Rob had it working.

“You’ve got the magic touch, I suppose,” Brian said. His tone was starting to soften, Rob noticed. “Thanks.”

“No problem. This thing is finicky sometimes. Be glad you don’t have to use it every day.”

“Sorry for running into you at the coffee shop. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Rob laughed. “It’s no problem. I think I’ll survive.”

“I probably did just need to slow down. I hate days like this, when it seems like everything is working against me. Feels like I have a lot more of those now, with this.” He gestured down at his wheelchair.

Huh, Rob thought to himself, maybe this was new to him. He remembered how much it had sucked at 22 to have to navigate everything in a brand new way, and he couldn’t decide if it would have been better or worse if it had happened now, instead of just after he’d graduated from college.

“Anyway, I probably shouldn’t be telling you about my problems. You’re here to see my genius ad campaign, not to hear about how much my life sucks sometimes.”

“We all feel that way sometimes. It’s all about your perspective, though -- how you choose to look at things can make all the difference. So...how long have you been in a chair, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“What is this, gimp confessions?” Brian said sarcastically.

Rob liked this guy already. He was funny. Rob thought Brian wasn’t going to answer his question, but he did.

“A little over a year and a half,” he said, much more seriously. “I’m still learning, I guess. Wondering if it ever really gets easier or if you just learn to put up with the bullshit. How about you?”

“Fourteen years. It does get easier. And you do learn to put up with the bullshit.”

“Damn. Fourteen years. I can’t imagine.”

“You’ll get there someday too. It’s not that bad.”

“It wasn’t that long ago that I thought turning 30 was the absolute worst thing in the world,” Brian chuckled. “Now you’re asking me to think about being close to 50...no thank you.”

If Rob’s quick calculations were correct, it sounded like they were the same age. What were the odds of that? At that moment, Rob was already starting to feel like he and Brian were somehow meant to run into each other that day.

Brian’s presentation was excellent, and Sheila, the director of marketing, liked it as well, so they ended up going with Brian’s campaign. Everything else they’d seen before that had been underwhelming, so for Rob at least, it felt like an easy decision. And, he had to admit, he’d sort of been looking forward to the idea of getting to know the man a little bit better. He didn’t know what it was about Brian that made him want to know more about him, but Rob had a feeling that the two of them had quite a bit in common, aside from the obvious physical characteristics.

That chance meeting in the coffee shop, as it turned out, had been the catalyst for a friendship that blossomed gradually over the course of a lot of business meetings where more and more personal things got discussed, and more jokes and sarcastic remarks were exchanged. Eventually, they were meeting each other’s partners, had been to each other’s apartments, and were starting to become really good friends.

Rob had learned Brian’s story, and he had told Brian his own. He learned that Brian and Justin had been together off and on for a long time before they got married, which, at that time, had been relatively recent. That surprised him, because he could clearly see how much they loved each other in the way they acted and the way they spoke with each other -- it was subtle, but it was clear. It was obvious how much history they had together. Looking at them now, it was hard for Rob to imagine that they’d ever been apart.

“Let’s just say that my injury changed some things about me, and leave it at that,” was all Brian had said when Rob asked about what it was that had come between Brian and Justin back then, because they seemed so perfectly content now -- so loving and totally at ease with one another.

Rob did leave it at that. He knew how much his own injury had affected the relationship he’d been in at the time, and how it had ultimately caused that relationship to end, opening the door for him to meet Adam. He respected the fact that Brian might not want to talk about his experience. When he and Brian first met, Rob was constantly having to remind himself that although they both had the same type of injury, they were very much in two different places with it. He had to remember what it had been like to be only a year or two out, still secretly holding out hope that somehow things might change, even though you knew they weren’t likely to. Still struggling with new situations, or familiar situations that had become new because everything was different now, physically. Back then, he saw a lot of that struggle in Brian, even though Brian tried his best to hide it. He seemed to try to hide a lot of things.

Brian was very guarded. Rob liked Brian’s sarcastic personality, but Brian also seemed to be hiding something behind that biting wit. He didn’t appear to trust people easily. Rob wondered what that was about, but he never asked, and Brian never really told him. Even as Brian came to trust Rob, Rob never truly understood what it was that drove Brian to try to keep so much of himself hidden behind a wall. It seemed so exhausting to maintain -- keeping people at arm’s length all the time. Not to mention how lonely it would be. Rob had eventually been let in, but it had been a long process.

As their friendship grew, Brian had started to feel like a little brother to Rob, even though they were the same age. Brian would come to him with questions that Rob could tell he really didn’t want to ask -- questions about things Rob was sure Brian would never discuss with anyone else, but Rob had the answers and the experience, and he was happy to share that experience with Brian, so he wouldn’t have to feel it all out for himself the way Rob had years before. Rob could tell Brian was relieved to have someone to talk to who understood what it was like to be paralyzed -- who knew what came along with that without being told, because he’d been there.

When they’d first met, Brian had also been working on something that really piqued Rob’s interest -- an ad campaign directed at people with disabilities being truly seen as people and as equals, instead of overlooked or patronized. Once they started talking about that, he realized that he’d actually seen Brian on one of his posters in the subway before they’d ever met -- that was why he looked familiar. Rob had already been involved in advocating for equal access to medical care and public accessibility, so he was happy to bring Brian into that as well. It turned out to be quite the synergy, because Brian was one of the most charismatic people Rob knew, even though that charisma had been partially obscured by frustration and shame when they first met. Rob got it, though. He’d been there too. He knew that with the right support, those feelings wouldn’t last forever. And they didn’t.

Over the last nine years, Rob Anderson felt like he’d watched Brian Kinney find himself -- find a new identity -- and truly come into his own as a man with a disability, who had something to share with the world and something to fight for, and it had been beautiful to watch. Rob was grateful to have played even a small part in that journey, and it only made him even more sure that they'd been put into each other's lives for a reason. He knew Brian would say that was just some kind of karmic, spiritual bullshit, but Rob felt it was true.

When he finally hit the ground in Pittsburgh, Rob had to sit and wait while everyone else got off the plane, as usual. He was used to it, and had been for years, but it was still annoying sometimes, particularly when he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Tonight was one of those times. Getting out of New York had been a comedy of errors, with ticketing mix-ups, one cancelled flight, and then maintenance problems with the plane for the flight they’d rebooked him on. But they’d at least upgraded him to first class after he demanded a seat in the first row, like he’d requested on his original flight, so that was one good thing. And he’d finally made it to Pittsburgh, without too much of a delay overall.

Mostly, he just wanted to get to Brian so he could give him a hug. He couldn’t imagine what the last week must have been like for his friend, and he wished Brian would have let him know what was going on sooner, so he could have been there to help sooner. He hated Brian’s bullshit excuse that he hadn’t wanted to interrupt their holiday. Even after nine years, he was still completely baffled by the behaviors in Brian that made it look like he thought he was a burden somehow. That he had to take care of absolutely everything by himself, all the time.

Interrupting the holiday -- or anything else -- wouldn't have mattered. Rob would have been there. Because that's what friends do.

Brian hadn’t sounded good on the phone. He’d been putting up a good front, but Rob could tell that was all it was. And if there was one thing he’d learned in nine years of friendship with Brian Kinney, it was that sometimes Brian needed to be called on his bullshit. Rob was doing that now, by coming to Pittsburgh. He wasn’t going to just stand by and let Brian pretend that everything was fine, when it wasn’t.

The next step after getting off the plane was making his way to the car rental counters. He always enjoyed the looks on the clerks’ faces when he would roll up to the counter and ask to rent a car. He knew they were probably wondering how on earth he proposed to drive it, but they’d never ask. They’d just keep giving him wary looks as they completed the paperwork, really give him the hard sell on the extra insurance, then sometimes they’d stand outside and watch while he took his set of portable hand controls out of his suitcase and attached them to the car’s pedals. It only took a couple of minutes to do, and he’d be on his way.

Tonight was no different, right down to the gawking clerk who pretended to come outside for a smoke break as Rob proceeded to the car. He did what needed to be done, then queued up directions to the hospital on his phone. Once he knew how long it would take to get there, he sent a quick text to Brian, then started the car, and drove off.

When he pulled up to the front doors of the hospital, he saw Brian talking with a blonde-haired woman. As he got closer, he saw the resemblance, and assumed the woman had to be Justin’s mother. His assumption was confirmed a few seconds later when Brian introduced her as his Jennifer Taylor, his mother-in-law.

They only got to talk briefly, but Rob could tell he was going to like her just as much as he liked her son and son-in-law. She and Brian said goodbye, and Brian got himself into the car.

“I was wondering how you were planning on getting here,” Brian said, gesturing to Rob’s hand controls, which sat propped up between his knee and the console.

“They’re pretty damn handy. I might not need a car when I’m at home, but when I’m traveling, it’s kind of a necessity. So I bought these. You can rent cars with hand controls sometimes, but it’s a pain in the ass to get it arranged. This is easier. Now, enough small talk, come here, give me a hug.”

Rob pulled Brian into an embrace, noticing that his friend seemed to hold onto him a little tighter and longer than normal.

“How are you doing?” Rob said, as they let go.

“I’m okay.”

“The truth. Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not bullshitting.” Brian gripped the handle above the door so he could lean out and start taking his chair apart. Getting two wheelchairs into the back seat of the car was a bit more complicated than just one, but it could be done, with some careful and strategic stacking. “Jesus, that’s a lot of shit,” Brian said when he was done. “Good thing you didn’t rent a compact car.”

“Hashtag para life,” Rob chuckled.

Brian rolled his eyes. “Don’t try to pretend you’re all cool with your hipstergram shit and your fucking hashtags. You and Justin both. I’m sort of surprised he hasn’t asked for his phone so he can take pictures of his food. Not that it’s much to write home about at this point.”

“How’s he doing today?”

“A little better, I guess. The morning was kind of rough. But it got better as the day went on.”

“These things take time.”

“Christ, you really are a talking inspirational quote book. You’ve got a cliche for every occasion.”

Rob shrugged. “Part of my charm. It’s why you love me.”

A few minutes later, they were pulling up to the front of the hotel, where one of the bellhops unloaded the two suitcases Rob had brought from the trunk of the car. Rob and Brian got themselves out of the car, then Rob turned the keys over to the valet.

Might as well make things as easy as possible, he thought to himself. Brian looked really tired, so the last thing Rob wanted to do was make Brian do any more than was necessary. Rob was still feeling like he was right to come, and that there were probably things Brian wasn’t telling him. Rob knew firsthand how a UTI felt, especially when it was a bad one, and that it wasn’t easy to just push through, particularly when there were a lot of other stresses involved. But he knew Brian would try, no matter what the cost.

He checked into his own room at the front desk and asked the bellhop to take one suitcase up to his own room, and the second one -- which contained all of the various things he’d brought from Brian and Justin’s apartment -- up to Brian’s room, so they wouldn’t have to drag it up there themselves. As independent as Rob liked to be, he was more than willing to let people do things for him if it made life easier. That was one fundamental difference between him and Brian, who would fight his way through something difficult and inconvenient just for the satisfaction of knowing he’d done it himself, without any assistance. When they’d first met, Rob had chalked that up to Brian being newly injured, at least compared to himself, but now, he’d realized that was just Brian. He liked to be in control of everything, at all times. And Rob was sure that everything that was going on in Brian’s life at the moment was making him feel anything but in control.

They went up to Rob’s room first, where Brian’s first stop was the bathroom. Brian made a joke about making some sort of tour of Pittsburgh bathrooms, but Rob could hear the frustration in his voice, behind the attempt at sardonic humor. While he waited for his friend to finish, Rob began unpacking his own suitcase, because he always found it easier if he put all of his things in the dresser drawers and stashed the suitcase in the closet, so there would be less sitting around and taking up floor space. He was just setting his rolled-up yoga mat down on the bed when Brian came back into the room.

“You brought a yoga mat?” Brian said.

“Yes.”

“You really do that shit every day? Even when you’re not home?”

“Yes. You should try it sometime.” Rob tried not to roll his eyes. Really, he was glad to hear typical Brian coming out, even in the middle of all of this upheaval. “You might end up liking it.”

“You and all your new age, hippie bullshit.”

“Says the man who smokes a joint at least once a week. And don’t think I don’t know that you do.”

“Enjoying pot doesn’t make me a hippie.”

“Maybe not, but neither does practicing yoga. There’s a lot more to yoga than what you’re thinking.”

“That’s what Michael’s husband Ben says too. I used to call him Zen Ben, until he punched some homophobe’s lights out at a candlelight vigil. He’s all self-actualized and shit. Got really into buddhism after he was diagnosed with HIV, back before he and Michael ever met. You two will love each other. You remember Michael, right? You guys met a couple of years ago when he was visiting me in New York.”

“I remember him. He seemed like a good guy. A good friend.”

“He is. He and his mother pretty much saved me in junior high and high school. I would have lost my mind if it wasn’t for them.”

Rob wondered what Brian was referring to, but didn’t ask. He didn’t know much about how Brian had grown up, and Brian wasn’t very forthcoming with it either. Rob didn’t want to push Brian into talking about something he wasn’t comfortable with, so he let it go, but he always felt like there was something significant there. Rob would talk about his own parents sometimes -- happily married, together for almost 50 years now, still living in his hometown outside of Chicago -- and he would notice a strange, far away look coming over Brian’s face whenever the subject came up, like he was getting lost in his own thoughts or memories, but they weren’t pleasant ones. Brian had the same sort of look on his face right now, so Rob decided to change the subject.

“Why don’t we go up to your room?” he asked. “I brought you a care package -- it’s in your suitcase.” He left out the rest of what he wanted to say there, in the interest of not seeming like he was trying to breathe down Brian’s neck, since he'd already been cautioned against that. But, his real reason for going upstairs was because he wanted Brian to be able to rest if he wanted to. He looked like he’d had a long day. A lot of long days, actually. And the Brian Kinney he knew would keep going, no matter what, until he’d driven himself to exhaustion, which it sounded like Brian had already done over the past several days.

When they got upstairs, Rob immediately saw how much smaller Brian’s room was than his own -- it was missing all of the extra space that normally went along with an accessible room. There was hardly enough room for both of them to even be in there and still be able to move.

“Don’t tell me you let them put you in a regular room,” Rob sighed. “Why would you not say anything to them? That’s not like you at all. Can you even get to the other side of the bed? Because I don’t think I could.”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t need to get to the other side of the bed. Justin never made it here, so he didn’t check in. By the time I got here, they’d given the room I reserved away to someone else, and there weren’t any accessible rooms left. They were supposed to upgrade me later, but there’s been so much going on that I haven’t thought to check in with them about it. Too many other things to worry about.”

“Well, I think you should call them about it right now. This isn’t right. They should have done something more for you. You barely have room to move around.”

“There’s a seat in the shower, so it works. I’m making it work. All I’m doing here is showering and sleeping. Or at least trying to sleep.”

Suddenly, Brian was looking even more exhausted than he had been just a few minutes before, so Rob decided not to push the issue, even though it seemed strange and very not-Brian-like to just take whatever he was given and not try to fight to be fully accommodated. The Brian Kinney he knew would have gone straight downstairs and not left until the problem was resolved. This shrugging, accepting-of-whatever Brian, wasn't the one he knew. Not at all.

Rob hoisted the suitcase up onto the bed and unzipped it, digging past the clothes Brian had asked him to bring, and pulling out a bag full of the things he’d anticipated Brian might need but would probably never ask for.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I went through the closet in your bathroom and pulled out some things I thought you might need...especially with...you know.”

Brian looked relieved as he sifted through the contents of the bag. “Thanks man,” he said. “You read my mind.”

“Glad I’m good for something.” Rob smiled.

“Look, uh… Thanks for coming, and for bringing all of this. I know I tried to talk you out of it, but I’m glad you’re here. How long are you staying?”

“As long as I need to. I can work remotely, and Adam and his mom have the kids covered for right now.” Adam was a teacher, so he was on winter break for another week, and his mom was retired, just visiting so she could spend time with her grandchildren. It was no problem at all, and Rob didn’t want Brian to make it into one.

“I just don’t know how long this is going to take. How long it’ll be before we can go home. I hate asking anyone else to put their lives on hold just because mine is.”

“You didn’t ask. I volunteered. Now, where can we put this so you can sleep?” Rob looked at the suitcase.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Brian, this room is too small for you.”

“I’m too tired to deal with moving tonight,” Brian sighed. “I’m actually starting to wonder if I need to look for a temporary apartment, but I don’t know. Everything’s so up in the air right now. It’s fucking overwhelming.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the floor.

“I know. Just focus on one thing at a time.”

“There you go with the advice again.”

“I’m serious, Brian. Look at me. One thing at a time. You can only do one thing at a time. You don’t have to do it all at once. And, because I know you, I’ll say this: You also don’t have to do it alone. You can’t do it alone. Let people help you.”

“I know. Michael’s been telling me the same thing.”

“Sounds like he’s a smart man, then. You should listen to one of us.” Rob paused and looked around for a place he could put the suitcase, although right now, on top of the dresser next to the television looked like the only place there was that either one of them could get to. So he put it there, and hoped that tomorrow he might be able to convince Brian to change rooms. It was so strange to see Brian not being vocal about getting exactly what he wanted -- instead, he’d almost acted resigned to it, or like he just didn’t have the energy to care. That worried Rob a little. Brian had always put Rob’s “figuring people out” skills to the test, and it looked like now would be no exception.

“Alright,” Rob said. “I’m going to go back down and wash off all the airport grime and unwind a little bit. Get some rest. Call me if you need me.”

Rob spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out Brian’s strange behavior -- sometimes, he seemed like himself, and then others, he seemed like anything but. Although Rob guessed that having your husband almost die would do that to a person. He was still having a hard time wrapping his brain around how Brian was still functioning. And now that he’d seen him, he thought maybe he was barely functioning at all.

The next morning, Rob prodded Brian to go to the hotel’s front desk and ask to be moved to a different room, which they happily obliged, apologizing for not doing it sooner and saying they’d take care of getting everything moved over. With that out of the way, they headed over to the hospital together. Brian didn’t look like he’d slept very well, but Rob didn’t say anything. The first thing he noticed when they arrived at Justin’s room, though, was how both Brian and Justin seemed simultaneously uplifted when they saw each other. This connection they had was truly something -- and it was why Rob had such a hard time thinking that they’d spent so much time apart before they finally got married.

After he greeted Brian, Justin looked past him toward Rob, his surprise clear on his face, mixed with a note of confusion.

“You’re here,” Justin said. “But you’re… Wait… I am in Pittsburgh...right?”

Brian laughed. A genuine laugh. Rob loved hearing that. “Yes, Sunshine, you’re still in Pittsburgh.”

“I flew out yesterday. Somebody has to keep Brian in line,” Rob said, grinning and winking at Justin. “It’s a tall order, but I think I can do it.”

“Good...move,” Justin said, smiling. “Good to...see you.”

“You too, man. You look good. Adam sends his best, and said to tell you that he needs his substitute art teacher back ASAP, so you'd better get well soon.”

Justin laughed and rolled his eyes. Rob remembered how much of a fight Justin had put up when Adam first asked him to think about becoming a sub, but it turned out that Justin really liked it. Brian said he looked forward to getting those calls and getting to show the kids what it was like to create and let their imaginations run wild. He hoped that bringing it up now might help give Justin a sense of purpose.

Justin’s mother had already been in the room when Rob and Brian arrived, so they all talked for a little while, until Justin started falling asleep. Shortly after that, Jennifer had to leave to take care of something for work, and then it was just Brian and Rob. Rob tried to keep the conversation as light as possible -- he was sure Brian had more than enough heavy topics to deal with. So they talked about Christmas and the kids and what Adam was doing with himself since the lucky bastard had three weeks off from work and how they’d all taken the kids ice skating last week at Rockefeller Center.

“Sophia kept insisting that I needed to go on the ice too. I don’t think she gets it,” Rob said, chuckling.

“She’s four. Probably not.”

“Would be kind of nice if everyone else had a kid’s perspective sometimes, huh? Instead of tripping all over themselves trying to find the politically correct way to say something, or being afraid they’ll offend you somehow. Kids just accept you as you are. She sees me as no different from any other dad. She was just like, let’s go do it, daddy. And it was hard to tell her no.”

“Gus was six when I got hurt. They were already living in Toronto, though. By the time I saw him, I was already out of rehab and sort of holding my own. I think he just thought my chair was a cool, new toy that he could play with any time I wasn’t in it. I never really had to talk to him about it. I guess his moms probably did. I don’t know though.” Brian paused and let out a breath. “I have to find some way to get together with Gus before he has to go back to Toronto with Mel and Linds.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“I’m just not sure I have time.”

“You’ll make time. And if you find that you really can’t, I’m sure he’ll understand. He loves Justin too. He’s a good kid, Brian.”

Rob had met Gus on more than one occasion, when he’d come to spend a couple of weeks during the summer with Brian and Justin in New York. Gus loved the city, and it was easy to see how much he cared about his father and liked spending time with him.

At that moment, Rob heard someone clearing their throat at the door. He looked over to see a woman with flaming red, curly hair, wearing an outfit that was just as loud as her hair and makeup, holding a stack of plastic containers.

Once she’d been acknowledged, she came in and set the containers down on the bedside table. Rob could immediately smell garlic.

“I brought some food,” she said, as she crossed the room and bent down to give Brian a kiss on the cheek.

“I noticed,” Brian chuckled.

“I brought Justin his chicken parmesan. Hopefully he can eat it today.”

“I think you might be a day or two early, but we’ll see.”

“Well, I couldn’t wait. How’s he doing?”

“About the same, I guess. Just sort of holding steady.”

“And who’s your friend here?”

“Oh, sorry, this is Rob. He’s a friend of mine from New York. Rob, this is Debbie, Michael’s mother.”

Rob stuck his hand out to shake Debbie’s. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“Aren’t you just fucking adorable?” she said as she took his hand, then used it to pull him into a hug. “Now that’s how we Novotnys greet people. How long are you in town for?”

“Not sure yet,” Rob said. “Just playing it by ear.”

“Well, if you’ll be in town on Sunday, our whole family gets together for dinner every Sunday -- whoever’s in town. And this one,” she paused and poked Brian in the shoulder, “had better be there, because he needs a good meal. You’re more than welcome to come too. I’d love to have you.”

“Don’t even bother trying to say no to her,” Brian said. “It doesn’t work. I don’t think she knows the meaning of the word.”

“I wasn’t going to say no,” Rob said to Brian, before he turned to Debbie and smiled. “Thank you. We’ll be there.”

Rob and Brian spent the rest of the day at the hospital. Brian said Justin was waking up more often now than he had been, and his speech sounded better, but he still had a lot of holes in his memory. That hadn’t changed much at all since Justin had woken up. Brian described it as being like Justin had the basic storyline, but was missing a lot of the details. For example, he knew the nature of his and Brian’s relationship, but he didn’t remember the time they’d spent apart the year before they got married, nor did he remember their marriage. He couldn’t remember learning about Brian’s accident, or how they’d dealt with the effects of it. It was so odd, but Brian said the doctor had told them that spotty memory loss was normal. They were all just hoping it would resolve before too much longer.

Justin did get to eat some of the chicken parmesan, after a good bit of begging and pleading on his part with several nurses and one doctor. Rob had to laugh there -- Justin was sick of broth and jello, and Rob didn’t blame him. Besides, Rob had eaten some of the food Debbie had brought as well, and it was all delicious. He was really looking forward to Sunday, not only for the food, but also because he’d get to meet more of Brian’s Pittsburgh family.

They left in the early evening, after Jennifer finally made it back from her day at the office.

Rob’s stomach was growling, and Brian wanted a cup of coffee, so Rob pulled the car into the parking lot of a little diner where he hoped he could find some good comfort food. Maybe he’d even be able to convince Brian to eat something.

They had just found a table when Brian looked to their right and muttered, “Fuck.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s my goddamn mother and my sister and her fucking demon spawn. Right over there. Guess they must be having their holiday get-together. That’s the only reason I can think of that my mother would be eating at a restaurant. Even a five-star establishment like this.”

Rob looked in the direction Brian was, and saw two women and two young men sitting a couple of tables over. It looked like they had just finished their meal.

“Why don’t we go over and say hello?” Rob said. “I’d love to meet your family.”

“Was the way I just talked about them not enough to make it clear how much I definitely do not want to do that? Trust me, you don’t want to meet my family. Not my real one, anyway.”

However, it seemed it was too late for that. No sooner were those words out of Brian’s mouth, than Rob saw the younger woman, whom he presumed to be Brian’s sister, turn and look directly at Brian, then say something to the older woman who must have been their mother. Seconds later, the entire table of four was looking at Brian and Rob. And seconds after that, the older woman got up from her chair and approached their table. Behind her, Brian’s sister was still staring. The two young men at the table appeared to be in their 20s. The older one seemed to be shooting daggers at Brian with his eyes, while the younger one mostly looked like he didn’t want to be there, and also seemed to be a bit concerned about what was about to happen.

“Brian,” the older woman said. Her voice was cold. Not motherly at all. “I’m surprised to see you here in this neighborhood.”

“We were just passing through,” Brian said, just as coldly. “My friend here wanted some food.”

“Oh?” She turned toward Rob and looked him up and down. Her gaze paused at his chair, just like most strangers’ did, before she managed to draw it back up to make eye contact. She looked at Brian again and said, “I heard you got married. I guess I figured it would have been to that blonde boy you corrupted all those years ago. I thought you were still with him the last time I saw you. What was his name again?”

“Justin. And I was. And I did marry him. This is Rob. He’s just a friend. Rob, this is Joan, the woman who birthed me.”

Brian told her nothing more, which Rob thought was curious. He didn’t mention Justin being in the hospital. He didn’t mention Rob being from New York. Rob wondered if Brian’s mother even knew where he lived. He couldn’t imagine being that out-of-touch with his family. But, then again, this entire family dynamic was throwing him for a loop.

“Uh,” Rob sputtered, not sure what to say, but wanting to fill the uncomfortable silence. He decided to fall back on his midwestern manners and just say, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, my friend and I would like to have a private conversation,” Brian said. He turned to face Rob, staring straight at him and completely ignoring his mother, until she turned and walked away haughtily.

Brian’s sister and her two kids got up and followed Joan out of the restaurant. Brian’s sister shot him a dirty look as she turned to go, while the older boy was still looking at Brian as if he wished he could strike him dead with just his eyes, and the younger boy still looked like he wanted to stop it all, but didn’t know how. The bell above the door rang as they exited the diner, and Rob saw Brian let out a breath.

“Well, that was...interesting,” Rob said.

“I told you that you didn’t want to meet them. Bunch of homophobic assholes is all they are.”

“Is that what you grew up with?”

“Pretty much. Frigid bitch for a mother with a side of abusive, alcoholic father. They had a hateful marriage. My sister grew to hate me as we got older, for reasons I don’t even know. And my nephew once accused me of molesting him and got me hauled into the police station and nearly arrested.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. It was a great time. I met Michael when we were 14, and Debbie kind of took me under her wing. I can’t imagine how I would have turned out if it weren’t for the two of them. They showed me how family was supposed to be. What it was like to have someone care about you.”

“Well, I’m glad you found them, because you deserved better than what I just saw. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Brian shrugged and said, “It is what it is. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Rob tried to shift the conversation to more pleasant topics as Brian drank his coffee and Rob got the comfort food he’d been looking for. But he couldn’t ignore the familiar, far away look in Brian’s eyes when there would be a lull in the conversation.

The next day was a not-so-great day for Justin. He started physical and occupational therapy for his right hand, and it apparently hadn’t gone well. They took Justin away from the room for about an hour, during which time Rob and Brian went to the cafeteria to grab some food. When they got back to the room, Justin was alone, sitting up in the bed and looking out the window, with tears running down his face.

Brian immediately went into crisis-management mode, going straight to Justin’s side and taking his hand.

“Hey, Sunshine… What’s wrong?”

Justin held up his right hand and moved his fingers just slightly. “That’s all...I can do. And that took...an hour.”

“But that’s something, right? That’s more than you could do this morning. You know it takes time. You’ve been through this before.”

“Yes... I don’t want...to do it again.” Justin let his hand drop back to the bed.

“I know, Sunshine. I don’t want you to have to do it again, either. But you’ll get there. You know you will.”

“You don’t...know that.”

Brian looked away for a moment and swallowed. “No, I don’t,” he said, looking back up at Justin. “But I know you. And I know that you don’t just give up. You fight.”

“I can’t hold...a pencil. I just want...to draw. That’s me. I draw. I paint. That’s who...I am.”

“Justin, there are lots of options out there,” Rob interjected, almost hating to interrupt, but also not wanting to see Justin go down the path of despair that he seemed to be headed for. “You’d be surprised at how many different tools are out there to help with paralysis and physical deficits. And if something doesn’t already exist, we can make it. I’m sure we could figure it out.”

Brian nodded. “Yes, listen to him Justin. He knows. Remember Lindsay’s friend Adrienne? She’s a quadriplegic, and she still paints. Art is who you are, yes...but that doesn’t mean you should give up because it’s hard. It means you should find a way.”

Justin closed his eyes and bit his lip, as more tears fell from his eyes. Seconds later, he was sobbing, and Brian was trying to comfort him as best he could.

“I’ll, um… I’ll give you two some privacy,” Rob said. Brian nodded at him in silent acknowledgement as he continued comforting Justin.

Rob left the room and closed the door behind him, heading down the hallway, where he ran into Michael.

“I wouldn’t go in there right now,” Rob said. “Justin’s pretty upset. I left so they could be alone.”

The two of them ducked into a nearby waiting room to wait. Michael sank into a chair, looking uncomfortable, but Rob could see that the feeling wasn’t physical -- it was mental.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Michael suddenly spoke.

“So, you flew in all the way from New York?” he said.

“I did.”

“That’s a long way.”

“I’m sure you’d do the same if Justin had been in an accident in New York -- you would have come out to be there for Brian.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Michael let his voice trail off, but Rob was fairly sure that the rest of the thought would have been something along the lines of, “that’s different.”

Although it really wasn’t different at all.

“I guess I didn’t realize you guys were so close,” Michael said quietly, looking down at his hands.

“We’re pretty good friends, yeah.”

“I guess that makes sense. You two seem to have a lot in common. I’m not sure how much he and I have in common anymore, other than having been friends for more than 20 years. I wish I could see him all the time, the way we used to be.” Michael looked away wistfully. “I miss that. You’re lucky.”

“Michael, you’re important to him too. He talks about you all the time. How much you mean to him. That you and your mother saved him. What an impact you had on his life. It sounds like you think I’m replacing you, but I’m not. I couldn’t. He misses you too.”

“He does?”

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re his best friend.”

“He still says that?”

“Yeah, he does. You mean a lot to him, Michael. And you’ve been a big help to him through all of this. I’m just here to help even more -- to make that easier.”

Rob knew that he and Michael would be able to help Brian even more if they could work together, and the last thing he wanted to do was come between Brian and his best friend.

“Thanks,” Michael said. “I just miss him. Sometimes I’m afraid we’ll drift apart and I’ll lose him forever.”

“You won’t. You’re family. You’ll always love each other, and you’ll always be there for each other, even when you’re apart.”

Michael smiled and nodded. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

As the picture was coming together of what Brian had grown up with, Rob was starting to see just how important Brian’s Pittsburgh family probably was to him. Rob’s experience had been so different that it was difficult to imagine what Brian had gone through before he met Michael and his mother. Rob’s family was always loving, always accepting -- even when he’d come out to them in high school by telling them point-blank that he was going to the prom with a boy. He couldn’t wrap his mind around having a family that didn’t accept you for who you are, and just plain didn't care. It made him sad for Brian, in some ways. But in others, it made him realize just how strong Brian was, to overcome all of that and still turn out the way he had.

The next few days were relatively uneventful, with Justin continuing to make small improvements every day that seemed to be bolstering his confidence, although he was still a bit frustrated and depressed. Who wouldn’t be, in his situation? Brian seemed to be doing alright most of the time, too. Rob could tell he was feeling a bit better, physically, although Rob was still having to push him to eat and remind him to drink more water when he’d get distracted by one aspect or another of Justin’s situation. He still didn’t seem to be sleeping very well, though, and Rob wondered what was going on there. Just stress, maybe. That could certainly wear a person out.

On Sunday afternoon, they left Jennifer keeping Justin company, while Brian drove them over to Debbie’s house for Sunday dinner. He parked Rob’s rental car in the alley out back, and they went into the house through the back door without even knocking. The house was warm and cozy and smelled amazing, and Rob could see a steaming pan of something saucy and cheesy sitting on the counter.

“Hey, you two,” Debbie said, her hands busy chopping vegetables for the biggest bowl of salad Rob had ever seen in his life. “Make yourselves at home.”

“I wish I had someone to cook for me like this every Sunday,” Rob said as he took off his coat and handed it to Brian.

“If you lived here, I’m sure Deb would be more than happy to fatten you up,” Brian laughed. He took both of their coats over to the rack by the front door and hung them up, just as someone else knocked.

“Brian, will you get that, honey?” Debbie called from the kitchen.

“Honey?” Rob said, raising an eyebrow and grinning at Brian.

“Shut up,” Brian said as he opened the door. On the other side was a tall, thin man wearing a pink coat, standing alongside someone Rob recognized -- Drew Boyd, a player for the Pittsburgh Ironmen.

Brian introduced him to the man in the pink coat -- Emmett -- and of course, to Drew, even though Rob already knew him but was trying to play it cool. It turned out that Emmett and Drew were married. A few minutes later, Michael showed up with a tall, very muscular man that Brian introduced as Ben, Michael’s husband and Rob’s fellow zen master. Then came Ted, who was also the chief financial officer for Brian’s company, Kinnetik, and Blake, Ted’s husband, whom Rob would later learn was a counselor at a drug rehab center. Deb’s husband Carl came down from upstairs shortly after that, and it looked like everyone was there -- at least, all of the mismatched chairs crammed into the general vicinity around the table were accounted for.

“Is that everybody?” Brian asked. “I’m hungry.”

“Who are you, and what did you do with Brian Kinney?” Deb said, laughing. “Or are you trying to channel Sunshine? I swear, that kid is always hungry. Anyhow, we’re waiting for one more.”

Brian looked around, his eyebrows knitted together in a confused expression. “Who?”

Right then, Rob heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned around just in time to see Gus pop his head around the banister and say, “Me.” Gus came up to Brian and gave him a hug.

“I thought you would have gone back to Toronto with your moms,” Brian said.

“I don’t have to go back to school for another week. Grandma Debbie said I could stay with her.” Gus paused for a moment and bit his lip. “I wanted to spend some more time with you.”

Rob looked at Brian and his son and smiled. He’d known it would all work out in the end.

As they all gathered around the too-small table to share a meal, Rob could see how much this little mismatched family truly cared for one another. They laughed, and they teased one another, sometimes mercilessly, but beneath it all, there was always love. And Rob was really glad Brian had that, because everyone deserved to have that.

After the food was gone and the glasses of wine were nearly empty, Rob thanked Debbie for what had been one of the best meals he’d had in a long time -- the food as well as the company. “Thanks for welcoming me into your home,” he said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, honey. Welcome to our little family. Any friend of my youngest son is a friend of mine,” Deb said as she winked at Brian.

Brian gave her a small smile that almost looked shy.

“Thanks, mom.”

Frustration by TrueIllusion

“Does he always push himself this hard?”

“Even when he was a kid. He was so determined to ride his two-wheeler. He fell a hundred times -- his knees were a bloody mess -- but he kept at it until he learned how to stay up. He hasn’t changed. If he wants something, he won’t stop until he gets it.”

*****

Justin woke up with the worst headache he’d ever felt in his entire life. Worse than what he’d felt when he first woke up from a two-week coma after having his head bashed in with a baseball bat. The lights felt like they were burning his retinas, their fire going straight through to his brain in sharp, stabbing pulses. He could see shapes next to him, that slowly came together into people. Their faces gradually came into focus. His mother, and Brian. Sitting next to his bed.

Where was he? Was he in a hospital? What happened?

Brian and his mother both looked like they were about to cry, so it must have been serious, whatever it was.

He tried to ask, but the words felt stuck in his head. Like he couldn’t get them out. The only word he managed to force from his mind and out through his lips was Brian’s name.

He was so, so tired.

Sleep claimed him again before he could try to say anything more.

The passage of time was a mystery to Justin. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, or how much time was passing each time he’d open his eyes, try to communicate, and then fall back asleep again. He felt like he was stuck in a loop -- he kept repeating the process, over and over again, but he wasn’t getting anywhere.

It took several repetitions of that process before Justin finally managed to squeeze a few more words out of his head. He was frustrated and embarrassed by how much effort it took, and how certain words seemed to evade him. It was like he couldn’t think of them. Like all of the words he knew were locked inside a giant filing cabinet in his head, and he had some of the keys but not all of them, and the keys he did have, led to drawers that were packed with folders crammed full of words that didn’t make sense and weren’t what he wanted at all. The words he did want were lost somewhere inside the filing cabinet, and he had to dig through a lot of shit to find them.

He didn’t know how many completions of the sleep-wake cycle it took before he finally managed to ask, “What happened?”

Brian told him he was in a car accident. He’d barely had time to process those words when Brian added that he’d hit his head, there was swelling in his brain, and he’d been in a coma. It was so much information. He knew what the words meant, but trying to figure out how they related to him was making his head hurt even more than it already was. He kept looking at Brian, searching his face, as if somehow he’d find something there that would make everything make more sense.

Then, he noticed something was different about Brian. He wasn’t sitting in a regular chair. He was sitting in a wheelchair, and not the kind you’d be in temporarily -- the kind they used to move you around the hospital. It was a fancy one, like you’d be in if you had a permanent need for one. He tried to reconcile it with the Brian in his mind, but he couldn’t make it fit.

At first, he was afraid Brian had been with him in the car -- that he’d been hurt in the same accident, and somehow Justin had been waking up and falling asleep for even longer than he thought. But Brian said he hadn’t been in the car.

So he tried to ask Brian what happened to him, but Brian didn’t seem to understand. Justin was fairly sure he’d said the words correctly -- at least, he’d heard them correctly -- so why didn’t Brian understand what he was asking? It took several tries before Brian finally understood that Justin was asking about the wheelchair -- wanting to know why he was in it.

Brian said he was in an accident, and Justin felt like he was back to the drawing board. Wasn’t that what he’d just asked?

But Brian kept talking.

“I’ve been like this for a long time. Ten years.”

Ten years? Had Justin really lost ten years? He didn't feel like he'd lost ten years. He remembered some things that felt recent, but there were so many details missing.

He was desperately trying to figure out how on earth he’d somehow forgotten Brian being in a wheelchair for ten years, when a short woman in a white coat walked through the door, with a tablet under her arm. He assumed she was his doctor. She asked him how he was feeling.

He felt like it took him far too long to find the words to respond. All he managed to say was that his head hurt.

She told him that was normal -- which was not what he wanted to hear -- but that they’d try to adjust his pain medication. Okay, that was better.

Suddenly, he was back to being so tired he could barely hold his eyes open, and he ended up falling asleep again.

Every time he’d wake up, Justin would try to glean more and more information from Brian or his mother. He’d keep asking them questions, so long as he could find the words. The answers didn’t always make sense, but he kept trying to place them somehow in his confused brain.

He was starting to realize that there was a lot he couldn’t remember, and that made him frustrated. But Brian and his mother were patient, and answered all of his questions. They seemed to be trying to keep it as simple as they could, and Justin was thankful for that. He wasn’t sure how much he could take in and digest at this point. He was trying, but it felt like all of his efforts were in vain.

They must have adjusted his medication, because his head wasn’t pounding anymore -- it was more of a dull ache. Still irritating, but not as overwhelming. No longer having the distraction of feeling like his head was about to explode, he noticed for the first time that his right hand felt like it was asleep -- slightly numb. It felt like it weighed much more than it should. He lifted it up off the bed and looked at it, not sure what he thought he was going to see.

Brian took Justin’s hand and put it between both of his, but Justin couldn’t feel it. He could only see it. Brian smiled at him and told him they’d figure it out. Figure what out?

Then, a glint of metal in the light caught Justin’s eye. Brian was wearing a simple, silver-colored band on his left ring finger. Was Brian married? Were they married?

Justin managed to force out the first two words of the question, and that must have been enough.

Brian stared at him like he didn’t know what to say. His mother was the one who finally answered his question, after a few very long seconds of silence.

“Yes, sweetheart. You and Brian are married. It was a beautiful ceremony.”

They were married? There was a ceremony? Why couldn’t he remember it?

How much did he not remember?

Justin was starting to panic, internally, at the thought of how much time it seemed he’d forgotten. How many details. He’d always wanted to marry Brian -- how could he forget something as important as that? How could he forget Brian being paralyzed in an accident ten years before?

Suddenly, Brian disappeared from the room, and Justin was afraid he’d somehow upset him, which only added to his anxiety.

What the fuck was going on? When was all of this going to start to make sense? When was he going to remember?

His mother seemed to sense his anxiety, and brushed his hair back off her forehead with his hand.

“It’s alright, honey,” she said. Her voice was gentle and made him feel like he was a kid again. “I’m sure it will all come back to you. You just need to rest for now, okay?”

“Brian,” he said. That was all he could get out. Goddamn it, he hated this so much.

“He’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t think he’s feeling well. But I don’t think it has anything to do with you. I’m sure he’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Justin whispered. Just having that brief conversation had sapped all of his energy. He wanted so badly to stay awake, but he couldn’t. His eyes were closing all of their own accord, and he soon gave in to unconsciousness yet again.

Justin didn't see Brian for more than 24 hours after that. He spent the day Brian was missing searching his jumbled-up brain for memories of their wedding, and coming up empty no matter how hard he tried. He wanted so badly to remember it. He needed to remember it.

He talked to Brian on the phone, but just for a few minutes. Brian sounded as tired as Justin felt. Justin was worried about him. His mom had told him that Brian was sick, and that was why he hadn’t come to the hospital, but that only left Justin wondering what was going on. What was wrong with Brian? And was it somehow his fault?

Justin had so many questions -- about everything -- but he felt like he couldn’t get them out. The words wouldn’t come, even if he could find the energy to stay awake long enough to try to ask.

Daphne came to visit him that day, too, since she had to go back to Ohio later that night. She kept trying to encourage him, echoing what his doctors had already said -- that memory loss was normal after a traumatic brain injury and could very well be temporary. But Justin noticed that she didn’t say it was probably temporary. She just said that it could be, and that left the door open for it to be permanent.

Justin kept hoping Brian would show up, but he didn’t. Justin was desperate to see him and talk to him -- to try to fill in more holes in his memory, and to reassure himself that Brian was okay. But his mother said Brian probably wouldn’t be coming -- that he needed to rest. She did help Justin make Brian a video, though, and said that she would show it to him later that night, when she went to check on him.

In it, he told Brian that he loved him and he missed him, because he kept remembering how sad Brian had looked, even when he was smiling, every time Justin had seen him since he’d first woken up. And, for good measure, he told Brian he’d better take care of himself, because even with his spotty memory, he knew that Brian would never see his own needs as more important than Justin’s, and that it was probably really hard for him to stay away.

It was hard for Justin not to see Brian, too, but Justin wasn’t going to bring that up. He didn’t want to make Brian feel guilty.

Justin wished he had more of a point of reference for what might be going on with Brian. He still felt so gobsmacked by the news that Brian had been in a wheelchair for ten years. Justin wondered what that entailed -- what it was like. He wondered if it was kind of like what he was feeling in his right hand -- sort of like it wasn’t even his, and he could try to move it in his mind, but it wouldn’t respond. He also wondered if whatever was going on with Brian was some kind of a complication of that. He felt like he had a lot he would need to learn -- or relearn, he supposed -- just so he would know how to be a better partner to Brian.

He’d always been one to call out Brian’s bullshit -- he remembered that, for sure -- but now he was feeling like he might not even be able to spot it.

Justin wished that he could go with his mother to see Brian, but he was stuck in that stupid hospital bed.

The thing Justin hated the most about the ICU was the fact that he ended up alone every night. He hated waking up, even briefly, and seeing that no one was there. He was looking forward to being moved to a regular room, which sounded like it was going to happen soon. But really, what he wanted was to go home. With Brian. He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to have that for a while, though. And that was depressing.

This whole ordeal was incredibly depressing. But Justin was just trying to make it through to the other side, even though it was hard.

The day that Brian wasn’t there, Justin felt like he was finally making strides toward being more like himself. Talking wasn’t as hard, and his mother was helping him try to fill in the holes in his memory. They talked a lot about Brian. And Justin felt like things were finally looking up.

Then, the next morning, discontent was once again the name of the game, as Justin felt as if all of the progress he’d made with speech the day before had been snatched away. Brian was there, but Justin struggled to talk to him. Trying to speak made his head hurt, and he couldn’t find most of the words he wanted. He kept having to stop and search for them, and it was embarrassing and frustrating. He hated for Brian to see him like that.

He did, at least, get to move out of the ICU that morning though, so that was one good thing.

Another very good thing came later.

Justin woke up from one of the many naps that his body and brain would force on him, only to see Brian watching a soap opera. It was such a strange sight, that it made Justin blink a few extra times, wondering if he was still asleep or was hallucinating somehow, because, well, brain injury. But nothing changed, so it appeared to be reality -- and a hilarious one, at that. So he called Brian out on it, teasingly, as best he could given his incredibly fucking irritating limited capacity for speech that day. Brian called him a twat, and that made him laugh, even in spite of how annoyed he was with his situation. But most of all it helped things feel even more normal instead of completely inside-out like they had been. It was small, sure, but it made a difference.

Then, Brian took a ring out of his jacket pocket, and Justin wanted to cry. He didn’t, but he wanted to. Instead, he smiled -- a smile that spread across his face all of its own accord. When Brian put that ring back on his finger, Justin was completely overwhelmed, but it was a good kind of overwhelmed. It was yet another thing that made him feel like he could get back to normal. He just hoped that normal was something at least close to what it had been before, even if he couldn’t exactly remember what that was like.

For some reason, having that ring back on his finger felt like magic. And when he spoke to Brian after the older man slid it on, all of his words came out perfectly.

“This was what I always wanted. I’m glad I have it. I have you.”

He meant every word, and he was so grateful to not have to struggle to say it. Yes, maybe things were getting back to normal, even if it was slow going.

The next day, Justin was surprised to see Brian show up with Rob, who he knew was one of their friends from New York. Actually, for a moment, it made Justin question whether or not he was in Pittsburgh, because he was so surprised to see Rob, but that was quickly settled. It felt so bizarre to Justin that he remembered Rob -- and actually remembered that Rob was paralyzed too -- but not that Brian was. And it made his head throb to try to figure that out, so he stopped trying. But he was glad to see Rob, because he knew Rob would probably be able to help Brian, since Justin couldn’t right now. And Brian looked like he needed something -- he looked exhausted.

Even lying in a hospital bed, it was hard for Justin to put himself first and not think of what he could do to try make things better or easier for Brian, much like how Brian would always put Justin above himself. When they were together, though, it just worked. They took care of each other. They always had. Now, Justin had a new context for this, knowing that he and Brian were married -- partners in every sense of the word. Only Justin wasn’t feeling like much of a husband or partner at the moment.

Everything seemed good that day. He got to eat Debbie’s chicken parmesan, and he spent a lot of time talking to his mother and Brian and Rob. He felt more awake and aware than had the entire time he’d been in the hospital. Talking was okay that day. His hand still felt weird, and he still couldn’t move it, but other than that, things were getting to be more and more normal.

The day after that was when everything went to hell again.

It started off okay, with Brian and Rob in the room with him and Justin begging Brian to let him have just a little bit of his coffee, and Brian telling him no but eventually giving in with a roll of his eyes and a grumbled, “Christ, the things you can make me do. If you tell your doctor I did this, you’re a dead man.” He asked Rob about his family -- Adam and Esmeralda and Sophia, because he remembered them too, strangely enough. Why could he remember all of these tangential details of the past decade, but not the things that had likely played a huge part in shaping the course of his and Brian’s lives? Why was his brain blocking those things out? It didn’t make any sense.

The nurses told Justin that morning that he’d be starting therapy later that day. That was a good thing, he thought, because it meant he was one step closer to blowing this popsicle stand and getting what he really wanted -- to get back to his regular life. He didn’t know why he didn’t think about just how hard it would be. Brain injury, he guessed. He was skipping steps and wasn’t really thinking about what the process would be like.

And that was exactly what it was -- a fucking process. And it was really fucking hard. He should have known it would be, because the entire thing felt like going back in time. He’d been there before, and he knew how hard it was and how upsetting it had been to struggle to wrap his fingers around a tennis ball or pick up a single paper clip and put it in a plastic cup. How demeaning it had felt to have people praising those actions and telling him he did a good job. He didn’t know why he’d somehow thought this would be any different or any easier. It wasn’t. And Justin was quickly faced with the stark reality that it was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life, to come back from this.

The first time, he’d been so driven -- not only because it was just who he was, but because he wanted to get out of the rehab center as quickly as possible so he could go see Brian. Since Brian apparently hadn’t seen fit to come see him, he’d have to go to Brian. (Of course, he found out later that Brian really had been there. And it made Justin wish he would have come during the day instead of skulking around at night, even though he knew why Brian had done everything in secret. He didn’t think he deserved to be there. That was just Brian.)

So he did what needed to be done so he could go home, then snuck out to Liberty Avenue to find Brian, and succeeded. Justin had put his mind to what he wanted, and he did whatever it took to get it. That was just who he was. It was who he’d always been. But being that person felt so much more difficult this time. He wasn’t sure he could do it all again. It was like something fundamental inside him had changed. He felt like the person he always had been was so far away, fading off in the distance, perhaps never to be seen again.

Maybe that was brain injury too. Maybe it had changed who he was. And not exactly for the better. But what the fuck was there to do to stop it?

Nothing, that’s what. Not a goddamn thing.

The first thing the physical and occupational therapists wanted to do was evaluate him -- see what he could do, see exactly where he was, so they’d know how to start, they said. Only the answer to “what he could do” with his right hand was a big, fat nothing. He still couldn’t feel it, and he could tell it to move, but it wouldn’t move. He’d cursed and yelled and they’d told him to calm down. They’d patronized him -- reached out and touched his arm, trying to be reassuring, only Justin didn’t want to be touched. He let his anger and frustration lead the way through the rest of his session with both therapists, trying desperately to squeeze out anything he could from his hand -- anything at all.

They kept asking him questions, but he was having even more trouble finding the words. That only upset him more. He got so angry that he cried at one point, which was embarrassing. He felt like he had no control over his emotions. They kept telling him that he needed to relax and calm down, and that would probably help with everything -- his speech as well as his hand -- but that was easy for them to say. Who the hell could calm down when you made your living as an artist and couldn’t even open or close your fingers, much less hold a pencil or a paintbrush or even the goddamn stylus for a computer? And how would they know how it felt to want to say something so badly but to feel like the words were stuck in your goddamn head?

He couldn’t calm down. He didn’t want to, either.

By the time Justin got back to his room, he was ready to scream. A nurse tried to help him back into bed, but he didn’t want help. That was one thing he could do -- he could stand, and he could walk, with no problem. In fact, he was getting so good at that, that he was now allowed to go to the bathroom by himself, and they weren’t even raising the bed all the way or putting up all of the railings anymore. At least he still had one shred of independence to cling to, even if everything else was shit.

Justin kept looking down at his hand, trying to make it do what he wanted, only to have it not respond. He hit it on the mattress a few times -- at least he could still move his arm -- before his anger suddenly melted into a deep sadness. He’d lost something here -- something important -- and he had no idea if he’d ever get it back. The tears came, and Justin felt powerless to stop them. They weren’t even cleansing -- they were just...there.

And that was when Brian and Rob came back into the room. Whether it was good timing or really, really bad timing, Justin didn’t know. He guessed it didn’t really matter. He felt like nothing did, anymore.

Brian tried to comfort him, but he didn’t seem to understand what it felt like to want something so badly but not be able to do it. Yes, Justin knew that it took time. He knew that he’d done it before. But the trouble was, he didn’t want to do it again. Somewhere, deep down inside, he felt like this time was different. And that wasn’t helping him feel better at all.

Rob and Brian were both telling him that there were things he could do to continue being an artist, even if nothing changed from where he was right then. But Justin didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to do things differently. He wanted them to be like they were before.

He didn’t want to “find a way.” He just wanted to go back in time and keep all of this from happening.

He felt powerless. And he didn’t like that.

The tears fell more quickly, and they didn’t want to stop. Justin could feel Brian rubbing his arms and whispering to him and telling him that it was okay, that everything was okay. But nothing was okay and Brian should have known that.

“I can’t even...feel it.” Justin had to force the words out through the tears. It took far too much effort to speak, but this needed to be said. “Do you know...what that’s...like? How can I...use it...if I can’t...feel it?”

“I do know what that’s like,” Brian said softly. He looked so, so sad. “That’s how my legs feel. Like they’re not even there, or like they belong to somebody else. It sucks sometimes. And I can try to move them in my mind, but they don’t do anything. I can’t even wiggle a toe, not even a little bit. But it’s not the same. The spinal cord isn’t like the brain. The brain can adapt, rework, and retrain. You know that. You just have to keep trying.”

“But what if...I...don’t want...to?” He definitely didn’t want to. And quite frankly, he had no idea how Brian was dealing with his own injury -- Justin couldn’t imagine it being his whole lower body, instead of just his hand. He would have been devastated. How was Brian seemingly so okay with it? He wanted to ask Brian about that, but it was too much effort.

“Justin…” Brian had a desperate look in his eyes as he gripped Justin’s hands even tighter. “This isn’t you. You don’t give up. You fight.”

“I can’t… I don’t…” Goddamn it. He couldn’t even find the words to complete the sentence. He suddenly realized they were alone, and that he didn’t even remember Rob leaving the room. But Justin didn’t particularly want to be alone with Brian right now. He just wanted to be alone, period.

“Even if you don’t think you can right now, you have to.”

“I don’t...want to.”

“Move over,” Brian said suddenly.

Justin looked at Brian, confused, then saw him move his wheelchair closer to the bed, scoot himself forward in it, and move his feet off the footplate.

“Move over,” he said again.

Justin scooted off to the side a bit, then watched as Brian made a fist and pressed it into the mattress as he lifted his body and slid it onto the bed next to him. He picked his legs up one by one and set them on the bed as well, then scooted closer to Justin.

Once Brian got himself situated on the bed, he turned to face Justin, putting his hands on Justin’s shoulder’s.

“Listen to me,” he said, staring straight into Justin’s eyes with a penetrating gaze that made Justin want to look away, but he didn’t. Hazel bore into baby blue with a seriousness and determination that Justin wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from Brian before. “You are bigger than this. You will get through this. It might not seem like you will right now, and I promise I’ve been there too and I know it sucks, but you will get through it. And I’ll be right here with you every step of the way. I love you, and I want to help you. I’ll do that in any way I can. Because you’re my husband, and I love you.”

Then, Brian wrapped his arms around Justin so tightly that Justin could scarcely breathe, but he wasn’t going to say anything because even though it was uncomfortable, it also felt so, so good. Brian closed his eyes and buried his face in Justin’s collarbone, and Justin could hear and feel his breath, which was slightly unsteady.

“Brian…” he whispered. “Are you…”

Brian opened his eyes and looked at Justin. Justin could see they were shining with tears. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “I’ve just wanted to do this for a long time. I haven’t been able to hold you…” He paused and kissed Justin, long and slow. “...or kiss you. It’s been too long.”

They were both each other’s anchor. They always had been. Even with as many things as Justin couldn’t remember, he did know that for sure. Justin hated that he’d left Brian adrift for a while. He didn’t know why he couldn’t shake these feelings of guilt over something he couldn’t control. He knew it didn’t make sense for him to be worried about Brian when he had so many things to deal with himself. Maybe it provided distraction, to try to focus on Brian for a little while instead of thinking about everything he had bearing down on him right now. Because Justin had no idea how he was going to get through all of this again, even with Brian’s help.

He knew that Brian loved him, and that Brian would do anything for him. Only this time, Justin wasn’t sure there was anything Brian could do. There was nothing anybody could do.

And it wasn’t just his hand -- it was his speech too. As if he didn’t already have enough to be frustrated by, they added speech therapy to his plate the next day. He was so overwhelmed already, and the last thing he wanted was someone advising him to “talk more slowly” because he felt like he was already talking slowly enough. He loved to talk. He didn’t want to talk slowly -- what he wanted to know was how to stay in the space where words came more easily. It happened sometimes, and it gave him a tiny bit of hope, but it never stuck around long enough.

What he didn’t want to do was exercises that had him naming words and things and using flashcards like a fucking child. He failed to see how that was going to help -- the words were there, inside his head. He just couldn’t find them when he needed them.

When it was really bad, he would rather just not talk at all, but he was told that he couldn’t do that. He had to keep trying -- not just when it was hard, but especially when it was hard. Everyone who came into his room kept talking to him and asking him questions and expecting him to answer. He knew they were trying to help, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept that he was apparently going to have to really work at being able to speak normally.

It was much easier to just let himself fall into the downward spiral, lost in his thoughts of how he’d never use his hand again, never talk like a normal person again, and never remember his own wedding.

His doctor asked him to start keeping a log of things he remembered, to help him start piecing everything together. Really, it was just another reminder of how fucked he was, because he couldn’t even write anything down. He tried to do it on his phone instead, but it was practically impossible to do using only his left hand, even with the accessibility apps Rob had installed for him. While Justin was ambidextrous, he hadn’t really put it to much use since he was a kid. He’d always favored his right hand, and now it was out of commission. And without being able to use the on-screen keyboard very well, his only alternative seemed to be speaking, which was definitely a no-go. So he was stuck. Confronted with yet another simple thing he couldn’t manage to do.

“I can’t fucking...do this,” he said, disgusted with both himself as well as the situation, as he threw the phone back to the mattress.

“Yes, you can,” Brian said. “We’ll find another way. Tell me what would make it easier, and we’ll do that. Maybe an actual keyboard. What do you want? What would help you the most?”

“Nothing will. Maybe a...time machine.”

“Justin,” Brian sighed. “I know this sucks, but things aren’t going to get any better if you don’t try. Don’t you want to try to remember?”

Justin shrugged. He was starting to get irritated with Brian’s insistence that he “find another way” to do practically everything. What he wanted to do was wallow. He didn’t want to find another way. He’d come to accept exactly where he was, and that nothing significant seemed to be changing.

“Alright, how about a game, then?” Brian said.

Justin shrugged again. He didn’t really think anything was going to help, but he’d humor Brian.

“Scoot over,” Brian said. Justin did, and Brian joined him on the bed. “Let’s just talk about things, and we’ll see if it helps you remember. We can think of it like we’re playing ‘remember when.’”

Justin reluctantly participated that first time, but found that it did actually help him remember a few things. So they kept doing it.

They’d play their game every evening. Brian would join Justin on the bed, and they’d just talk. Brian would share a little bit of something, then they’d see if Justin could fill in the rest with what he remembered. Whoever else happened to be in the room at the time could participate as well -- his mother, Rob, Debbie, Gus, Michael...anybody who knew anything about Justin’s past was fair game. And it really did help. Justin was remembering a little bit more every day, and things were starting to make more sense. It wasn’t perfect, by any means, but it was getting better. And the more he talked, the better his speech got as well. Again, still not perfect, but better.

And it was just nice to spend a couple of hours next to Brian in the bed, with Brian’s arm around him. Sharing an occasional kiss if they were alone. There were even a couple of times that Brian fell asleep on Justin’s shoulder. It was nice, just being close.

And it reminded Justin of how badly he wanted to be back in New York, where they could do that all the time. He wondered if maybe being back there would help him remember.

One night, Justin and Brian were alone together in his hospital room, sitting on the bed, swapping stories, Brian’s arm around Justin and Justin’s head resting on Brian’s shoulder.

“You know what my...favorite memory is...ever?” Justin said.

“What’s that?”

“When you surprised me...at my prom. I was dancing with...Daphne...she tapped me on the shoulder...and pointed behind me. When I turned around...there you were. You looked amazing...in your tuxedo. You said you were...only there to recapture your lost youth...but I knew you were there...because you loved me...even if you’d never admit it. We danced...we were the only ones...on the floor. Everyone was...staring. It was...amazing. I remember...looking in your eyes...seeing you...smile. Then you...spun me around...and you...kissed me. And I really...knew. You loved me. That was the...best night of my life. Even knowing...how it ended. It was still...the best.”

Justin turned toward Brian with the intention of asking what Brian’s favorite memory was, but Brian was staring straight ahead, hardly breathing at all.

“Brian...are you okay?” Justin was suddenly sorry he’d brought up the prom. He’d thought he was sharing a happy memory that might make Brian smile, the same way it had made him smile. He hadn’t thought about the fact that it might not have the same connotation for Brian, given that he knew it had ended in him having to watch Chris Hobbs hit Justin in the head with a bat, and Brian holding Justin’s limp body as he waited for the ambulance.

Brian turned toward Justin, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You never remembered that,” he whispered. “Not until just now.”

“Oh.” Justin really didn’t know what to say. He felt like he’d always remembered it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...to upset you.”

“You didn’t, Sunshine.” Brian smiled, but it looked a little bit...unsure, Justin thought. “I’m glad you remembered it. The good parts, anyway.”

Justin wrapped his arms around Brian and hugged him. They sat like that for a long time -- holding each other. Supporting each other. Partners. Husbands.

And Justin could swear he felt dampness on his shoulder, where Brian’s cheek was resting.

The next day, preparations were being made to discharge Justin from the hospital and send him to inpatient rehab for at least a few weeks, since he still required several hours a day of therapy for his hand and his speech, as well as his memory and a couple of other minor cognition problems that had shown themselves as time had gone on. Justin thought this would mean going home, to New York -- finally. But his hopes were crushed when he found out that Brian and his doctors had been working on transferring him to a rehab facility in Pittsburgh -- the same one, it turned out, where Brian had spent a month after his accident.

“This is a good thing, Sunshine,” Brian said as he finished packing up the few articles of clothing Justin had with him at the hospital. “It means you’re getting better.”

“But I don’t want to go… Not there.” Justin was trying to fight back the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes, but he couldn’t. “I want to go...home. New York. With you.”

He saw Brian’s gaze fall, and the look in his eyes change completely, from hopeful to heartbroken. Justin hated that he’d made Brian feel that way.

“I know, Sunshine,” Brian said quietly. Justin could hear Brian’s voice break as he took Justin’s hands in his. “I know. So do I. But if we stay here for just a little while longer, then we’ll have a little more help. You’ll have your mom...and Debbie. More people means more support. Trust me, you want that. Even if you don’t think you do...you do.” He paused for a moment, then -- so softly that Justin wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it -- added, “I need that too.”

Justin knew that Brian was right, and he didn’t want Brian to have to help him through this alone, but he couldn’t push away the thought that he really just wanted Brian, and to be home, in New York, in their bed. Really, he wanted for everything to be back to normal.

But for right now, normal was just out of reach.

Rehabilitation by TrueIllusion

“There must be something you can give him.”

“Drugs can’t fix everything.”

“Where did you hear that?”

*****

He couldn’t do this alone. He knew that much.

As badly as Brian wanted to just pack Justin up and take him back home to New York, find a rehab center there, and be back in his own apartment where everything was comfortable and just worked for him with no muss, fuss, or struggle, he knew that it was best if they stayed in Pittsburgh, at least for a little while longer.

He still had so much he had to take care of -- getting all of his routines back in order and sorting out the car and trying to get past all of these nightmares and flashbacks and trying to figure out what Justin was going to need, long-term, to help him once they did get home. The thought of trying to do all of that while being Justin’s main support was overwhelming, to say the least. Brian needed some other people to take things off of his plate whenever possible. And that was hard for him to admit, so just the fact that he was letting people do that, was huge.

He would have Rob if they went back to New York, sure, but he didn’t want to put all of this off on him. He felt bad enough having taken him away from his family. It didn’t matter that Rob had told him that it was no big deal. To Brian, it was a big deal. He never wanted to be a burden on anyone. He’d spent enough time feeling that way growing up. In his adult life, he was willing to do anything to avoid it, including running himself into the ground because he didn’t want to let people do things for him. And, if he was being honest, the reason he didn’t want to let them do it was because he didn’t want to have to think of why they were doing it -- because they cared about him -- and he didn’t want to have to think about what that meant. It was all a vicious cycle that he knew he’d been stuck in his entire life and didn’t know how to break. He’d tried to get better about accepting help and the fact that people cared about him, but he still couldn’t quite get past it. Not completely. If not accepting help caused him harm, so what? Maybe he deserved it. That feeling was just another manifestation of the vicious cycle that had started so many years ago, long before he ever met any of the people he now thought of as his family.

Old habits were really, really hard to break.

So, they were staying in the Pitts, at least for now. And that meant Brian was going to have to confront some demons, since Justin would be going to the same place where Brian had spent a month after his own accident.

He already felt like he was having to face down so much from his past, with the nightmares that continued to plague him nearly every night. If he was exhausted enough, he could usually manage to sleep through the night, but only if he was so tired he could barely hold his eyes open. On an average night, he was waking up at least once, usually two or three times, breathless and sweating and so unsettled that it was difficult if not impossible to go back to sleep.

He’d talked with Rochelle on the phone a couple of times, but it wasn’t making much difference yet. Really, all it was doing was making him feel even more wrung-out, because not only was he seeing and reliving the horrors every night, but he was also having to relay them to a third party and then try to answer questions about what he thought was going on, or why he felt so much blame when it came to so many things that she said weren’t his fault. It was as hard for Brian to accept Rochelle saying it wasn’t his fault as it had been for him to accept Justin saying it so many years ago. He never quite believed it, and he wasn’t sure how he could get to the point that he did.

Rochelle seemed confident that they wouldn’t have to go the route of medication -- and she wanted to stick with that approach, particularly since he wasn’t in New York yet and she said the psychiatrist who worked in their office would want to see him in person before prescribing anything -- but she said it would take time. Even with medication, it would take time, because it wasn’t a magic fix. It treated symptoms. It didn't deal with the underlying issue. That took time. Brian didn’t want to take that time. He was getting desperate. He needed to sleep, and he wanted nothing more than a blank mind and dreamless slumber, even if it came with the help of drugs. But Rochelle wasn’t budging on that.

Brian was tired of not sleeping. He was tired of hurting and feeling phantom pains because he was so stressed out and exhausted at the same time. He was tired of feeling like there was nothing he could do and like he was never going to get to the other side of this. At least he wasn’t having to take a piss every couple of hours anymore, and he wasn’t feeling physically ill anymore. He was just...spent. Completely worn out.

If he could just sleep, maybe he’d feel better. But for right now, he was stuck.

He had, at least, finally gotten to spend some time with Gus over the past week, although not as much as he would have liked. He could tell Gus was worried about him, even though Brian had tried his best to act like everything was okay -- aside from what obviously wasn’t, of course. There was no reason for Gus to know about the nightmares or why Brian was so tired. It might not have been the quality father-son time that Brian wished he could have given, but Gus seemed happy with meals at the diner and accompanying Brian to the hospital for a few days, before he had to go back home to Canada.

Brian bought his plane ticket, and took him to the airport, and promised him that they’d have him down to New York for a visit before much longer. Gus loved the city, and hoped to move there after he graduated from high school. Brian was looking forward to that, because he hated being separated from his son by such a distance. He’d even hated the idea when Lindsay and Melanie first brought it up, but he’d acquiesced when Lindsay told him that holding them hostage wasn’t going to make up for lost time and missed opportunities, and that he’d still get to spend time with Gus every summer. She’d kept her promise, and sent Gus to stay with Brian (and later, Brian and Justin) for a couple of weeks every summer, but it was never enough. Gus was always reluctant to go home, and Brian was always reluctant to send him back, just like he himself was always reluctant to leave when he’d go to Toronto for birthdays or holidays. He kept wishing he could turn back time and take more of an active role in the first four years of Gus’s life, but that was water under the bridge now. It couldn’t be changed. He hadn’t been ready for it then. He was now, and that was all he could focus on. Not what he could have done or should have done in the past, but what he could do now.

Rob was always telling him how much better it was to live in the now -- to not be stuck in the past or worried about the future. But that was a hard thing for Brian to even attempt at the moment, particularly with Justin’s future so uncertain.

Even though he didn’t always want to hear what Rob had to say -- particularly when it sounded like a motivational quote you might find going viral on social media -- Brian was glad that he was there. He was glad to have someone to talk to. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anyone to talk to before Rob had arrived -- he did have Jennifer and Debbie and Michael -- but Rob understood Brian on a different level. Brian felt like Rob knew a different version of him than his Pittsburgh family did, and that had less to do with disability than it had to do with maturity. Not comparing him to what he had been in his past, particularly the things he wasn’t proud of. Sometimes, Brian felt like his Pittsburgh family had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he’d grown and changed and was different now as a person. Some of it was a result of his accident, sure, but most of it was just because he’d grown older. Grown up. Rob had never known any Brian except the one that came to be after his accident. After he went to live in New York. After he’d come to accept what had happened to him and that he needed to move on with his life. Rob didn’t know the “before.”

With Rob, the ghost of Brian’s past never haunted him.

But Brian was about to encounter the memory of his past self, whether he was prepared to or not.

Brian wasn’t sure how he felt about revisiting the place where he’d wanted so badly to turn back time or try to act like his life hadn’t changed forever. Looking back now, he almost felt ashamed of the way he’d acted when he was in rehab. The way he’d treated people. People who were just trying to help. Not just the people whose job it was to do so, but his family too. He’d just been so angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his situation. So angry that he couldn’t see past it. The frustration he’d felt back then had completely obscured his view of everything else that there was -- like the fact that he was still alive, and that things weren’t any worse.

And he knew that right now, Justin felt the same. Angry. Frustrated.

Justin’s emotions had been all over the place for the past week. He’d had days when he’d raged -- sometimes getting so angry that he cried. He’d had days when he’d barely spoken to anyone. He’d had days when he seemed so despondent that Brian wondered if he was even going to try to get better. And those were the days that scared Brian the most.

Brian had been there. He didn’t know if Justin believed him when he said that he had, but he had. He knew exactly how Justin felt. And that made it even more scary. Because he knew how much effort it had taken -- and how long it had taken -- for him to really pull himself out of the hole of darkness and despair.

He also knew that Justin had played a critical role in pulling him out of that hole. Brian was determined to support Justin in the same way, even if Justin resisted. Brian knew that there was hope -- that even if absolutely nothing changed physically for Justin from this point forward, they could find a way for him to still be able to live his life and do his art and be independent. But Justin had to want to accept that. Right now, he didn’t.

Brian had been there, too. He’d faked it for a while, but he hadn’t truly made it until almost a year after he was injured. And again, Justin had played an important part in helping him see what he couldn’t see for himself. What he hadn’t wanted to see.

Brian knew what he needed to do -- support Justin and just be there -- but that didn’t make it any easier to watch the carnage in the meantime, waiting for Justin to come around. He wondered if Justin had felt that same way ten years before.

Justin was transferred to the rehab center on a Monday in early January. It was a tumultuous day, to say the least.

Justin was pissed. He barely spoke to Brian for most of the day, which gave Brian plenty of time to stare at the four walls and remember what life had felt like ten years before. How much he’d felt like Justin did right now. How frustrated he’d been. Embarrassed by what he couldn't do. Not at all reassured by people telling him it would get easier. How much he’d hated needing help with absolutely everything short of feeding himself. How he’d still been in so much pain, and how the oral medications didn’t even seem to be touching it. How he was always hot and uncomfortable and had to stay in that stupid brace all day. How he’d tried to put on a neutral face when people would visit -- to look like he was handling things okay, so they wouldn’t ask too many questions -- but inside, he’d felt like he was dying. Like he didn’t know if he’d ever feel happy again. If he’d ever be able to move on and be okay with spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Brian had a fleeting thought that Justin had it good, by comparison. He knew he shouldn’t be comparing their two situations -- they were different, and just because Justin could walk didn’t invalidate what he was feeling or how devastating it probably was to be in the shape he was in. Brian was all too aware of that.

But it was so hard to watch Justin not even try. That wasn’t Justin at all. And Brian didn’t know what to do to get back the Justin he knew -- the one who would push himself relentlessly until he got what he wanted.

He guessed he’d just keep trying to get Justin to do things that might lift his spirits, but he knew that would likely prove to be difficult to accomplish.

Brian had borrowed a computer from the Kinnetik offices, and he and Rob had set it up in Justin’s room first thing in the morning. Brian remembered how much it had helped him to start doing some work again when he got out of the hospital, even though Ted and Cynthia had told him not to. It was a nice distraction, and it felt good to do something normal. Brian hoped Justin might feel like trying to draw, if he had a means to do so. Justin’s occupational therapist at the hospital had recommended using a device that he could attach to his hand that would hold the stylus steady, so that he didn’t need to grip it with his fingers. Brian made sure that Justin had it. But Justin had looked at it like it offended him, and Brian felt just as lost as he had all those years ago when he’d bought Justin his first computer for his artwork -- he’d only been trying to help, and he’d been soundly rejected. Now, the same thing was happening again.

Rob was full of ideas for ways they could help Justin, but Justin was shooting all of them down. He had an attitude with Brian. He had an attitude with Rob. He had an attitude with every single person who came into the room or tried to talk to him.

It was mid-afternoon when Brian encountered the first familiar face that he remembered from his own time as a patient there -- one of the occupational therapists he’d worked with, who had helped him learn to transfer and adapt to doing everything from a sitting position. She looked at him like she thought she recognized him, but then shook her head like she couldn’t quite figure it out, then went on to lead Justin to the room where they’d be working together. Brian could tell Justin didn’t want to go, but he went with surprisingly little actual protest. Maybe he did recognize that all of this was for his own good, after all.

After they left the room, Brian ended up in front of the computer, figuring that he might as well use the time when he wasn’t focused on Justin to check his email and try to get back to doing at least some work. He’d been at that for a little more than half an hour when he heard Rob’s voice say, “Knock knock,” from the doorway.

“Hey,” Brian said as he finished his last few keystrokes and closed the window before turning to face his friend. “How was the coffee shop?”

“Just as good as any, I’d imagine. Good tea, good people watching, and I got some stuff done. So it’s all good in my book.”

“I hope I’m not keeping you from doing anything you need to do.”

“For god’s sake, Brian, how many times have I told you--”

“I know, I know. You want to be here.”

“Yes. Now what’s it going to take for you to believe me?”

Brian sighed but didn’t answer.

“How about we get you some coffee? Get you out of this room,” Rob said. “They got anything decent in the cafeteria here?”

“Eh, it’s coffee. Does the trick.”

The two of them went down to the cafeteria, where Brian bought his coffee and Rob ended up with more tea. Brian didn’t understand how Rob functioned without caffeine, but he seemed dead-set on avoiding it.

“So,” Rob said, after they’d chosen a table and pushed two of its chairs aside. “I can’t imagine it’s easy to be back here. For you.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel. This isn’t about me. It’s about Justin.”

“Don’t give me that shit again. Trust me, I know how it is. And it absolutely does matter how you feel. I know when I went to rehab, I wasn’t in a good place at all.”

“And here I thought you always had it all together.”

“Nope, not at all. Remember, you met me fourteen years out. Imagine yourself now, plus four more years. That’s the version of me you met. Things were a whole lot different in rehab. I was 22. I felt like everything changed for me right when I was on the precipice of my adult life, and that was hard to accept. Like I’ve told you before, I’d just graduated from college, gotten a job, and I was supposed to start the next week. I lost that job, and then I had to figure out how to do everything in a new way, while at the same time figuring out how to start living my adult life too. This isn’t easy. I don’t think it really matters where you are or why you’re here -- it means something has changed, and you have to work around it and accept it. That’s hard. I know I have a lot of memories associated with it, and most of them aren’t good ones. I’m sure you do too.”

“I remember sitting right here in this room, signing the papers to list my loft for sale.” Brian stirred his coffee and let his gaze wander absently over the dining room as he told Rob the story. “I’d lived there since my early 20s, not long after I graduated college and got my first real job. That loft was a lot of things to me. It had been a symbol of freedom. That I’d made it. That I was free to do whatever I wanted.” Brian stopped short of telling Rob that it had been his fuckpad, and that he’d probably fucked most of gay Pittsburgh in it. “Letting go of it was really hard. But there was no way that it was going to work for me as a paraplegic. I didn’t have a choice. I felt that way so much, back then. Like I was just being dragged along for some sick rollercoaster ride. But selling my loft... That was one of the moments that made all of this too real. There were a lot of those moments here.”

“Yeah. It’s the place where you have to face what happened and know that things are going to be different from here on out.”

“God, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.”

“I know. Me too. But that didn’t make it any less true.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it was harder because I was older, and I had so much already established. I had a solid idea of who I was, and then it all got turned upside down.”

“I’m not sure there’s ever a good time for your whole life to change,” Rob mused, sipping his tea. “I think we all wonder if others had it easier than we did. The grass is always greener, I guess. But I don’t think it really matters. No one really has it easier. It’s hard no matter what. Justin’s right there, at this point. Wondering if his whole life is going to be different now, and what it’s going to be like. He’s lucky to have you, because you know what he’s going through, to some degree, even if it’s not exactly the same. But you have to not let yourself get dragged down in the bad memories.”

“I know.”

“You have to be sure you’re taking care of yourself. Are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I asked. It’s not a hard question, Brian. Are you taking care of yourself?”

“You’ve been right here with me on most days.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I think I’m doing better with it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, man, I love you and all, but quit it with the psychoanalysis. I’m doing okay.”

“Alright. I’ll cut to the chase. You still look really tired. Are you sleeping?”

“I’m trying.”

“But…?”

Brian looked down at his cup, restlessly rolling it between his hands just to have something to focus on -- to fidget with. He was stalling and he knew it.

“Brian, what’s going on?”

“Nightmares,” Brian said softly. He didn’t want to talk about this, but he knew he wasn’t going to have a choice. Rob would get him to talk about it eventually. Might as well just get it over with.

“About what? Justin’s accident?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes mine. Sometimes what happened to him at his prom.”

Rob knew about the prom because Justin had told him. Brian always avoided talking about it, because it hurt to talk about, even after all these years. He still felt responsible for Justin being so badly hurt, and having all of his life plans upended before he’d even walked across the stage at his high school graduation. Chris Hobbs might have been the one to swing the bat, but Brian felt like he was the one who had stolen Justin's innocence. He didn't think anyone would ever be able to convince him otherwise.

“Don’t worry,” Brian said quickly, just as Rob opened his mouth to speak. “I’m talking to someone about it. I’m trying. But it’s hard, and it’s not a quick fix. She says the reason I’m having so much trouble moving past it is because I feel like what happened was my fault. She’s trying to help me process my thoughts about it. Christ, now I'm speaking psychobabble too. I shouldn’t get to have thoughts about it, though. It didn’t happen to me. It happened to Justin.”

“It happened to you too, Brian.”

“If I hadn’t been there, it never would have happened.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Brian closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel a headache coming on. “I’m trying, I promise. But it’s hard to sleep when you keep seeing all of these bad memories, every time you close your eyes. And I can’t… I’m sorry, I just can’t talk about it anymore. But hey, I did stop taking a double dose of my painkillers at night just to sleep, so that’s something.”

Rob looked at Brian and narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“Have I made Mr. Motivational Speech, speechless?” Brian said, letting his mouth turn up slightly into his trademark smirk. “Man, I’ve waited for this moment for the last nine years.” He needed to lighten the mood before it got any more maudlin. It didn't work.

“Brian,” Rob said. His tone was deadly serious. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm fine.”

“Sell that to somebody who's buying. It might work on everybody else, but it's not going to work on me. I'm not afraid of you.”

Brian snorted derisively. “Well, that's good to know, but there's really nothing to talk about. There's nothing you can do.”

“I can listen.”

“Only if I want to talk.”

Brian was sure that Rob was about to try to find a way to make him talk, but he didn't have a chance before they were interrupted by a familiar female voice.

“Brian Kinney, is that you?”

Brian turned in the direction of the voice and saw none other than Rebecca, the therapist who had tried her dead level best to get Brian to talk about his feelings when it came to all things accident, tragedy, and paralysis. She hadn't been successful, but she did help put him in contact with Rochelle once he was ready to talk, and for that, he'd be forever grateful. But seeing her right now wasn’t exactly comforting. Not when he was afraid she’d be able to read his mood and somehow his mind along with it.

Brian cleared his throat and tried to pull himself out of the negative headspace he'd started to descend into.

“Rebecca,” he said, trying to keep his voice warm and pleasant and free of anxiety. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Really, I should say that about you,” Rebecca said as she came closer to their table. “With as glad as you were to be discharged...what was that…ten years ago? Gosh, time flies. Anyhow, I didn't think you'd be stopping by for social calls.”

She looked at Rob, and was clearly trying to make the connection between him and Brian.

“I'm not,” Brian said. “I, uh… My husband is a patient. Justin Taylor. He was in an accident. Has a traumatic brain injury.” Brian wasn't sure why he was telling her all of this. He should have just kept it light and simple and short.

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,” Rebecca said earnestly, her eyes full of concern. “I haven't met him yet, but I'm sure I probably will. What are you doing back in Pittsburgh? Got tired of the big city and decided to come back home?”

“We were on our way here for the holidays when he got hurt.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. So, who's your friend?”

“This is Rob,” Brian said, thankful for the change of subject. “He's just here to help me out. Keep me in line.”

“I'm sure that's a tall order with this one,” Rebecca said to Rob. She was smiling.

Rob laughed. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think maybe I do,” Rebecca said. “He's a tough nut to crack.”

“I'm right here, in case you've both forgotten,” Brian said. He was starting to get annoyed, and he could hear the edge in his voice. He didn't particularly want to be talked about by his friend and his former therapist. He didn't want to talk about Justin. He didn't want to talk about his dreams or his feelings about the goddamned prom or anything else, for that matter. Right now, all he wanted was to forget all of this and get back to his normal life, free of fear and bad memories and post-traumatic stress.

Rebecca and Rob both seemed jarred by Brian’s sudden irritation. For a few seconds, no one said anything, until Rebecca broke the awkward silence.

“Well, I’d better be going,” she said. She smiled again, but it looked forced this time. “It was really good to see you, Brian.”

“Likewise.” Brian gave her a halfhearted wave as she walked away.

“So, who was she?” Rob asked.

“Just someone who works here.” Brian tried to keep his voice nonchalant. He didn’t want to let on how much it had unsettled him to see Rebecca again after all these years.

Rob raised a questioning eyebrow, but thankfully let the subject drop, instead choosing to regale Brian with a tale about a very eccentric-sounding woman he’d seen in the coffee shop, who had insisted that her trembling, terrified chihuahua was an emotional support dog. Brian was grateful for the distraction.

Justin was back in his room when Brian and Rob returned, and his mood was dark, to say the least. Rob left, saying he wanted to go work out in the hotel gym and call Adam, and told Brian to call him when he was ready to be picked up to go back to the hotel. Although, really, Brian knew what Rob was doing -- giving Brian and Justin some time alone.

Not that it mattered, since Justin wasn’t speaking to Brian. It didn’t matter what Brian said; Justin refused to engage. Brian tried his best to overlook Justin’s behavior -- he had to remember, he had been there. He’d done a lot of ignoring visitors after a particularly difficult day. And the first day? That one had probably been the worst. It had been a day of confronting the reality of everything he couldn't do anymore, head on. So Brian had an idea of what Justin’s day had been like, and he understood why Justin probably didn’t want to talk about it.

Brian ate dinner in the dining room with Justin, who mostly poked at his food halfheartedly, holding his silverware with his left hand. He still didn’t say anything. Brian tried everything, but Justin wouldn’t talk to him.

He did let Brian sit with him on the bed, but they watched television instead of talking and remembering like they had every night for the past week. After an hour of no sound except for the television, Brian heard Justin speak, so softly that Brian barely caught it.

“I think… I want to be… alone tonight.”

Brian wasn’t sure if Justin’s phrasing or pacing were due to his brain injury, or because he wasn’t sure how to say what he said without making Brian angry.

But Brian wasn’t angry. He got it. It stung a little, but he got it.

“Okay,” Brian said, trying to paste an understanding smile on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Justin looked down at his hands like he was ashamed of his request.

“Don’t apologize.” Brian took Justin’s left hand and squeezed it. “I understand. It’s been a long day.” He kissed Justin on the lips and hugged him before transferring himself back to his wheelchair. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Justin breathed.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” Justin paused for a moment, then added, “I really am...sorry.”

Brian grabbed Justin’s left hand again, squeezing it harder this time. “Sunshine, it’s okay. I promise. Sometimes you just need some time alone. I get it. How many times do you think I had to get rid of Michael or Debbie when they just wouldn’t leave me alone?” Brian turned one side of his mouth up into a lopsided grin, hoping that his admission might lighten the mood. It seemed to work, at least a little bit.

Justin’s lips turned up into the tiniest hint of a smile -- progress, Brian thought.

Brian kissed Justin’s hand before laying it gently back on the bed.

“Goodnight, Sunshine.”

With that, he turned and left the room. He hoped he was doing the right thing by honoring Justin’s request, and not just enabling Justin to spiral down even further into depression.

Brian was sitting by the door in the lobby, waiting for Rob to pull up outside, when Rebecca walked up, coat on and briefcase in hand, obviously headed home for the evening.

“Need a ride?” she asked.

“Nah, just waiting for my friend,” Brian said. He picked at the leg of his jeans with the fingers of his right hand, purely for the distraction.

“Ah. He seems nice.”

“He is. Sometimes I’m not sure I deserve for people to be that nice to me.”

“For a guy who has such an enormous ego, sometimes you sure don’t think much of yourself.”

“What can I say? I’m an enigma.” Brian turned his attention away from his pants and toward Rebecca instead. “I’m surprised that you remembered me. And my name, even. After all these years. Or was I really so awful that you've never forgotten me?”

“You weren't that bad. Trust me, I've seen it all,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know why, but you stuck with me.”

“I’m told I’m pretty unforgettable,” Brian said. It was a lame attempt at a joke, and Rebecca ignored it.

“I think it was because I wondered if I was getting through to you. You always had these walls that you wouldn’t let me behind. But I wondered if maybe my words were still having an impact. I had to hope they were. When you left, I was worried about you. I wondered what you’d do. How you’d deal with everything when you were confronted with not having a choice but to deal with it -- and to do it alone. I see a lot of patients in the same situation you were, and I see a lot of depression and despair, but you just felt so different, and I never could put my finger on why. Then you called me and told me that you needed my help. That wasn’t a phone call that I wanted to receive, simply because I never want anyone to be in that position -- feeling helpless -- but I was glad you made that call. That you trusted me enough to reach out to me. That told me that I had gotten through to you. And I’m glad to see that you’re doing okay. Married and all, it sounds like. You’ve come a long way.”

“Just living my life.”

“That’s all I ever want for anyone. To learn to cope and move on. To just live life. That's where recovery really is.”

At that moment, Rob’s rental car appeared under the overhang outside the sliding glass door. He had impeccable timing, Brian thought, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue this conversation with Rebecca.

“That’s my ride,” Brian said.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, then. Have a good night.” Rebecca smiled at him, then pulled her coat tighter around her body as she stepped toward the door, giving a cursory wave to Rob on her way out.

Having a good night, of course, was relative.

This one wasn’t the worst, and it wasn’t the best, but it was passable. Brian got a few good hours of sleep before he woke up drenched in sweat, panting and panicking. He met Rob for breakfast at a deli near the hotel, and tried to ignore the way Rob was eyeing him. Studying him. Trying to figure out if there was any more that Brian wasn’t saying.

“I’m fine,” Brian told him. He knew it wasn’t true -- hell, they both did -- but that didn’t really matter. Brian needed to focus on Justin. Justin needed him. He could focus on his own issues later...maybe.

Rob had a full day of conference calls ahead of him and planned to stick around the hotel, so he let Brian take the car. It felt good to drive -- to be in control. There wasn’t much Brian was in control of anymore.

When he got to Justin’s room, the door was shut, and it looked like the lights were off. He knocked lightly, and only received an agonized moan in response. Slowly and carefully, Brian turned the handle and pushed the door open. The lights, were, indeed, off. The blackout curtains were drawn and the room was very dark -- lit only by a sliver of light that snuck around the curtains on the left side and cast itself against the wall in a thin, bright line. Justin was lying in bed, his left arm thrown over his eyes and a painful grimace visible on the rest of his face.

Brian knew what was happening here. It had happened a couple of times in the hospital -- although then, there were IVs and strong painkillers. Here, not so much. Brian was all too aware of that from his own experience. Here was where you got used to how you’d be managing these things at home, where there wouldn’t be IV drips of morphine.

Brian wished there was something he could do, but he knew there was nothing, really. All he could do was be there, and be as quiet as possible. He approached the bed slowly, cursing the soft squeak of his wheelchair tires against the tile floor. Once he got close, he laid his hand -- gently, carefully -- on Justin’s right forearm, where he knew he’d be able to feel it. And that was where he stayed for the next couple of hours -- just listening to Justin breathe. About 20 minutes in, someone came in to give Justin a shot, but it seemed like it took forever to work. And even then, the only real improvement appeared to be that Justin managed to uncover and open his eyes.

That was one of the quiet days. There were a lot of those days. Days spent just sitting in the silence, when all Brian could do was physically be present.

But there were also a lot of days that were exactly the opposite, with Justin yelling and screaming and raging at anyone who dared to cross his path -- Brian, Jennifer, Debbie, the rehab center staff...anyone was fair game. One moment, he’d be shouting, and the next, he’d be crying. Brian knew that this was one of the effects of traumatic brain injury. It had happened the last time, too, though not nearly to this degree.

Justin was fighting everyone, tooth and nail. He’d yell at Jennifer and swing his fists at her, and he did the same to Debbie when she stopped by one day to drop off some lasagna for both of them. Brian didn’t think a speechless Debbie Novotny was something that could ever exist, but it did that day. Brian spent a lot of time apologizing for Justin’s behavior, which felt strange for someone whose mantra had once been “sorry’s bullshit.”

Rebecca did ultimately get to meet Justin, but even though Brian wasn’t there when they talked, he got the distinct impression from the way Justin acted afterward, that Justin was about as receptive to her help as Brian had once been. In a single one-hour meeting with her, Justin had gone from anger and resentment to complete and total despondency. Brian was desperate for Justin to find the middle ground, but he knew from his own experience that it took time. That no one could make him do it -- he had to find it on his own. Brian wondered how long it would take, and how he was going to get through watching Justin swing wildly from one harmful emotion to another.

It was incredibly difficult to watch. Brian wanted for there to be more he could do. But he knew there was nothing, and Rebecca had backed that up, giving him a reminder that he hadn’t needed, that he’d been there before. That it took time, but Justin would get there, just like he had. Brian was grateful that Jennifer and Debbie kept coming back -- loving unconditionally like mothers do -- no matter how many times Justin told them to get out and never return. Brian needed them to be there. He couldn’t watch this alone.

Days kept passing, and nothing much seemed to be changing when it came to Justin’s mood.

Brian tried every night to get Justin to relax and just talk to him. He suggested playing “remember when” again, since Justin had liked that so much and it had been so helpful in the hospital, but the reaction Brian received was all venom.

“Why?” Justin shouted. “It’s pointless! I don’t want to! My life is fucked! So why bother?”

Funny how he apparently hadn’t noticed that his speech had improved to the point where he could now say short sentences without pausing, Brian thought. But he knew that right now, Justin couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

All Brian could do was try his best to remain a supportive partner, doing what was needed, and not take anything Justin said personally. Sometimes it was incredibly difficult to keep his own emotions out of the equation, though.

Brian still couldn’t get the last time they’d played the “remember when” game out of his head.

He knew he should have been happy that Justin was remembering all the best parts of the prom -- and mostly, that Justin’s takeaway seemed to be that it was when he knew that Brian loved him. He should have been fucking ecstatic. He should have wanted to grab Justin and twirl him around and kiss him. But instead, he felt...conflicted. Blindsided by Justin bringing up something he had never expected.

As much as it had hurt all those years ago to know that Justin didn’t remember Brian’s big, romantic gesture, for some reason it hurt even more now that he remembered it. Because the prom wasn’t what Brian wanted -- no, needed -- Justin to remember. The prom was no longer a happy memory for Brian, because it had ended with blood and fear and guilt and desperation. No matter how good it was before everything went to hell in that goddamn parking garage, Brian wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to see it as something positive again.

Their wedding, on the other hand -- that was nothing but a good memory, from beginning to end. The wedding was Brian’s favorite memory. The best day of his life. And it hurt to hold that memory all alone.

He’d wanted to be excited for Justin, that he’d finally reclaimed his memory of the prom, but it was too hard. And Brian knew he had to keep his mind from spiraling down into memories of baseball bats and so much blood and ambulance rides and cold hospital hallways that were feeling much too fresh, thanks to the nightmares he’d been having.

As he and Justin held each other in Justin’s hospital bed the night he remembered, Brian couldn’t stop the quiet tears from falling. He knew he had to keep from getting too emotional, because he was afraid Justin would ask questions. If Justin suspected something was wrong, he would want to know about it, and wouldn’t give up until he found out. Brian didn’t want to tell Justin about the nightmares. He didn’t want to add to Justin’s stress and worry, and he knew that was exactly what would happen if Justin knew about the nightmares -- he'd be worried about Brian, when he needed to be concentrating on himself. But some small part of Brian wished he could talk to Justin about it. Let Justin hold him and know why Brian needed him to do that. Why Brian needed to hold him close, too -- to remind himself that Justin was still here, still alive. That the culmination of Brian revisiting the scene nearly every night in his sleep, combined with Justin finally remembering more than just bits and pieces, had been too overwhelming. But that would have made Justin feel guilty, and Brian wasn’t going to put that on him.

So he’d cried tears of hurt and fear that he hoped masqueraded as tears of joy and relief on Justin’s shoulder, all the while feeling guilty for not truly being happy that Justin had finally remembered the night he’d once said was the best night of his life.

If Justin could remember the prom, why couldn’t he remember their wedding? Was God really that cruel? Did he hate Brian that much?

But Brian knew he had to push his own feelings aside, to stay present and help Justin. Christ, he thought to himself. Stay present. Maybe Rob was rubbing off on him.

Rob went back to New York in mid-January. He was reluctant, but didn’t have a choice because he had meetings that he needed to physically be at the office for. Brian was grateful for Rob’s help, and he’d miss his presence, but he knew that Rob needed to get back to his life just as badly as Brian wanted to get back to his own.

Brian started going into the office himself for a few hours every day, while Justin was busy with his various therapies. It felt good to do something normal, even though he no longer worked directly out of the Pittsburgh office and hadn’t for ten years. It was like putting on an old shoe, though -- broken in and comfortable. Like he’d never left.

The third week in January, Brian had an important meeting with Leo Brown that he’d been originally scheduled to fly back into town for. How convenient that he’d never left, Brian thought to himself as he sat in his former-steam-room-turned-office, looking over the files and the boards. Brian was having a hard time focusing on the task at-hand.

It had been a rough few days for Justin, and for Brian by proxy. Justin really was making improvements with his hand -- he could move his fingers now, and he had some sensation back, although his grip strength and fine motor skills were still pretty much nonexistent. But it didn’t seem like Justin could see any of the progress he was making, because what he wanted was to be right back to normal at the drop of a hat. That wasn’t going to happen. Brian knew that, and he was fairly sure that Justin knew that, but Justin’s words and actions said something else entirely where his expectations were concerned. What Justin wanted was to be able to hold a pencil or a paintbrush and move it -- to create with it. And that wasn’t happening, so to Justin, all of his progress was for naught.

Brian had tried to encourage him to use the computer instead, but Justin refused. Nothing Brian said or did could get Justin interested in it. Brian felt so helpless, and he hated it.

So that was where Brian’s mind was as he attempted to prepare for his meeting with Leo Brown and company.

Cynthia came in a little before 10 a.m., while Brian was staring off into space, lost in his own thoughts.

“You ready, boss?”

Brian shook his head and tried to bring himself back to reality.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.

The meeting would have been a complete and total disaster if it hadn’t been for Cynthia. Brian was tired and distracted, and kept flubbing his words and losing his train of thought. He guessed this was what happened after a month of sleep deprivation and stress. Eventually you lose your mental faculties, even if you’re the great god Kinney. When Cynthia was done saving his ass and saving the account -- he knew he’d made her a partner a few years back for a reason -- Brian quickly excused himself and went back to his office.

He cursed the fact that the bottle of whiskey he’d always kept on the cart by his desk was no longer there, because right then he could use a drink. Although maybe it was for the best if he couldn’t drown his frustrations in alcohol this time -- the last thing he needed was to pass out drunk and piss himself in full view of his entire staff, thanks to that damn glass door that gave him absolutely no privacy.

So he poured himself a glass of water, downed it, then went over to the couch, hoisted his body onto it, and laid back. He’d had a particularly bad night of disturbing dreams, which he wasn’t looking forward to talking to Rochelle about later, and this disaster of a meeting had only added to the giant pile of suck that his life was quickly becoming. And it wasn’t a positive, life-affirming sort of suck. He closed his eyes and tried to relax -- stay present, Rob’s voice echoed in his head. Don’t live in the past or worry about the future. The trouble was, the present wasn’t much better.

He heard the din of conversation outside his office get louder, then quieter again as someone opened and closed the door. He cracked an eye open just as he heard Cynthia say, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Brian said as he pushed himself upright. “It’s okay. Stay. What’s up?”

“Just checking on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” Cynthia crossed the room and sat down next to him on the sofa. “As fine as you were when you came in here and tried to power through after radiation treatments for cancer.”

“I’m not sick.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks a lot. I can always count on you to boost my ego.”

“You know what I mean. I know you’ve got a lot going on right now.”

Brian snorted. “Yeah. To say the least.”

“I thought you were letting us help you. Ted and I. We could have handled that meeting. All you needed to tell me was that you couldn’t come in. Or didn’t want to, whatever. It would have been fine.”

“I wanted to be here. No reason I shouldn’t be.”

“Brian, your husband is in rehab for a brain injury. He’s struggling right now, and I know you are too. You don’t fool me. You never have, so don’t insult me by trying to pretend that you do.”

“What do you want me to do, cry on your shoulder?” Brian said sarcastically.

“If that’s what you want to do, sure. Just let me take my jacket off first; I just got it dry cleaned.” Cynthia smiled at him.

“Well, your jacket is safe. I won’t be doing any crying. The only thing I want is to be back home in my own bed, with Justin.” He wanted to at least try to get back to normal life, even if “normal” now was nothing like “normal” before.

“Brian, we’re not just coworkers, partners in this agency. We’re friends too. If you need something, just know you can come to me, okay?”

Brian nodded, and Cynthia pulled him into a hug. He kind of did want to cry on her shoulder, but he wasn’t going to. He didn’t have much longer to make it through before they’d be going home to New York. He hoped that then, things might get easier for both him and Justin.

The next week, the speculation that Justin might be home by February turned into a concrete plan. Justin would continue with outpatient rehab in New York, but they’d be home. Brian was relieved, but Justin didn’t seem to be very happy to be going home, even in spite of how much he’d begged for that just a few weeks before. Brian could easily see that Justin was as frustrated and depressed as he had been for his entire stay in rehab. Justin had made a lot of improvements over the past few weeks, but not as much as he’d wanted, so as far as Justin was concerned, he might as well have done nothing at all. Brian felt like he’d been watching Justin spiral downward, and it was frightening. He wondered if he was ever going to truly get his husband back.

Not that it mattered -- he wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d continue loving and supporting Justin no matter how many times Justin yelled at him or told him to fuck off.

Brian just wished there was something he could do to make Justin feel more like himself again.

The night before Justin was scheduled to be discharged, he and Brian were sitting on the bed together, quietly watching television, when Justin broke their comfortable silence with a question.

"Were you scared?"

It took Brian a moment to get his bearings and respond. He had no idea what Justin was talking about.

"When?" Brian asked as he used the remote to turn off the television. He knew the distraction of the background noise would start to frustrate Justin soon, so it was best to head that off now. Justin hadn’t been doing much talking over the last few weeks -- at least, not about anything substantial -- even though his speech had improved by leaps and bounds. So Brian was hoping that perhaps Justin was opening up.

"When you got hurt."

"Yeah, I was scared. I was...devastated actually. I still remember the doctor telling me I had a spinal cord injury. That I was a T-12 complete paraplegic. I had a label. A label I didn't want. I didn't even really know what it meant. I just knew that I couldn't feel or move my legs, and I'd had surgery on my back, and it hurt like a motherfucker. I remember him telling me I'd be independent. That I could still do ‘great things.’ But that was laughable, back then. I didn't feel like I could do anything, really. I felt so...hopeless."

"You had surgery?"

"Yeah. I have six vertebrae fused together. Makes for a really scary-looking x-ray. A big, long scar, too. You told me once that you liked it."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You said it meant I was a survivor. That I'd made it through something awful."

Justin was quiet. Brian heard him sigh.

“But yeah, I was scared. These things are scary. But all you can do is just...survive. You’ll survive this, Sunshine. Just like you did before. Just like I did back then. All you can do is survive, and find a way to move on. You helped me do that. I’ll help you too.”

“I guess I’m just...scared of reality. If this is the way I’ll be for good.”

“I understand. It’s hard to wrap your head around this kind of thing. But even if nothing changes from here, I’m not going anywhere. And I know you’re still going to be just as confident and talented and successful as you always have been. Even if it doesn’t seem like that now.”

“I wish I believed you. No one will take me seriously...as an artist. Not now.”

“I seem to remember you telling me once to just say, fuck ‘em. Keep going. Do what I wanted. Prove people wrong when they judged me.”

“I don’t remember that. But I’m sure it was different.”

“I don’t think it was different at all. It’s your turn to prove them wrong. And I’ll be here to help you do it, every step of the way.”

They were going home. Brian wasn’t sure Justin was ready, but his care team seemed to think he was, and it wasn’t Brian’s place to question their expertise. Maybe they figured being back home would help him thrive. Brian sure hoped so.

But no matter what it took, Brian was committed to making sure Justin didn’t just give up. That he kept on trying.

Justin hadn’t given up on Brian, all those years ago. And Brian wasn’t giving up on Justin now.

They were both survivors.

Home by TrueIllusion

“They say I may never draw again.”

“Yeah, well. They’re always telling people they’ll never draw again or walk again or piss again, so that when you finally do, you’ll think they’re geniuses and they can charge you whatever the fuck they want.”

*****

The lights in the airport were way too bright.

They’d told him he’d be fine to fly. They’d set him up with earplugs and noise canceling headphones and sunglasses and a special, relaxing playlist on his phone.

He and Brian and his “care team,” as they had called themselves at the rehab center, had discussed it, and they’d all decided that a 90-minute flight would be easier than a six- or seven-hour drive. Besides, Brian hadn’t bought a new car yet, and wasn’t sure he was going to at this point, since they’d both become such city dwellers over the past ten years.

So they’d set him up with all of those things, designed to help him keep from getting overwhelmed with sensory input, and to help him relax during the flight.

But at this point, Justin was thinking he'd be doing good just to make it to being on the plane.

The terminal was packed with people and very, very noisy. And the lights were so bright. The sun was shining through the large row of windows that lined the wall. Directly to his right, a little girl sat on her mother’s lap, loudly singing a song that, as best he could tell, made no sense. He was fairly sure that it wasn’t just his brain injury causing it to not make sense. But regardless, it was loud. Too loud.

Justin gritted his teeth against the headache he could feel coming on and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He was already looking forward to the reprieve he’d get when he and Brian got to board the plane first -- a perk of Brian’s obvious physical disability. He supposed he probably could have qualified for preboarding on his own this time, but he didn’t want to think about that. He kept himself focused on how quiet the plane would be, at least for a few minutes until the “families with young children” got to board next.

But for right now, he still had to get through a bit longer in the terminal, amid a throng of people that he wasn’t sure could possibly be any noisier.

“Use the earplugs and the sunglasses,” Brian said softly. Brian was holding his hand, and Justin could feel Brian’s thumb rubbing lightly back and forth across his knuckles.

“Not here,” Justin whispered. “Everyone will be staring at me.”

“Well, a lot of them are already staring at me. I could do something to make more of them stare at me instead, if you want.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Who’s being funny?”

“Brian.”

“Alright. I was just thinking there’s no sense torturing yourself unnecessarily. Hell, this is starting to give me a headache.”

“I’m fine.”

Brian studied him, and Justin could tell that Brian didn’t believe him. Justin had learned the art of being “fine” from the master himself. But the problem with that, was that the master wasn’t easily fooled.

The plane they’d be taking to New York had just arrived from some other city and been docked to the jetway a few minutes before, and the number of people in the terminal multiplied as passengers emerged, one-by-one and sometimes two-by-two, from the door that led to the jetway. That meant they’d start boarding soon.

“I guess I’d better take one last bathroom break,” Brian said. “You want to come too? Or will you be alright here?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know you don’t. I’ll be right back, then.”

Brian turned and left Justin sitting with the carry-on suitcase they were sharing. Justin continued watching people pour out the door and into the terminal. He noticed he was cradling his right hand against his chest with his left, almost protectively. Well, he guessed it actually was protective. It was also apparently automatic -- he hadn’t even thought of doing it. It just happened.

While it was no longer completely numb like it had been while he was in the hospital, the sensation in it was duller than what he felt in his left hand. His fingers on his right hand felt fat, even though he could visually see they were no different than the fingers of his left hand. His right hand functioned as a weak claw and nothing more. He didn’t have the dexterity to grip anything to write or draw with, not that he’d be able to write or draw very effectively even if he could hold the pencil. His motor skills were for shit at this point. He wondered if he’d ever be able to draw or paint again, or if he’d lost that ability completely.

He wondered if he’d lost himself as well, in that process.

Justin felt like a shell of a person. He was just moving through life, trying to get through each day, but feeling like he wasn’t even doing a very good job at that.

He knew Brian had been very patient with him, giving him grace that he probably hadn’t deserved, given the way he’d treated Brian sometimes. He’d tried not to take his frustration out on Brian, but sometimes he did it anyway, because Brian was safe. He knew Brian wasn’t going anywhere. That Brian could take it.

But over the past few weeks, Justin had been wondering if there was something going on with Brian. He looked tired all the time, and sometimes he would show up to Justin’s room at the rehab center looking upset, but swear that he was fine and paste on this fake smile that Justin could see right through, even in his current state.

Brian was the master at saying he was fine when he really wasn’t. And getting him to admit that he wasn’t, was nearly impossible.

The little girl on his right suddenly stopped singing. Out of the corner of his eye, Justin saw her turn toward him.

“Hey, mister,” she said.

“Hi,” Justin responded quietly. He liked kids, but he really hoped this conversation would be short, because he wasn’t sure that his head could take much small talk, even from an elementary schooler.

“Why’s your friend in a wheelchair?”

“Julia,” her mother said in a scolding tone. “You know we don’t ask people questions like that.”

“It’s okay,” Justin said. “He wouldn’t mind. He’s uh...he’s paralyzed.” Justin realized as soon as he’d said the word that she might not know what that meant -- he guessed her to be around five or six years old. “His legs don’t work,” Justin added.

“Ooooh.” The little girl drug out the sound as she nodded her head. “Have you and him been friends for a long time?”

“Yeah...a long time.” Justin hoped Brian would be back soon, so he could have an excuse to disengage from this conversation he didn’t want to be having in the first place, and definitely didn’t want to be having if it would eventually involve him having to explain why he was married to another man. Justin’s still-recovering brain wasn’t up to telling white lies yet.

At that moment, Justin’s wish was granted when Brian rolled up next to him and gently wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Doing okay?” Brian said softly, kissing Justin’s cheek.

Justin nodded. Thankfully, the little girl had gotten distracted by something else, and didn’t ask why Brian had his arm around Justin and why he’d kissed him if they were just friends. Although maybe when you were her age, it wouldn’t be that unusual. Kids that age, while curious, were generally pretty accepting. At least, the ones he'd met.

After what felt like forever, they finally made it onto the plane. He and Brian boarded first, as predicted. Brian furtively asked one of the flight attendants to take care of stowing the suitcase in the overhead compartment, and he stayed back to allow Justin to go first so he could sit while Brian was getting himself situated. They were sitting in the first row, and Justin had figured out why Brian had done that when he saw that it was as far as Brian could get in his chair. It looked like it was an awkward maneuver to get into the airplane seat, but Brian also appeared to be well-practiced at it.

Brian reached across Justin and pulled the shade down over their window to block out the sun. He smiled at Justin.

“You excited to be going home?” Brian asked.

Justin shrugged. He didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to be as thrilled about this as he knew he should be. Just a few weeks ago, all he’d wanted was to go home and settle into married bliss with Brian, and forget all about the turmoil and upheaval that had been the last six weeks or so. But now that the moment had arrived, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what he was feeling. He thought maybe it was fear. Uncertainty.

Not wanting to be back in a place that reminded him that he’d made his living as an artist, and now he didn’t know what he was going to do. He couldn’t even fall back on his old standby of waiting tables, since he didn't have two good hands. He was sure that Brian would try to come up with something for him to do at Kinnetik, but Justin didn’t want to be a charity case.

Justin managed to pick up the buckle end of his seat belt in his right hand, but was having trouble holding onto it to connect it to the other side. It kept slipping through his fingers.

“Need some help?”

At least Brian knew to ask first and not just jump in and start helping. He probably knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of unwanted assistance when you’d rather do it yourself.

Justin was quickly figuring out that Brian had a lot of perspective when it came to doing things differently, and how it felt to be disabled. But Justin still wished he wasn’t having to figure all of that out -- still trying to fill in the hole in his memory that surrounded the details of Brian’s physical situation. He’d been hoping that more of it would come to him, but it never had. He had to have known it all at some point -- why couldn’t he seem to locate that file in his jumbled-up brain?

Being married to Brian had been so important to Justin for a long time, and he really was ecstatic to know that they were married, and had been for a while. But he wanted to be a good partner to Brian, and he was nervous about not remembering what exactly that meant. What it included.

The paralysis wasn’t a problem -- Justin could care less if Brian walked or rolled. He was still Brian, and Justin loved Brian. But how could he be the best husband possible for the man who had given him so much? Saved his life, even? That was what he didn’t know how to do.

He assumed they were intimate -- Brian had always been a very sexual person as far as Justin could remember. But he wondered how all of that worked, and he hadn’t wanted to ask Brian about it. He knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, but for right now, Justin was content to delay that conversation.

Justin had a sudden memory of Brian telling him all those years ago, after his first brain injury, that if he wanted to regain the strength and agility in his hand, he should jerk off several times a day. He almost laughed out loud at the thought, although his amusement was quickly subdued by the realization that there was no way he’d be able to jerk off with his right hand the way it was now.

He felt like he couldn’t do anything anymore.

They’d been working with him in rehab on using his left hand for things that required dexterity and grip strength, but he hadn’t really wanted to do that. All he wanted to do was draw, paint, create...somehow, just create. Just so he could feel whole. But he couldn’t do that.

He’d secretly tried doing a little drawing on the computer Brian had brought to his room at rehab, using his left hand to control the stylus, waiting until after Brian had left for the night. Justin knew if he did it when Brian was there, Brian would have been cheering him on, and Justin didn’t want that. He didn’t want to feel like a kindergartener being praised for doing a good job or trying something new or difficult. And he hadn’t saved any of what he’d done -- it was all awful. A kindergartener probably could have done better.

At least he was no longer talking like a child or feeling like he had the vocabulary of one. He’d still struggle with a word or two occasionally -- when he was trying to think of what he wanted to say but the wrong word would come to mind and refuse to leave -- but for the most part, his speech was back to normal.

Now, it was just his hand and the headaches. Debilitating headaches that left him in agony, unable to move or function at all. He hoped that the slight pulse of pain he was feeling in his skull right now wasn’t the start of one of those headaches.

Justin finally got the seat belt buckled by using his practically-useless right hand to press one end of the seat belt into his leg while using his left hand to buckle it. Proud that he’d gotten it himself, without help, Justin settled back into his seat and let his eyes close.

“Do you want me to get your headphones out? How’s the lighting in here?” Brian was keeping his voice low as he questioned Justin.

“I’m okay right now,” Justin breathed, keeping his eyes closed. “Just enjoying the quiet.”

Brian didn’t say anything right away. Justin guessed he was letting him have the quiet, while it was still possible, before all of the noisy people they’d been sitting in the terminal with boarded the plane.

After about a minute, Justin heard Brian yawn and say, “Man, I’ll be so glad to be back home in my own bed.”

Justin was looking forward to that too. He was tired of hospital beds, and he was sure Brian was probably just as tired of sleeping in a hotel. Being home also meant he wouldn't have to sleep alone.

He made it about halfway through the boarding process before he decided he wanted the headphones. He put on his music and tried to zone out. He felt Brian take his hand and weave their fingers together. He kept his eyes closed as a way of hopefully keeping the dull headache he could feel developing from turning into anything worse. After about thirty more minutes, he felt the change in gravity as the plane ascended. Brian’s hand continued to hold his. Once the plane leveled out, Justin leaned his head onto Brian’s shoulder, then felt Brian’s head come to rest against his. It wasn’t long before he could tell from the way Brian’s body was leaning into his completely, that Brian was asleep. Eventually, Justin fell asleep too.

Brian woke him up when they got to New York with a gentle hand on his forearm. Justin took the headphones off and looked around, realizing that everyone else was already off of the plane.

“I think they’re gonna kick us off soon,” Brian said. He had that wry grin on his face that Justin remembered so well. “But hey, you got to sleep through most of the waiting and all of the screaming and whining children and annoying business people talking too loudly on their cell phones, trying to sound important. Please tell me I don’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Justin, I didn’t mean it like that. It was a joke.”

“I know.”

Brian ran a hand through his hair, then pushed his hands down on the armrests and shifted in his seat. “Christ, did they finally lose my wheelchair? What the hell is taking so long?”

As if on cue, right at that moment, one of the flight attendants showed up with Brian’s chair. He got himself into it while Justin watched, thinking of how frustrating it must be to not be able to use your legs at all. Justin was plenty frustrated enough with his half-functional hand. He still wasn’t sure how Brian was surviving this -- and seemingly not bothered by it at all. He wondered if he’d ever come to feel that way about his hand.

Brian took the carry-on suitcase and put it in his lap, and they proceeded down to baggage claim, where their larger suitcase was already waiting for them on the carousel. Justin wondered how long after they’d landed he had still been sleeping. It must have been a while.

Justin pulled the larger suitcase along behind him with his left hand, keeping his right tucked safely away in the pocket of his coat. They then caught a cab, and Brian gave the driver their address.

Home. They were finally home.

Justin almost felt like the entire month of January didn’t exist for him. Like he’d spent it suspended in some alternate reality, and now it was time to get back to regular life. Only he wasn’t quite sure he knew how he was going to do that, or even what it would mean.

Justin spent most of the cab ride fighting dizziness and mild nausea from motion sickness -- now he was really glad they’d decided to fly instead of drive. He didn’t think he’d have been able to take six or seven hours of that. He wondered how it was going to be for him to get around the city now. Hopefully the subway might be better.

The elevator in their building made him feel the same way. Fuck, was he even going to be able to leave the apartment without feeling ill?

Brian unlocked the door and pushed it open. There was a light on in the living room, and fresh flowers sat in the center of the dining room table. Alongside the flower vase sat a piece of paper, folded in half and propped up like a greeting card.

Justin walked over to the table and picked up the note.

There’s lasagna in the fridge. 350 for an hour. I know it’s not the same as Deb’s, but we hope it helps you feel at home anyway. Welcome back!
Call us if you need anything. Seriously, we mean it. Love you both.
- Rob, Adam, Esme, and Sophia
P.S. The flowers were Esme’s idea. She thought there should be some color and beauty, for her favorite artist. We had to agree.

There were two drawings on printer paper lying on the table as well. One said Welcome Home, written in the too-large, slightly unsteady handwriting of a third grader, while the other was clearly some sort of a depiction of Brian and Justin, done in crayon. Probably a collaboration between Esmeralda and Sophia. They both loved to draw, and they loved it when Justin drew with them and gave them pointers. It was too bad that probably wouldn’t be happening anymore. Justin would miss that.

Justin ran the fingertips of his left hand across the edge of the picture of him and Brian.

“It’s kind of nice to feel missed, isn’t it?” Brian said. He was already on his way to the kitchen, where he leaned forward to turn on the oven, then took the lasagna out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

Justin nodded, watching Brian move around the kitchen. How comfortable he was. How the chair was just an extension of his body. All of that was much clearer now that he wasn’t just seeing Brian mostly in the context of a single room. He wondered how long it had taken Brian to get to that point.

Brian opened one of the cabinets, pulled out plates, and set them on the island between the kitchen and the dining room, then looked up and caught Justin’s eye.

“You good?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Brian came over to where Justin was standing in the dining room and took his hands, pulling him down so he could give him a kiss.

“Why don’t you go lie down for a bit, then?” Brian said. “I’ll take care of this, and I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Giving Justin a small smile, Brian released Justin’s hands and gestured toward the hallway that led to their bedroom and Brian’s office -- the office they’d once shared.

Justin walked slowly down the hallway, just taking it all in. Seeing what he felt he remembered clearly, and what he wasn’t sure about. The holes in his memory were all so random and so strange. He hoped that maybe being back in a familiar environment might help even more things come back to him.

There were paintings lining both sides of the hallway. His own. Seeing them made him feel even sadder to know that there probably wouldn’t be any more.

Two more of his paintings hung in the bedroom, along with one that had been painted by Lindsay. On the nightstand, on what Justin knew had always been Brian’s side of the bed, sat a framed photo of Brian and Gus, taken when Gus was about ten years old. Justin wondered if he’d been there too when that photo was taken. He didn’t remember.

Replacing the picture frame on the nightstand, Justin continued into the large, walk-in closet they shared. Sitting in one corner, below the more casual section of Brian’s too-large collection of designer clothing, was a second wheelchair. This one was much more beaten up than the one Brian was currently using. A backup, Justin presumed. Probably his first one. Justin hadn’t thought about that -- keeping a backup chair in case something went wrong -- but it made sense. It was a sobering reminder to Justin that he was lucky, even if he didn’t quite feel that way. He reached out and touched it and wished he could remember the time when it would have been a part of their lives.

Justin changed out of the clothes he’d worn to travel, pulling on his favorite pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt instead, before going back out to the bedroom and lying down on top of the duvet on his and Brian’s bed. It didn’t take him long to drift off to sleep. Even though he was much improved over what he had been when he’d first awakened from the coma, Justin still found that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, and he needed a lot of sleep. His doctors had told him that was normal -- his brain needed rest to continue to heal and recover.

The smell of garlic wafting through the apartment woke him up about an hour later. Justin climbed out of bed, stretched, and went into the main area of the apartment, where he found Brian in the dining room, putting plates of lasagna on the table. Justin wanted to have a glass of wine, but he knew he shouldn’t. Not for a while. He’d been cautioned against drinking alcohol, and told it would slow his recovery. He wasn’t sure how it could be any slower, but he wasn’t willing to chance it.

They ate their dinner -- it was really good, and Justin wondered if Rob had somehow gotten Debbie’s recipe, which she usually guarded like the gold at Fort Knox, but he figured if anyone could charm it out of her, it was probably Rob. Then Justin watched Brian move around the kitchen some more as he put their plates and glasses and silverware into the dishwasher, covered the lasagna pan with plastic wrap, and stuck it in the refrigerator.

They spent the rest of the evening together on the sofa, with Justin curled into Brian’s side and Brian’s arm wrapped around Justin’s shoulders as they watched a few of the shows that had piled up on the DVR in their absence.

After a couple of hours of cuddling -- which Justin knew the Brian of old would have hated, but he’d certainly take this version liking it, since he loved it himself -- they went to bed. Justin showered first, so he was already in bed reading a book when Brian joined him, his hair still wet from the shower, skin warm and slightly damp and smelling of his fancy French lotion. Brian pulled his legs up onto the bed and extended them out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He rolled himself over onto his side and pressed his lips against Justin’s, his tongue pushing into Justin’s mouth as their lips moved together. The kiss lasted a long time, but it left Justin wanting more. Right now, though, he was tired, and he could tell Brian was too.

“We made it,” Brian said softly. “We’re back home. It all gets better from here.”

Brian’s eyes were kind and gentle and held just a slight hint of a smile. Justin wished he could believe Brian’s words.

Brian pushed himself the rest of the way over onto his stomach, turning his head toward Justin as he reached out his hand and laid it over Justin’s, on top of the sheet. Justin focused on the warmth of Brian’s strong hand and the connection between their bodies -- one he’d missed so much, sleeping alone for over a month -- as he drifted off to sleep.

Some time during the night, Justin became vaguely aware of movement next to him. As he surfaced back into consciousness, he started hearing Brian’s voice in the darkness.

“Somebody help me,” Brian was mumbling, just clearly enough for Justin to understand what he was saying, but there was something in his tone that sounded urgent. “Please, help me. It’s really bad...it hurts. I can’t…” He was gasping for air now, and his voice was becoming more frantic. “I can’t feel my legs. Oh god, it hurts...somebody make it stop, please…” Brian’s voice sounded so sad and scared and broken. It didn’t sound like Brian at all. Not the Brian he knew. Justin could see there were tears on his cheeks.

Was this what Brian had gone through, alone in the car, all those years ago? Did he remember it? Justin didn’t know; he hadn’t asked.

Justin was unsure of whether to try to wake Brian up or not. He remembered from his own experiences with nightmares years before, after the bashing, that sometimes being touched only made it worse.

Brian pounded his fist on the mattress a couple of times, still seemingly in the clutches of the dream. His breathing was becoming more ragged. Suddenly, he let out a painful-sounding moan that gradually faded into a whimper. His face was twisted into a grimace that made Justin unsure if all of this was coming from a dream, or if Brian was actually in pain.

“Brian,” Justin said softly as he pushed himself upright in the bed and scooted closer to his husband. He let his hand hover for a moment over Brian’s shoulder, debating if he should touch him or not. “Brian,” he said again. “Are you alright?” Slowly and carefully, he lowered his hand until it made gentle contact with Brian’s bare skin.

Brian let out a yelp of pain, and Justin pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. Shit, he thought to himself. Was it real? He realized he had no idea what to do if it was. Justin was staring at Brian, wide-eyed and unblinking, trying to figure out what he should do. He knew he probably needed to wake Brian, because if this pain was real, they needed to go to the hospital because something was really wrong. But how could he do that without causing more pain?

“Brian,” he said again, louder this time. “Wake up. I need you to wake up.” He tried to keep his voice strong and assertive, but inside he felt like a scared little boy. He wanted to touch Brian again, but he didn’t want to make anything worse by doing that, so he stuck with verbal cues, saying Brian’s name over and over again. Telling him to wake up.

Finally, Brian started to come around. His flailing and writhing slowed down, and the cries of pain stopped. He opened his eyes and looked at Justin, then took a deep and shuddering breath. Justin watched as realization dawned in Brian’s eyes. Brian let the breath back out and closed his eyes again.

“Are you okay?” Justin asked. “Are you in pain?”

Brian shook his head slightly, then blinked his eyes open again. “I’m fine. There’s no pain. Just a dream. Sorry if I woke you.”

“What was the dream about?” Justin remembered it usually helped him to talk about his nightmares with Brian, even if it was difficult to do at first. Talking about it helped him realize that it wasn’t real -- it was only a figment of his imagination.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brian said. His breathing was calmer now, although still not quite back to normal. “I’ll be alright. Just...go back to sleep.”

How could he go back to sleep? From the words Brian had been mumbling in his sleep, Justin had gathered that it sounded like the dream was about Brian’s accident. Was this something that had happened before? Was it yet another thing that Justin didn’t remember?

Justin spent most of the rest of the night lying awake, trying in vain to figure out if this was something he should have already known about but simply didn’t remember. And he could tell from Brian’s breathing and the way he kept fidgeting restlessly, that Brian was unable to go back to sleep either. Justin finally fell asleep again just as the light outside the windows started to change from dark to dawn. When he woke up again, it was late morning, and Brian was already up. Justin could hear him typing in his office, which was on the other side of the hallway from their bedroom.

As Justin rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom, he wondered what his first full day at home in more than a month would look like. Certainly not what it would have looked like before all of this happened, that was for sure. He didn’t have anything scheduled for the day -- he wouldn’t start his outpatient therapy until the next day -- so his options were wide open. Only they didn’t feel very wide open. Instead, they felt limited, because nearly anything that came to mind as a way he would have filled his time before, now was something he could no longer do.

He stretched the fingers of his right hand against his left, bending the fingers back as far as they would go, then massaged his palm to help release some of the tightness there. As he did that, he looked at himself in the mirror, noticing the differences in how he looked now to compared to how he’d looked as he prepared for his art show back in December. His face was thinner. His skin, while it had never been tan, was much more pale from being stuck inside in Pittsburgh for weeks. But mostly, he noticed the hollow look in his eyes. It paired well with how he felt. Empty. Hopeless.

When he couldn’t take looking at himself anymore, Justin left the bathroom and went on to the kitchen to see what he could find to eat that wouldn’t take too much effort. He wasn’t expecting to find much, since he and Brian had both been gone for a month and a half, but it looked like in addition to providing the lasagna they’d eaten last night, Rob and Adam had also stocked their fridge with the basics. Justin was trying to think of what he could easily prepare left-handed, that he remembered how to make and probably wouldn’t fuck up, when Brian came up behind him and put an arm around his waist.

“Morning,” Brian said. “Sorry I woke you up last night. I know you need your rest.”

“It’s okay. I was more concerned about you…” Justin let his voice trail off as he pushed the refrigerator door closed and turned to face Brian. “What was that?”

“Just a bad dream.” Brian shrugged, then changed the subject. “So, if you don’t have any plans for today, I was thinking maybe we could go down to your studio and see what we could do to make it easier for you to work.”

“Brian, I haven’t painted in weeks. What makes you think I could just start up again now?”

“I doubt you’ve forgotten how to paint.”

“Well, no, but…” Why was Brian pressing this? He knew Justin hadn’t painted at all during rehab -- that he couldn’t. He couldn’t hold the brush.

“So what’s the problem? What’s the harm in trying?”

There was plenty of harm in trying. Mostly in confirming for himself what he already knew -- that he was completely and totally fucked and his career was over.

“I just don’t want to go.”

“You’ll have to, sometime. Unless you’re planning to never make another piece of art again, ever.”

Justin shrugged his shoulders. At this point, he really didn’t think he was going to. He didn’t see how he could. People had a certain expectation when they saw his name attached to something, and there was no way he could deliver on that expectation right now -- probably not ever again. He had no desire at all to set foot in his studio, where he’d see so many of the things he’d already created, and a few things he’d started but hadn’t finished, and now likely never would. The thought was too depressing.

Brian looked up at him and took both of his hands. Justin had to fight the urge to pull the right one out of Brian’s grip. Having Brian holding both of his hands reminded him of how the right one felt so...wrong.

“Justin, I know exactly how you feel right now,” Brian said. “I know this is a scary place to be -- feeling like you’re being thrown back into your life. I’ve been there. I know I’ve been saying that a lot, but it’s true. And I don’t want to make it any scarier or more stressful than it already is. But I also don’t want to see you just give up. You’ll never know what can work unless you try.”

Justin knew that -- Brian wasn’t telling him anything new. The problem was that he didn’t want to try.

“Do you think going to my studio will fix me?” Justin asked sarcastically. He knew he was being a smartass, but he also knew Brian could give back as good as he got.

“No, not any more than going straight back to Kinnetik as soon as I got out of rehab fixed me. But it sure as hell did help, even if I could only stand to sit there for a couple of hours before I had to go home and lie down. It gave me something to do. Direction. Purpose.”

Justin had neither of those things right now. He was fully aware of that, but he also had no idea what his direction or purpose should be. Unable to look Brian in the eye any longer, he pulled his hands out of Brian’s grip and opened the refrigerator again.

“I can make you something if you want me to,” Brian said.

“I’m not a child; I’m perfectly capable of making my own breakfast.”

“I know you are. I was just trying to make things easier.”

Those words felt so familiar to Justin. Like perhaps he’d said them to Brian before, but he didn’t know when or why. He was so tired of these feelings of deja vu he’d get when things he was probably supposed to remember would come up. It only made him feel even more broken than he already was.

He stared into the refrigerator, not sure what he was waiting on or why it was so hard to make sense of all of its contents and just make a goddamn choice about what to eat for breakfast. Why did it feel so overwhelming?

Seeming to sense his struggle, Brian reached around him and pulled the milk out of the fridge and set it on the counter, then opened one of the upper cabinets and pulled a box of Justin’s favorite cereal down from the bottom shelf, setting it next to the milk.

Justin didn’t say anything. He felt like an idiot for not even being able to decide what to eat, or figure out what he’d need to get out in order to prepare it. But he was secretly grateful to Brian for stepping in, although he’d never say it. He knew Brian wouldn’t expect him to either. Brian spent a lot of his time doing things for other people -- people he loved -- and never expected or even wanted a thank you. Brian just went on about his business and poured himself another cup of coffee while Justin got a bowl and poured some of the cereal into it, having to concentrate on using his left hand to do it.

For Brian, the rest of the day seemed to be business as usual, but for Justin, it felt like anything but. He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he spent most of the day on the sofa, reading or watching TV and feeling sorry for himself. The day felt like it dragged on and on. Brian made them lunch, and ordered takeout for dinner, and didn’t bring up Justin’s art again. But there was an awkward silence hanging between them for most of the day -- like neither of them quite knew what to say to the other.

Justin wondered if every day was going to be like that -- him feeling like he had absolutely no reason for existing, and Brian looking at him like there was something he wanted to say but not saying it.

Brian was the first one in bed this time, and when Justin joined him, it looked like he was just finishing up stretching his legs, sitting up in the bed and bending over them, holding onto his ankles. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Justin could clearly see the scar that ran from Brian’s mid-back down to the waistband of the pajama pants he was wearing. The scar he’d once said meant Brian was a survivor. Even though Justin didn’t remember the original context, he still agreed with that -- he knew Brian was a strong person. There was a reason Justin and Michael had based a superhero on Brian. Sometimes it seemed like there was nothing Brian couldn’t do. Brian had told him that the same was true for him, but Justin was having a hard time believing it.

Pulling the duvet aside, Justin climbed into bed and settled back into the pillows as Brian did the same.

“You won’t always feel this way, you know,” Brian said.

“What way is that?”

“Lost. Like you’re not sure what to do or where to go. It gets better. I promise.”

How did Brian always seem to know exactly what Justin was thinking? He wished he could put his full faith into Brian’s words and know that it would get better. But right now, it didn’t feel that way.

Brian leaned over and kissed Justin on the lips -- just a brief, chaste kiss. Not at all like the hungry, sensual one Brian had given him the night before. Justin still had a lot of questions about intimacy and their sex life, none of which he felt comfortable asking at this point. He kept hoping it would all come flooding back to him and he wouldn’t have to, but so far, nothing.

“I love you,” Brian said. God, Justin remembered when all he’d ever wanted was to hear those words, and he remembered how hard it had been for Brian to say them out loud. Now, Brian said them all the time, and it seemed like they flowed with ease. Justin wished he could remember the journey to get to this point.

“I love you too.”

Brian turned out the light, leaving their bedroom illuminated just by the soft glow of the city lights from outside the window, then flipped himself over onto his stomach and turned his head toward Justin, giving him a small smile that almost looked shy.

“You’ll get there,” Brian said, his voice quiet. “I know it doesn’t seem like that now, but you will.”

Lying there in the darkness, Justin closed his eyes and tried to let those words sink into his consciousness. He hoped Brian was right.

The ambient sounds of the city that never sleeps -- sirens wailing and horns honking from the street below -- served as his lullaby as he drifted off, Brian’s words echoing in his head.

You’ll get there. I know it doesn’t seem like that now, but you will.

Justin was trying like hell to make himself believe that.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he felt Brian’s hand make contact with his chest, pushing him toward the edge of the bed, but thankfully, not over it. Justin tried to bring himself into full consciousness as quickly as he could, although it seemed like now, it took much longer for the fog of sleep to fully lift.

The fog burned off almost instantly, though, when Brian started screaming his name. An anguished scream that faded into a guttural moan that sounded broken. Devastated.

What was going on? Why was this happening again? Surely this hadn’t been happening before -- Justin felt like he would have remembered it. Should have remembered it.

Then, Brian started talking. Again, it started off as a mumble, then rose in volume as it slowly became more urgent and desperate.

“No no no no no no...God! Why? Why him? Why tonight? Why did I think I could go to his fucking prom?”

Brian’s last word made Justin freeze.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… This is all my fault… You didn’t deserve this.” Brian’s voice was getting more and more unsteady.

Justin didn’t know what he should do.

But what he did know, was exactly what this nightmare was about.

And Justin wasn’t sure he could take hearing any more of what Brian had gone through after Chris Hobbs had smashed Justin’s skull with a baseball bat. He’d never heard it before, because Brian never wanted to talk about it. He’d always change the subject, or otherwise tell Justin to try not to think about it. Justin had an idea all those years ago that there was something Brian wasn’t telling him when it came to what happened that night and how it had affected him, but now it was painfully clear just how awful that night had been for his then-lover, now-husband.

And Justin was devastated that Brian had never felt like he could talk about it with him. That he’d apparently held it all inside for all of these years. And now, it was all coming out. But why? Why now, if it hadn’t been happening all along? Or had it, and Justin couldn’t remember? Fuck. Surely he would have remembered this.

But the truth was, he didn't know. And that was even more scary.

Justin was brought back to the present by a broken sob coming from Brian, who was now crying in his sleep. Justin had to try to find a way to wake him up, because he couldn’t watch this anymore. Not knowing that it was all about him. That he was causing Brian pain.

“Brian,” Justin said, trying to keep his voice low but strong, even though he was petrified himself. He reached out and hesitantly touched Brian’s shoulder, causing Brian to flinch. Justin kept his hand there, applying gentle pressure. Feeling Brian’s tense muscles beneath his palm. “Wake up… It’s just a dream. You’re alright. It’s just a dream.” He remembered Brian having to bring him back to consciousness, night after night, during the two years after the bashing that his own dreams had been haunted by images of baseball bats and Chris Hobbs. It felt so strange to have their roles reversed.

When it seemed like the gentle pressure wasn’t going to be enough to bring Brian out of his nightmare, Justin pushed a little harder, shaking Brian just a little as he said, “Brian, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

In the dimly lit room, Justin could see Brian’s eyes slowly flutter open, unfocused and confused at first, before he seemed to realize what had happened and buried his face in the pillow.

Justin had so many questions. He didn’t know what to ask first, or if he should even ask any of them. Scooting himself toward Brian, until their bodies were touching, he laid his arm across Brian’s back and hugged him close, softly kissing his shoulder and then laying his own head on the edge of Brian’s pillow. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” He felt Brian’s muscles begin to relax and soften. “Tell me about it. Tell me what happened.”

Brian turned his head to face Justin again and shook it just slightly.

“I know it was about the prom,” Justin said gently. “Tell me.”

Brian buried his face in the pillow again, then took a deep breath and blew it out quickly.

“Brian, we don’t keep things from each other anymore,” Justin said, keeping his voice low. “We don’t have secrets. We talk about things. There might be a lot of things I don’t remember, but I do remember that.”

Brian rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, inhaling a shaky breath. “Trust me,” he said softly. “It’s better if we don’t talk about this.”

“No, it’s not. It happened to me too. It happened to both of us. We’ve never really talked about it. We need to talk about it.”

“I don’t think I can. Not with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was all my fault. And maybe if I hadn’t gone, it wouldn’t have happened.” Brian paused for a moment. When he continued, his voice was nearly a whisper. “And if it hadn’t happened, then maybe this time wouldn’t have been as bad as it is right now.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Chris Hobbs brought a baseball bat to the prom. He had to have already been planning something. He didn’t do what he did, because of you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, you don’t know any of what you just said either. There’s no way to know. And you can’t keep…” Fuck, the word wouldn’t come to him. Finally, it did. “...torturing yourself over it. How long has this been happening?”

“Too long.”

“How long is too long?”

“Justin, please… Let it go.”

“I want to know. We don’t keep secrets, remember? I want to know so I can help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

“How do you know, if you won’t let me try?”

“You need to focus on yourself right now.” Brian sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “You don’t need to be dealing with my shit.”

“We’re in this together, Brian. All of it. I might not remember our wedding, but I know how vows go. ‘For better or for worse.’ We help each other.”

Brian took in another deep breath, letting this one out slowly. Justin could see how difficult it was for Brian to talk about this, but he knew it needed to be talked about. Justin didn’t want Brian to feel like he had to keep things from him. He might be frustrated and depressed with his own situation, but he wasn’t so fragile that Brian couldn’t talk to him about something that was bothering him. He wanted to be a good partner, and this was part of it.

“Okay,” Brian said, still sounding unsure. “I’ve been having nightmares since your accident. Well, since the day I saw the car. All the blood in the car. The police gave me back the paintings, but some of them were missing. Michael and I went to see if they were there. In the car. And all the blood… It was like that night in the parking garage. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then I started dreaming about it. I keep seeing it over and over. The bashing, my accident, yours… I can’t sleep because I can’t stop seeing it. And I’ve been talking to someone about it but it’s not helping.”

Justin pulled himself closer to Brian again and laid his head on Brian’s chest. Slowly, he was putting together the pieces -- how tired Brian had been, how haggard he’d looked some days when he’d come to the hospital or to the rehab center. And Justin felt guilty that all of this was over him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What the hell are you sorry about? You have nothing to be sorry about. This is why I didn’t want to tell you about this. Why I’ve just been trying to deal with it on my own. I didn’t want to put this on you.”

“I’m glad you told me. I want you to be able to tell me anything. We’re married. That’s what married people do.”

Justin felt Brian’s arm come around his shoulders.

“I know, Sunshine,” Brian said. “I know. Try to go back to sleep, okay? I’m alright.”

Justin rolled over toward Brian, laying an arm over Brian’s chest. He could feel Brian’s heartbeat, and the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He remembered laying exactly like this, for so many nights when Brian was going through cancer treatment. Reminding himself that Brian was still alive, and was right there, with him. And he thought he had a brief flash of having done it again, more recently. Maybe he had. Regardless, he liked it. Feeling the current of life flowing through the man who had meant so much to him for so long. Feeling the rhythm of their breath begin to converge and fall into perfect harmony as they lay tangled together in the darkness. Reminding him that they were both still here, and they were together. Gradually, the ebb and flow lulled him back to sleep, with Brian’s arm around him, and Brian’s hand brushing lightly back and forth over his shoulder.

Justin woke up alone in the bed again, not even remembering Brian apparently slipping out from under him and getting up. Another day of not being able to do any of what he wanted. Only this time, he had therapy. Fun. Just the thought was enough to send his mood spiraling downward. He hoped he’d be able to keep that mood to himself and not take it out on Brian. Not after the night he knew Brian had had. He could feel a dull ache beginning in his head, and the sunlight streaming in their bedroom window was hurting his eyes. He kept hearing his neurologist’s voice in his head, telling him that his brain was highly sensitive to everything right now. Like he didn’t already know that, just from feeling how his brain was reacting to light, and sound, and every single fucking thing.

He found Brian in the living room with his laptop and a cup of coffee, sitting on the couch with his feet propped up in his wheelchair, laptop balanced on his thighs. He looked exhausted, and Justin didn’t feel much better himself. Justin wondered if Brian had even been able to go back to sleep, or if he’d just lain there awake while Justin slept.

“Hey,” Brian said. “Sorry about last night.”

Justin shrugged. “You couldn’t help it. There’s nothing you could have done about it.”

“No, I should have gotten on top of it a long time ago. But there was too much going on. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long. I’m going to Rochelle’s office today…” He paused and pulled his lips into his mouth. “I’m going to see if I can get a prescription for something so I can sleep. So we can both sleep. I can’t deal with this anymore. Fuck, I can’t even think straight.”

“Rochelle… Is she…” Justin was so goddamn tired of not remembering things that it seemed he should know.

“Oh, sorry. She’s, uh...the therapist I saw, after I was hurt. She helped me a lot back then.”

Justin didn't say anything. That was definitely something he should have known about. Remembered. Brian Fucking Kinney seeing a shrink. You’d think that would be memorable enough. But if it was directly related to Brian’s injury, he guessed that was why that memory had fallen into the same hole with all the rest of it. The hole that Justin was starting to wonder if he’d ever find again. That only added to his dark mood.

“Sunshine, have you...thought about talking to someone? About how you feel?”

“What, do you think she’ll give us a two-for-one special?” Justin didn’t know where the sudden snark had come from, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“You know we stopped doing that a long time ago,” Brian chuckled. “But seriously, even if it’s not her, just...someone. It really does help. Call me Zen Ben, or maybe I’ve been hanging out too much with Rob, but I’m about to talk about feelings. And I can see how much this is dragging you down. I understand where it’s coming from -- like I said, I’ve been there. I know. But I don’t want to see you go through what I went through before I got help. And trust me, you don’t want to go through that. It was scary as fuck. I felt like I was losing my mind. Eventually, you get to to a point where you just can’t deal with it anymore. Your brain just shuts down.”

There was clearly something else Justin should have remembered here, that he just didn’t. Yet another thing to be frustrated about, and yet another reason why he felt like the world’s worst partner. That only pissed him off more.

Regardless, he wasn’t sure that he wanted help. He hadn’t wanted to talk about his feelings to Rebecca in rehab, and Brian knew that, so he wasn’t sure why Brian thought he’d want to talk to someone else now.

So Justin simply shrugged and said, “I don’t want to talk about it,” then went back to the bedroom, mostly to get away from Brian and the notion that he should start seeing a shrink. What the fuck good would it do? The only thing that was going to help him was fixing his hand, and it seemed like no one was able to do that. So why bother?

Brian left him alone for the most part, except for quietly bringing him a protein bar and some tea, which he left on the nightstand without saying a word.

Two hours later, Justin took a cab to therapy -- alone -- after a small argument with Brian over whether or not he was capable of doing such a thing. That hadn’t been exactly what Brian had said, but it was how it felt to Justin. He was tired of feeling like a child. He knew Brian was worried about him, and he felt guilty about that, but for some reason today that guilt was manifesting entirely as resentment and anger and a burning desire to prove that he was still an adult who could manage himself. He didn’t need a chaperone.

When he got home, the apartment was empty. Brian must have been at his own appointment with Rochelle. Justin was completely exhausted, and he felt like all of the fight had gone out of him. He’d spent the entire day angry and on-edge -- just mad at the world -- and that had taken its toll. The fruitless pursuit of trying to relearn how to do simple things with his useless right hand didn’t help. He got himself a glass of water and sank down onto the sofa, leaning his head back onto the pillows and closing his eyes for a minute. When he opened them to set his glass down on the end table, a framed photo caught his eye.

He and Brian were in the center, surrounded by their entire Pittsburgh family. Gus was in Brian’s lap. Lindsay had one hand on Brian’s shoulder and the other arm around Melanie’s waist. Daphne was standing alongside Justin, with her arm thrown around him, grinning from ear-to-ear. His mother looked so proud. So thrilled for them. So did Debbie. Michael and Ben were holding J.R. Everyone else was there too -- Ted, Blake, Emmett, Drew, Carl, Hunter...even Cynthia. Everyone looked so happy. He and Brian looked so happy. You could almost feel it, just looking at the picture.

There was a banner in the background that read, “Congratulations, Brian and Justin.” This had to be a photo from their wedding reception.

He wished he could remember it. And now, looking at how radiant they all had been, it was even more devastating to have no recollection of it. Not of the wedding, and not of the day the photo was taken.

He wanted so badly to remember it. To know what it had felt like to be there. To be celebrating the very thing he had wanted for so long.

The tears came, and Justin couldn’t stop them. Damn brain injury. His emotions were all over the map and he wondered if that was ever going to end. If he’d ever feel in control again. But right now, he was overwhelmed with sorrow over the fact that he still couldn’t remember marrying Brian. Not even one minute of it. Not even flashes. Not a goddamn thing.

He laid the picture frame down next to him on the couch and hugged one of the throw pillows to his chest as the tears started falling. There wasn’t anything else to do except let himself cry.

He barely heard the door to the apartment open and close. He kept his face buried in the pillow, not wanting Brian to see him. Ashamed that he was so emotional over something he couldn’t even remember.

He heard Brian lock the brakes on his chair, then felt the sofa cushions sink down as Brian’s weight came to rest next to him. He felt Brian’s hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles across it.

Justin didn’t know what it was that made him lift his head up and turn toward Brian, but he did. And as soon as he did that, he felt Brian’s strong arms come around him, pulling him against his chest. It was then that he fully let go, breaking down completely until he was sobbing into Brian’s shoulder while Brian rubbed his back and whispered that he was okay. That everything was okay. Didn’t he know that it wasn’t? And it might not ever be?

Justin wasn’t sure how long it took him to calm down -- for the tears to stop and his breathing to return to normal. Once he did, he felt stupid. It was just a picture. Granted, it was a picture of a time that he wanted to remember badly and couldn’t, but it was still just a picture.

Brian leaned forward and picked up the frame from the coffee table, where he must have moved it to before he sat down next to Justin.

“This was a pretty great day,” he said, running his finger over the edge of the frame with a far away look in his eyes, like he was lost in the memory.

“I wish I could remember it.”

“I know. I wish you could too.”

Brian looked as sad as Justin felt. What kind of a partner was he, if he couldn’t even remember the day they got married? His mother had told him, when he was still in the hospital, that he and Brian had gotten married in Boston, then had a reception in Pittsburgh the next week. But that was all she’d told him, because that was all he’d asked. He kept hoping that he would eventually remember the rest, but the more time passed, the more he started to lose hope of that ever happening.

“Everybody looks so happy. We look so happy.”

“We were. We all were.”

“Tell me about our wedding.”

Justin looked at Brian expectantly, but could see a clear hesitance in his husband’s eyes.

“Justin, I don’t know if we should talk about this now. Not when you’re upset. I don’t want to make it any worse. Maybe we should wait.”

“I want to know. I want to feel like I was there too.”

“You were there,” Brian said softly.

“It feels like I wasn’t, though. Like that’s somebody else in that picture, instead of me. Maybe if you tell me about it, I’ll remember.”

Brian sighed. “And if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll know what you told me. I want to hear you tell it.”

Brian paused, breathing in and out slowly, before he started to tell the story.

“It was a Friday. December 21st. We got married in Boston, because we wanted it to be legal. It was snowing.” He stopped and looked at Justin, like he wasn’t sure he should continue.

“I love snow,” Justin said, in part to fill the silence, and also to hopefully encourage Brian to keep going.

“I know you do. I fucking hate it. But that day, it wasn’t so bad. Because it made you happy. Anyway, your mom was there, and Daphne was your best woman. You came up with that phrase. Michael was my best man. Ben was there too. And I, uh...I’d been planning a surprise for you. I wanted to stand while I married you. I spent months working with a physical therapist to learn how to do that, with leg braces and crutches. I took three steps, and I hugged you, and I think we all cried. But I was really happy that I could do that for you. It was what I wanted to do, and I did it. I remember feeling like I’d really accomplished something. It was a lot of work, but it was worth it.”

Hearing all of this was making Justin wish even harder that he could remember. Brian had done that, for him? Somehow, knowing that made Justin feel even worse for not remembering. He should remember that. It was important.

“It just felt right,” Brian said, looking down at the picture. Justin could see that he was blinking back tears. “We wrote our own vows. You talked me into that. I don’t remember all of it, but I do remember that we promised to always be there for each other, no matter what. We were each giving ourselves to the other, forever. To support each other as partners, for the rest of our lives.”

“I feel like I’m not a very good partner right now.”

“Why would you say that?” Brian looked up at Justin, his eyes still glistening. “You’re here. You’re with me. That’s all I need or want.”

Justin searched Brian’s eyes for even the slightest hint of uncertainty, but couldn’t find any, in spite of the fact that he himself felt like there was no way that just his presence could be all Brian wanted. The person Brian fell in love with was confident, expressive, and artistic. Justin felt like he was none of those things now. What was there to stop Brian from moving on, and finding someone else to fulfill his needs? Someone who was whole. Unbroken.

“How could that be enough?” Justin said. “I’m not the person you fell in love with.”

“But you are. You’re exactly the person I fell in love with. Because you’re you. We’re both different now than we were when we met, but we’re still us. Still Brian and Justin.”

“But what if I never remember?”

“Then we’ll make new memories. That doesn’t make you not worth loving.”

Justin had his doubts about that. He still felt like Brian deserved someone who wasn’t constantly trying to figure out what was going on -- what he was supposed to remember, that he didn’t.

“You know how you said last night, we don’t keep secrets from each other? Well, I kept a big one from you. It took me six months to tell you about my accident. That I was paralyzed. I was scared. I was ashamed of what had happened to me -- what I’d become.”

Justin tried to wrap his head around what Brian had just said, but he was having a hard time picturing strong, confident Brian ever being afraid or ashamed of anything.

“Because I hadn’t told you, when I talked to you, I could pretend it hadn’t happened.” Brian was looking down at his fingers as he spoke, picking at them a little. “I couldn’t do that forever, and I knew that, but I let it go on as long as I possibly could. I had to tell you, eventually. I told you -- well, after you saw me -- on Christmas Eve at Deb’s. I was afraid you’d never forgive me for not telling you, but you did, easily. I was so scared you wouldn’t find me sexy anymore. But you did. You touched me when I felt untouchable. Gave me back my desire. Showed me that I was still desirable.”

“I did that?”

“You did. And if you hadn’t been the persistent motherfucker you always were, we wouldn’t be married. You showed me I was worth loving. That I was worth more than just my reputation and my legs. That I was still the same person. You are too. And you’re worth loving -- that hasn’t changed. You’re still the only person in my entire life that I want to see every single day until I die. That’s why I came here to New York to be with you, and it’s why I married you.”

“I can’t imagine you ever feeling that way. Untouchable or undesirable.”

“Well, I did. When your body changes this much, it’s hard to see things the same way. Sometimes you need someone else to show you that even though things are different, that doesn’t mean they can’t still be great. You did that for me, and I’m not just talking about sex. You helped me learn how to be myself again. And I’ll be here for you, to help you do the same. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re a lot stronger than I am, though.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve always been strong. You still are. You just can’t see it right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. You’re the bravest person I know, to survive what you did at 18 and still do exactly what you want with your life. I’m not letting you give up this time. Just like you didn’t let me give up.”

“You said I showed you…” Justin stopped and took a breath. He hated asking about this. He felt like it was something he should know without having to ask, and his nervousness was making him stumble over his words. “That I showed you that you were still desirable. How… How did we do that?”

“We worked it out. Together.”

Brian leaned in and kissed him, starting off slow and tender but quickly becoming urgent and passionate, before pulling away so he could speak. Justin could see in Brian’s eyes how badly he wanted this -- wanted him.

“I’ll show you.”

Brian transferred himself quickly to his wheelchair and started off toward the bedroom. Justin followed him, nervous and unsure of how he was going to do this without making a fool of himself. He was fairly sure the last time he’d been this nervous about sex with Brian was the night they met under that street lamp on Liberty Avenue. In a way, he felt like he was a virgin all over again.

There were so many thoughts running through his head as he watched Brian get himself into the bed and start unbuttoning his shirt. How was this going to go? What could Brian even feel? How was he going to bring Brian pleasure? He remembered that Brian had always had certain places on his head and neck that turned him on when they were licked, nibbled, and touched in just such a way, but was that going to be enough?

Nervously, Justin took off his own clothes and climbed into bed, trying to cover up his anxiety by jumping right in -- running a hand over Brian’s bare chest as he finished propping himself up on the pillows, then kissing him, taking extra time to suck on Brian’s bottom lip before he released it. Feeling a tiny bit bolder now that he’d gotten started, Justin kissed his way down Brian’s jaw and the side of his neck. Brian seemed to like that, so he kept going, until he’d kissed his way down to Brian’s chest. He started to continue down Brian’s stomach, then realized he had no idea what he was going to do once he reached his destination.

Brian seemed to sense Justin’s hesitation.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Keep going. You were doing great.”

“But if I go down too far, then you won’t feel it, right? I don’t know how to do this. What to do.”

“If you get pleasure out of doing it, then I’m getting pleasure out of it too. A lot of this for me now, is about watching you. Giving you what you want. What you need. It makes me happy to make you happy.” Brian reached down and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down just a little as he looked expectantly at Justin. “It’s a whole lot sexier if you take my pants off than if I try to do it myself, trust me.”

Brian had a teasing sort of half-grin on his face, but Justin wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not.

“You can laugh,” Brian said. “Sometimes you have to. That’s one thing about this...you can’t take yourself so seriously. You just have to try things. Find out what works and what doesn’t.” Brian pushed his pants and underwear down a little farther, probably as far as he could with hips that wouldn’t lift, then took Justin’s hands in his and ran Justin’s fingers lightly across the skin a couple of inches below his navel. “Right there,” he said, arching his back a little, seemingly just from that light touch. “That spot is really good, most of the time. It’s super sensitive, so don’t press too hard, and if I tell you to stop, it’s because sometimes it hurts. The nerves are kind of haywire right there. Just depends on the day. But when it’s good…” Brian trailed off, leaning back into the pillows and quietly sighing.

“What’s it like?”

“It’s hard to describe, but it can bring me to as close as I’m ever going to come to an orgasm.”

“So you can’t…” Justin felt awkward even trying to finish that sentence. He couldn’t imagine what that must be like. It didn’t match up at all with his memory of Brian, who would sometimes orgasm multiple times in a single session.

“No,” Brian shook his head, but he didn’t look particularly sad or disappointed. He just looked like he was simply sharing a fact. “All of that requires my dick to be able to talk to my brain. But there are certain things that don’t…” Brian let his voice fade as he took his penis in his hand and started to stroke it lightly. It wasn’t long before Justin could see Brian getting hard. “I want you so bad right now. But my brain can’t send that message where it needs to go. There’s also this little reflex loop though, that usually serves us pretty well. Unless you’re looking for a marathon, and if you are, I do have what we’d need for that too. The Boy Scouts would be proud...I’m always prepared.” Brian’s voice was slowly getting lower and more seductive, before he suddenly shifted gears back to his lighter, teasing tone from earlier, as if he was trying to break the tension that Justin was sure was radiating off of him. “Now, would you help a poor guy out with these damn pants? They’re getting in the way.”

Justin took a deep breath and started carefully sliding Brian’s pants down his legs with his left hand, which was shaking a little. He was almost afraid to touch Brian’s legs, given that he had no idea what Brian could feel and what he couldn’t. If touching his hips hurt some days, did touching his legs hurt too sometimes?

“You're not going to hurt me,” Brian said softly -- encouragingly -- as if he could read Justin's mind. “They're dead. But if you touch me like I could feel it, that's pretty damn hot…”

About halfway down Brian's leg, Justin started running one hand seductively over the skin as he slid Brian’s jeans down the rest of the way. He had to use his right to do that, which he wasn’t entirely sure about, but he did it anyway. He wondered if the only reason Brian was asking him to touch him might be so that he’d have to use his right hand to do something. Regardless, it worked. It felt strange, but he was doing it. He wanted to make Brian happy. Make him feel something, even if it wasn’t physical. Once Brian was entirely naked, Justin pushed his left hand back up Brian's leg, returning to the area Brian had just shown him. As soon as his hand made contact, Brian inhaled sharply. For a split second, Justin was afraid he'd caused Brian pain -- that he'd touched it wrong or pressed too hard -- until he realized that the look on Brian's face was pure pleasure.

Justin definitely wanted to give Brian more of that.

He started using his thumbs to rub small circles across Brian's hips, relishing the way his lover was reacting. He wasn’t sure how good of a job he was doing with the right, since he was having to move his whole hand to do it and it was hard to coordinate, but Brian was quickly becoming breathless, so Justin guessed it didn’t really matter, as long as Brian liked it. Brian reached down and put a hand on each side of Justin's head, pulling him up so that their lips met in a rough, penetrating kiss. Then, Justin felt Brian's hand around his own cock -- expertly teasing him with agile fingers. Christ, he'd forgotten how good Brian was at giving hand jobs.

But Justin wanted to try more.

They were both becoming more and more frantic -- their hands scrabbling for purchase on one another's skin, their tongues each competing for space inside the other's mouth.

Justin pulled his lips free from Brian's just long enough to say, “I want you inside me.”

Memories by TrueIllusion

“But you don’t even know what it is.”

“Sure I do. It’s false hope.”

“But you can draw with it. See? Same as a pen or a pencil or a paintbrush. Just much easier to control.”

“Like with my gimp hand?”

“And there’s a million special effects you can create with it. Stop being a fucking princess and come give it a try.”

“What for? To make you happy? So that you can tell yourself you fixed little Justin’s problems and made everything all better? Well, you can’t fix this, alright? No one can.”

*****

Brian hadn’t expected Justin to want to go all-in on what might as well have been his first time with Brian’s paralyzed body. He’d wondered if Justin might be put-off by how his legs looked, since he hadn’t really seen them without pants, or if Justin would be afraid of how differently Brian’s body functioned now. He had seemed a bit uncertain at first, but Brian was able to reassure him and get him to keep going. Brian had shown him a couple of tricks, although it felt strange to be guiding his lover through the process. He usually preferred to directly demonstrate for his student -- the way he had with Justin back when they’d first met -- but now, that wasn’t particularly feasible for most things. The only demonstration he ended up giving was taking Justin’s hands and guiding them to the area that gave him the most intense sensation. He had to admit, his motivation there had been a bit selfish, because he’d gone so long without having sex with his husband that he wanted to have that sort of sensation, and he didn’t want to have to wait for it.

And just like when they’d first met, Justin was a quick learner. He listened, and he did as he was told, and Brian was really enjoying it. In fact, he was so lost in the pleasure of the moment of finally reconnecting with his partner, that it took him a few minutes to realize that he was feeling both of Justin’s hands on his body. Even so, Justin still seemed a bit tentative, but once Brian started using his own hand on Justin’s cock, things escalated quickly, and any hesitancy was quickly forgotten.

Brian was drinking it all in, giving himself over to the myriad of sensations he was feeling as he kissed Justin hungrily. Almost greedily. Wishing this would never end.

Then, Justin said the magic words: “I want you inside me.”

One of his favorite things to do now when it came to sex was to watch Justin ride him -- seeing how much Justin enjoyed it. Watching Justin as he approached his climax, and ultimately, seeing him orgasm. When they’d first started experimenting with sex after Brian’s injury, Brian remembered wishing for nothing more than the ability get on his knees and stay there, or at least to thrust, no matter what position he was in. But that wasn’t happening without any control over his hip flexors. He didn’t have a choice but to take a more passive role sometimes, but he was still plenty active when it came to everything he could do with his hands. And he was happy to oblige Justin’s every whim.

Justin didn’t ask any questions about the fact that they weren’t using a condom -- perhaps he’d made the logical jump that since they’d been married for a long time and Brian hadn’t been tricking, they didn’t need one. He knew Justin would notice his dry orgasm -- well, as much of an orgasm as it was -- but Justin didn’t ask any questions about that either.

Neither of them lasted very long, but Brian was still satiated, and he hoped Justin was as well. If the blissed-out look on his face as he collapsed to the bed next to Brian was any indication, Justin was definitely satisfied.

Brian leaned over and kissed Justin again -- just a brief, affectionate kiss this time.

“That was amazing,” he said. “I missed that.”

“I don’t feel like I did much,” Justin mumbled into Brian’s shoulder, still catching his breath.

“Oh, you’re wrong there. You did plenty.”

“Whoever thought Brian Kinney would be so easy to please?”

There it was. The tiniest hint of the old Justin -- teasing Brian, snarking at him. Brian was starting to notice those moments occurring occasionally, and he hoped it meant that the old Justin was starting to return. That maybe someday soon, Justin would feel up to trying something artistic again. Brian didn’t care if that meant painting or drawing or computer graphics or writing a fucking song -- as long as Justin was creating. He knew his husband was the happiest when he was creating something. And he knew Justin would feel much better if he would just give something -- anything -- a try. But Justin was too hung up on not being able to do things the same way he did before.

Nevermind the fact that if Brian had had that attitude ten years ago, they would never have had sex again. Sometimes life forces you to find new ways to do things. That was a lesson Brian had learned the hard way, and now it seemed Justin was going to learn it the hard way as well.

Of course, Brian had seen the old Justin during sex as well -- likely led by pure primal drive. Justin had always been adventurous and relatively fearless when it came to sex -- that was one of the things Brian had liked about him from the start, that kept him coming back for more -- and that was exactly the Justin he’d ended up with tonight, once the initial jitters had passed. If only getting Justin to pick up a paintbrush again was as easy as wrapping a hand around his dick.

But art definitely wasn’t the only issue here. Justin’s memory loss was still a substantial stumbling block, and it was frustrating them both. Although Brian hadn’t realized just how upset Justin was at not remembering their wedding until earlier that night.

He’d come into the apartment after his appointment at Rochelle’s office -- meeting with her and also with the person who held the key to getting him some drugs that could help him finally get some sleep. It had been a rough last several hours, from his argument with Justin over whether or not Justin should be going to his own therapy appointment alone, to his first in-person session with Rochelle in years. Brian felt unsettled, like he always did after dredging up everything he didn’t want to remember, much less talk about in detail, breaking down every aspect of what he thought and why he thought it. But she kept telling him that he had to talk about those things -- that getting them out into the open was going to be a big part of being able to move on. He had to stop avoiding them, if he didn’t want them to continue to have power over him. If he didn’t want to stay stuck.

But Brian was starting to wonder how long it would take before all of this talking started paying off, instead of just making him feel emotionally drained. She’d told him it would take a while, but so far he wasn’t noticing much difference. He had a homework assignment this time -- to write down every detail he could remember about the night Justin was bashed, so he could read it aloud at his next session. And he definitely wasn’t looking forward to doing that -- either writing it down or reading it. He’d much rather avoid thinking about it entirely. But then, he’d stay stuck.

He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on when he opened the door, and all he could think of was that he was looking forward to trying out these new pills later, and getting a full, uninterrupted night of hopefully dreamless sleep.

Brian knew Justin should already be home, and that he would probably be raging or moping, since those seemed to be Justin’s only two emotions lately. But when he opened the door, he found Justin crying quietly on the sofa, with the photo of their wedding reception laying next to him. Even with all of the emotion Brian had seen from Justin during his time in rehab, Brian didn’t think he’d seen Justin this upset. He’d never seen him this upset over anything, really.

Everything else Brian had been thinking about was quickly forgotten the moment he saw Justin. All Brian wanted to do was touch him, hold him, comfort him. Even though he knew he couldn’t truly bring Justin comfort unless he could find some way to bring back his missing memories. Still, Brian did what he could -- holding Justin and rubbing his back until he calmed down enough to talk.

And the conversation they had made Brian realize that Justin’s lost memory of their wedding was destroying both of them.

It should have been a happy memory, but right now, it wasn’t. There were too many emotions tied up in the loss of that memory. Too much sadness. Too much regret.

After seeing Justin tonight, Brian felt awful about how upset he’d been that Justin hadn’t remembered their wedding. He’d already known that the way he felt about it was irrational and unfair, which was why he’d kept it to himself, but holding Justin while he cried over it -- nearly inconsolably -- had practically torn Brian’s heart out, and dissolved every bit of the irrational anger he’d been holding in.

Brian still felt helpless. He’d been feeling that way since December, and there didn’t seem to be any end in sight. He wanted to help Justin, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to help. Justin rejected most everything he tried.

Brian felt like his husband’s entire personality had shifted -- his drive and his persistence seemed to be gone, replaced by layers upon layers of sadness and despair. Brian wanted so badly to do something to fix it, but he couldn’t.

Two more weeks went by and not much changed. They fell into a routine -- Brian working from his home office, and occasionally meeting with clients elsewhere in the city, while Justin spent most of every single day at home, save for the couple of hours twice a week when he went to therapy. Brian kept hoping Justin would want to go to his studio sometime, or to at least work on his computer in the apartment, but he didn’t. The only place he ever went was therapy. He whiled away the hours watching television and reading books. At least the reading was something he was supposed to be doing -- it was a way to exercise his brain’s ability to use and recall words when needed. Brian wasn’t sure the television was quite as beneficial, but he chose not to say anything, because he didn’t want to make Justin upset.

Valentine’s Day came and went, and Brian tried to take Justin out for a fancy, romantic dinner, which didn’t turn out as planned. The restaurant hadn’t been as accessible as they’d promised, so getting in was a struggle, and Justin kept saying, “Let’s just go home,” but Brian really wanted to make this happen. He knew Justin had always liked romance, even though Brian had never been much of a fan of it. He wanted to give this to Justin, to try to make him feel better. So Brian had put his own frustrations aside and tried to focus on Justin, but by that point it was seeming like nothing was going to lift the dark cloud of sadness that had settled over his husband.

Brian also kept finding Justin looking at the small photo album that contained the pictures Ben had taken of their wedding. He wasn’t sure if Justin spending so much time looking at it was a good idea, but he was afraid to mention that, because he didn’t want to set Justin off or make him feel like he was treating him like a child. He’d learned that lesson during the argument over Justin taking a cab to therapy -- that his concern wasn’t always well-received. He wasn’t even sure that Justin realized that he had seen him looking at the photo album. Coming home from a meeting with a client and finding a sad and wistful Justin hurriedly putting it away became a regular occurrence.

The only time it seemed Justin was truly happy was when they were having sex, which they’d done a few times since that first night after bringing Justin home. Brian was glad there was at least some small bright spot in Justin’s life right now, and Brian certainly wasn’t going to complain about sex, but he really wanted Justin to branch out more and start trying some new things. Other things that might make him happy too. Once again, he really felt that Justin needed to find some sort of creative outlet. He just wasn’t sure how to effectively encourage Justin to do that without turning him completely in the opposite direction.

Brian met Rob at his office on a Wednesday for lunch. He’d tried to get Justin to come, but Justin had refused, barely even moving his gaze from the television as Brian said goodbye to him and left the apartment. So it would just be him and Rob. And Brian knew it was likely about to become a rant session on his part, because it had been a particularly rough morning.

“Just you?” Rob inquired as he looked curiously at Brian over the top of his laptop screen.

“Just me. I tried. He said no. Just like he says no to every damn thing now.”

“It’s a rough place to be.” Rob closed the computer and came out from behind the desk, grabbing his coat off the chair that sat in the corner of his office. “You know that, and I know that.”

Brian followed Rob back to the elevator he’d just come out of a few minutes before, and they rode together down to the ground floor. Rob asked the receptionist at the building’s front desk about her grandson as they passed by.

“How do you remember all of these things about people?” Brian asked as they exited the building and started toward the cafe, which was a few blocks away from Rob’s office. “I swear, I think you know everyone’s name and some detail about their family.”

Rob shrugged. “I just like learning about people and their lives. And people love talking about themselves most of the time, even if they won’t admit it, so it’s easy if you ask the right questions.”

Rob was a regular at the cafe they were going to, since he ate lunch there multiple times a week, and Brian had been there with him enough times that they were starting to get to know him as well. Rob must have called ahead to let them know they were coming, because they already had their usual table ready, with the chairs pushed aside into the corner.

True to form, Rob knew the names of all of the servers, and was asking them questions and generally remembering things about their lives that Brian would have never been able to remember in a million years. But Brian had noticed that they got better service there than he’d ever gotten at any restaurant, even ones that were much more expensive, so maybe there was something to be said for taking an interest in other people’s lives.

“You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you,” Rob said as he shrugged out of his coat and set it aside.

“Sleep -- it does a body good,” Brian said, taking off his gloves and laying them on the table before taking off his own coat.

“Now, I would have thought an ad man of your caliber could do better than stealing the dairy council’s slogan.”

“Why would I waste my creativity on you when you’re not paying me?”

“I guess that makes sense. When it’s such a limited amount, why waste it?” Rob grinned at Brian and took a sip from one of the glasses of water that had been placed on their table.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. My creativity sure won you over nine years ago.”

“Jesus, has it been that long? That’s hard to believe.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t long after Justin and I got married. And that doesn’t feel like it should have been nine years ago either.”

“How’s he doing?”

“About the same. Never goes anywhere except therapy. Never wants to do anything. He has to be bored out of his mind, but that doesn’t seem to be motivating him to make any changes either. I hate to say this, but I’m pretty fucking frustrated with it.”

“I get that. It would be hard not to be.”

“I’m sure he’s a lot more frustrated than I am, but I really wish I could get him to just do something. I think he’d start feeling better if he did. And I keep coming home and finding him looking at our wedding album. He still doesn’t remember any of it, and I know it’s upsetting him, but he keeps doing it anyway.”

“He’s living in the past, and he’s afraid for the future. I’m sure you’ve been there too. And I know I have. Right now, he’s in that place where he’s waiting for something to change so that everything gets back to normal, instead of accepting reality as it is. It’s tough.”

“I just don’t know what to do to pull him out of this. To make him see that this isn’t the end of the world.”

“He has to want to. You can’t do it for him.”

“How do I make him want to, though?”

“You can’t. All you can do is just be there. You’re already doing that. Just keep doing it. He’ll come around eventually.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Did you come around eventually?”

“Well, yeah. Because of him, though.”

“And what was he doing that made that happen?”

“Just being there, I guess. Encouraging me even when I didn’t listen. Not treating me any differently.”

“There you go. That’s your answer.”

“Keep doing what I’m already doing?”

Rob nodded. “Let him come to it in his own time. You can encourage him, sure, but at the end of the day, the only thing you can do is just be there.”

“He’s so fucking focused on trying to remember our wedding, though. I almost think he’s so focused on it that he’ll probably never remember at this point, because he wants it too badly. He says he’s been getting some flashbacks of other things -- and I can see it in his eyes when he does -- but never anything from the wedding. I’m really just ready to move on with our lives.”

“So do that, then.”

“And what, oh wise one, would you recommend I do in order to make him move on when he won’t leave the apartment?”

“Just keep going on about your life, and encouraging him to do the same. It all comes back to just being there. Keep things as normal as you can. Treat him the same way you always have. He’s still the same person.”

At his core, Brian knew that was true, but it was hard to have faith in that when it seemed like the Justin he knew was so far away at the moment. When he was wondering if that Justin was ever going to return to him.

When Brian got back home, Justin was looking at the wedding album again, but this time he didn’t hastily put it away the second Brian came through the door.

“Hey,” Brian said, trying to gauge Justin’s mood. “Doing okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking. And don’t say, ‘always a dangerous sign.’”

Brian laughed out loud. “Jesus, you remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember all of this stupid shit that doesn’t matter, but not the things that really do. Like, I have this memory of Emmett dancing and singing to Cyndi Lauper. Why the fuck would I need to remember that? But it’s there.”

“Do you remember what else happened that night?”

“Uh...someone tried to blow up Babylon, and a bunch of people died… Michael almost died.”

Brian nodded and bit his lip. “And do you remember what happened later? When I came back from the hospital?”

Brian watched as Justin looked away, deep in thought. Suddenly, he could see the realization of what else happened that night dawning in Justin’s eyes.

“Oh… That was... the first time you told me you loved me. I knew it had taken a long time, but I couldn’t remember exactly when it had happened. That was it.”

“Not so stupid now, is it? Sometimes it’s the stupid shit that’s part of some of the best memories. You remember lots of important things. You haven’t forgotten your entire life. You remembered the prom. How much you mean to me. How much we love each other. Those things seem pretty important.”

“But why I can’t I remember this?” He pointed to the album in his lap. “No matter how hard I try, it’s still like it happened to somebody else.”

“You felt that way about the prom once too,” Brian said as he took Justin’s left hand in his. “But now, you remember it. Maybe you’re trying too hard to remember.”

“I was thinking about how much you loved me, to do what you did for me. To learn how to stand and walk.”

“It’s not really walking.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it. You did it for me. I’m sure that was hard.”

“It was. But like I told you before, it was worth it. I did it because it felt right.”

“But you did it for me, and I can’t remember it.”

“Justin, that doesn’t matter.”

“To me it does.”

“But why? I don’t regret doing it, not even for a second, just because right now you can’t remember me doing it. The reason I did it was because I loved you. And I still do. That hasn’t changed. There’s no reason to beat yourself up over this. That’s not going to help you remember.”

“I’m just trying to find what will help me remember,” Justin said softly, his eyes glistening with tears. “I want to remember.”

“I know you do,” Brian said, tightening his grip on Justin’s hand. “These are all great memories, and I’m really glad we shared them, but they’re in the past. And at the end of the day, it’s not going to matter if you remember them or not, because that won’t change how much I love you. I don’t want to see you beating yourself up because there’s something you can’t remember. Tell me something else you do remember. Let’s focus on that.”

“I remember you coming up to me in the street the night of my first Pride, calling me a stud and asking me to dance. You promised I wouldn’t forget that one.”

“And you haven’t.” A smile spread across Brian’s face at the memory of dancing with Justin that night. How proud he’d been of him for standing up in the face of homophobes like Chris Hobbs and going to Pride at all. “What else do you remember?”

“I had a flashback the other day of dragging you out to Babylon to dance, then trying to get you to fuck me in the VIP room, that Christmas when I came home from New York.”

Brian couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Christ, of all the things for you to remember, you pick the night when I made an ass of myself in my own club.”

“See? More stupid shit.”

“No, not quite… Do you remember what else happened that night?”

“Did we… We went back to your apartment, I remember that… And I think I remember kissing you and asking you if you wanted to go to bed.”

“That was the night you showed me that you still thought I was sexy. The night we started figuring out how to have sex, after...this.” Brian gestured toward his legs. “So that’s not stupid either. None of it is. Everything ties together. A memory you might think is stupid, could lead you to the things you want to remember.”

Justin nodded, and Brian could tell he was thinking about something, although he still looked unsure. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

“But it’s not just about remembering the past. We have our whole future ahead of us, too. I want to see you smile again, Sunshine. I meant it when I said that if you don’t remember, we’ll make new memories.” Brian took the photo album from Justin’s lap, closed it, and set it down on the coffee table. “So maybe it’s time to put this away, and let’s make today the day we get started making new ones.”

“Okay,” Justin said softly as he leaned in closer to Brian, resting his head on Brian’s shoulder. “Nowhere to go but up, right?”

“That’s right. Nowhere but up.”

Justin stopped getting the photo album out, and Brian started catching him instead with old issues of Rage. He was curious what Justin was thinking about when he was looking through them, but didn’t want to ask because he didn’t want Justin to feel pressured. He hoped they were helping Justin feel inspired, and maybe getting him thinking about ways he could continue collaborating with Michael on their beloved side project, which had somehow now spanned nearly fifteen years.

Although it seemed like Justin might have been rekindling his interest in art, Brian still wasn’t too successful in getting him to leave the apartment for much of anything other than his therapy appointments and a few dinners out. He also still hadn’t gotten Justin to go to his studio. So he was surprised when he told Justin that Rob and Adam had invited them over for dinner and Justin actually seemed excited about it, particularly when he found out that Sophia and Esme would be there. Brian wasn’t going to question it -- whatever the reason was for Justin being happy about their dinner plans, he would take it. He would take Justin being happy about anything.

Maybe Justin was starting to turn the corner.

The following Friday, Brian and Justin took the subway to Rob and Adam’s neighborhood in Brooklyn. Justin had always liked their neighborhood, and had tried to talk Brian into moving several times, but Brian much preferred living in Manhattan. He found it to be more his style, not to mention the fact that it made it a lot easier to meet clients, most of whose offices were in Manhattan as well.

Esme and Sophia hadn’t seen Justin since before his accident, so to say they were excited to see him was an understatement -- they were ecstatic, practically attacking him with hugs the second he and Brian came through the door. Brian hadn’t been sure how Justin would react to being smothered with attention, but he seemed to be okay with it. Comfortable, even. It only took a few seconds for the girls to whisk Justin away, leading him off down the hallway to their bedrooms.

They’d always loved it when Brian and Justin came over, because Justin would sit down with them and help them draw, and sometimes he’d even bring some of his own supplies, which made them feel really special, getting to use “professional” things. He hadn’t brought anything tonight, because he still hadn’t been to his studio, but Brian doubted that would matter where the girls were concerned. They’d be happy to have Justin back, with or without paints and charcoals and oil crayons.

“I think your husband has been abducted,” Rob said, laughing. “They’ve really been looking forward to seeing him. I can go rescue him if I need to.”

“Nah, he’s probably alright. He’s really been looking forward to seeing them too.”

Brian followed Rob into the kitchen, where there was a pot of chili simmering on the stove and a pan of cornbread in the oven. Perfect for a wintery night in late February, according to Rob.

“Remind me to thank Justin later for making it a heck of a lot easier to get them to clean their rooms,” Rob said as he poured Brian a glass of bourbon. “Everything going okay at your place?”

“Leaving the house a little bit now...still nothing on the creative front.”

“It’ll come, I’m sure. It’s who he is. He won’t be able to stay away from it long.”

Brian hoped Rob was right. Justin needed something to do with his life, and he’d never really imagined doing anything other than art. Truthfully, Brian couldn’t imagine him doing anything else either.

Brian kept Rob company in the kitchen for a few more minutes, then decided to check on Justin and the girls. When he turned toward the hallway, he was surprised to see Adam already standing outside the door to Esme’s room. He put his finger to his lips when he saw Brian coming. Brian tried to be as quiet as possible going down the hallway, which meant moving slowly and carefully. He stopped short of the doorway, giving himself just enough room to see in without being seen, then turned to see what Adam was looking at.

Justin was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner of Esme’s room, his right hand in his lap, while Esme and her sister knelt at a small table with art supplies and paper strewn all over it. Sophia was coloring with crayons, and Esme was working on a drawing. She was totally absorbed in her work, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth as she moved a colored pencil over the paper in careful strokes.

“If you rub your finger across that line, you can make it softer,” he heard Justin say.

Justin used his left hand to pick up another pencil from the table and offer it to her. “This color might look nice with what you’ve already chosen, too,” he said.

Brian just sat there in the hallway for a few minutes, mesmerized. Watching Justin help Esme create something. Seeing how thrilled she was with the results, and how engaged Justin was as well. Brian felt like he was seeing the old Justin. He could see a light in Justin’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in more than two months.

Not wanting to ruin the moment in case he was spotted, Brian turned and went back toward the living room. Adam followed behind him.

“He’s such a natural-born teacher,” Adam said quietly, likely trying to avoid being heard down the hallway. “He’s very good at it. I always wished I could have convinced him to do more than just sub, because the kids love it so much when he’s there. I’m pretty sure they like him better than their regular teacher. And they learn so much from him.”

“I just wish I could see that side of him more often, now,” Brian said sadly. “That’s the Justin I know. That’s the part that’s been missing since December.”

A few minutes later, all six of them were seated around Rob and Adam’s dining room table with bowls of chili and plates of cornbread, with bowls of cheese and sour cream and peppers and diced onions sitting in the middle.

“So, the kids at school are wondering when their favorite art teacher is coming back,” Adam said, looking at Justin with a thoughtful, sincere expression.

“He’s not.” Justin pushed his chili around in the bowl with his spoon and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Hmm. That’s too bad. They’ll be pretty disappointed. They really loved you.”

Justin shrugged.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Adam said.

“I can’t do that kind of thing anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t even hold a pencil. I can’t hold anything with my right hand and actually use it -- everything just slips through my fingers because I can’t grip it. How would I teach?”

“You wouldn’t need to hold a pencil -- or anything -- to teach kids how to bring their visions to life. You have a gift, Justin. You should use it. The world shouldn’t miss out on your talent just because you had an accident.”

“I just can’t do it right now,” Justin said quietly. “Thank you for asking, but I can’t.”

Leave it to Justin to be all WASP-y politeness when Brian could tell he really wanted to cry.

“I hope you’ll still teach me,” came Esme’s tiny voice, which fit her petite body -- small for her nine years -- perfectly.

Justin bit his lip and nodded. “I will. I promise.” His voice was shaky, and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Brian grabbed Justin’s right hand under the table, squeezed it, and hoped he would feel it.

Brian had been starting to see glimmers of hope -- more and more pieces of the old Justin, who was driven and adventurous and would try anything once. Even though he wasn’t quite there yet by any means, every puzzle piece that fell into place, Brian felt brought him closer to getting his husband back. He’d really hoped that Justin would accept Adam’s offer, especially after he’d seen how different Justin was when he was helping Esme with her drawing. Teaching could have helped him find some purpose, even if it was only a temporary position. So to hear him flatly turn it down was not only frustrating, but also made Brian sad. Tonight, Justin had taken a couple of steps forward, but he also seemed to have taken a giant step back, all because of a simple question.

Justin managed to collect himself enough to get through the rest of dinner, but Brian could hear him sniffling quietly on the subway ride home, even though he kept his face turned away. Brian sat next to him, holding his hand. Just being there.

Brian wondered what it would take to give Justin back his confidence -- the belief he used to have that he could do anything he set his mind to. The same drive that had kept him pursuing Brian, even through all the times Brian turned him down and pretended not to care, even when he did.

He didn’t know what it would be, but he knew he had to find it.

Breathe by TrueIllusion

“So what kind of stuff do you do?”

“I don’t anymore. I gave it up.”

“Christ, if I couldn’t work, I’d wheel myself off a cliff.”

“How do you? I mean--”

“Work? The way two snails fuck. Very slowly. I’ve got this contraption that I call the one-armed bandit. I strap it to my good arm. That’s the way I direct the brush.”

“That sounds hard.”

“So what’s easy, besides complaining? … I’ll admit, I wasn’t too pleased after doing a spin-out on the Penn Lincoln Parkway to wake up and discover my tap dancing days were over, let alone painting. In fact, I was offering big bucks to anyone who’d shoot me. You must be feeling the same way. It ain’t the end of the world, kid. Unless you want it to be.”

*****

Saturday morning, Justin woke up with one of the worst headaches he’d had since he’d been home. He looked at the clock as briefly as he could, since even the light from the numbers on its display intensified the pain. It wasn’t even 6 a.m. yet. On a fucking Saturday, no less. And now he was probably going to spend the entire day in bed.

Not that he had big plans for the day anyhow. He was already feeling depressed after their dinner with Rob, Adam, and their girls the night before. The night had started off great. He’d really enjoyed spending time with Esme and Sophia, who didn’t care about his “hurt hand” as they’d called it, and had treated him no differently than any other time since Rob and Adam had adopted them four years before. It felt good to feel like nothing had changed.

But then he was reminded again of how everything had changed, when Adam had asked him if he was planning on coming back to substitute teach. Justin knew Adam meant well, but the idea of trying to teach right now was overwhelming. He felt like there was no way he could possibly do it, given his current circumstances. How could he show someone how to do something, if he couldn’t do it himself?

Justin rolled over and looked at Brian, who was sleeping soundly next to him, snoring just a little, as he always did. He scooted his body in closer to Brian’s, cuddling up to his side. Brian stirred a little but didn’t wake up. The warmth from Brian’s body made Justin feel a little bit better, even if it didn’t do a damn thing for the pounding in his head.

Brian hadn’t had any more nightmares since he’d started taking the sleeping pills. Justin was thankful for that, because he’d hated hearing and seeing Brian in pain -- be it physical or emotional. He also didn’t like knowing that it had been going on for a long time before he ever found out about it. Brian still wasn’t talking to him about what was happening at his weekly appointments with Rochelle. Justin respected Brian’s right to keep that private if he chose, but he really wished that Brian would be more open about it, so he could help support him.

Justin closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain for a few more minutes before he gave up and decided to take his meds, which he knew would knock him out for several hours. But at least if he was asleep, he wouldn’t be noticing how much his head hurt. He slipped out of bed as carefully and quietly as he could, then shuffled into the bathroom in the dark, where he operated solely with the ambient glow of the city from outside their bedroom window being cast into the bathroom, because there was no fucking way he could turn the light on with his head like this.

He had to struggle to hold the prescription bottle against his body with his right wrist while he unscrewed the cap with his left hand. Even the non-childproof ones were a bitch to open when you couldn’t grip the bottle itself, but he didn’t want to wake Brian up, so he was determined to do it himself. When he finally got it, he shook two out onto the counter and repeated the struggle in reverse to put the lid back on the bottle. He picked the pills up and popped them in his mouth with his left hand, then turned on the faucet, filled up a glass, and gulped down some water. He hoped the meds would take effect quickly. In the meantime, he thought having something cool on his head might help, so he took a washcloth out of the closet and ran it under cold water, then brought it with him to bed.

When he got back, Brian was awake -- sort of.

“You ‘kay?” he mumbled. He was blinking like he was struggling to stay awake. Justin had noticed that on the rare occasions when Brian did wake up in the middle of the night now, his speech was slurred, and he never remembered what had been said in the morning. Justin recalled that well from his own experience with using medication to escape endless nightmares after the bashing.

“Headache,” Justin said quietly as he slipped back into bed and laid the damp washcloth over his forehead.

“M’sorry,” Brian whispered, losing the battle to keep his eyes open.

Justin wished he could fall asleep that easily. Hopefully the pills he’d just taken would kick in soon.

He pressed his body against Brian’s again, sort of spooning him as best he could with himself on his side and Brian on his stomach. The cool washcloth on his head felt good -- a pleasant sensation amidst the pain. Brian threw his arm over Justin and tugged him in even closer -- whether consciously or unconsciously, Justin wasn’t sure. Regardless, it felt nice. Being with Brian always made Justin feel safe. Secure. At peace.

Justin spent a while longer watching his partner sleep, longing to feel at least a tiny bit of the peace and contentment he could see so clearly on Brian’s face. He knew Brian wanted that for him as well. He could see how badly Brian wanted to fix this for him -- to make it all go away and have everything suddenly be exactly the way it was before. But that wasn’t possible, and they both knew that.

Justin wanted to feel happy again, too, but sometimes it still felt so out-of-reach. Not as much as it had a few weeks before, but still not quite within his grasp. Every time it felt like he was making progress, reality would somehow smack him right in the face and knock him backward.

Gradually, the throbbing in his skull started to dull a bit, and he felt a medication-induced fog descending over him. He focused on the soft rise and fall of Brian’s breath against his body, letting himself fall into unconsciousness alongside his partner.

He woke up a few hours later, alone in the bed, curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head. The pounding had intensified again. He wanted to cry. Sunlight was streaming in the window, through the tiny cracks in the blinds, and it might as well have been knife blades piercing Justin’s skull. He let out a small, pained whimper as he rolled over.

He heard Brian come back into the room, and tried to open his eyes to look at him, but quickly found that he couldn’t. He felt Brian’s hands rubbing lightly over his back, which was about all of the touch he could take at the moment. Then, he felt something cold on his the back of his neck -- the ice wrap Brian had bought him while he was still in rehab.

“This should help with the pain,” Brian said, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. Brian knew exactly how to talk to him and how to touch him when he felt like this -- lightly, quietly...barely there. But still, there.

Justin immediately felt his tense muscles begin to relax and soften, and soon he drifted back off to sleep.

When he woke up again, the headache was nearly gone, and he’d slept until almost lunchtime. Yet another reason why he felt he probably wouldn’t be able to teach -- he was still sleeping so damn much. Sometimes he felt like he spent almost half of his day napping, either because he had a headache, or was trying to not get one, or because he was just so fucking tired. His neurologist kept telling him to just listen to his body and do what it said -- that if he was tired, he should sleep. That it would help his brain recover. But it still made him feel like an unproductive lump, even though he knew Brian would take issue with that if he ever said it out loud. He also wasn’t exactly sure at this point what he’d be productive with, even if he wasn’t spending so much time sleeping. It wasn’t like he could draw or paint. And there wasn’t really anything else he wanted to do.

He could hear Brian talking in the living room in a low voice, apparently on the phone.

“I just want him to be out of fucking pain. It's wearing on him. It sucks not being able to do anything about it. … Yeah, I know. It still sucks though. … Thanks. … I need to go, too. I'll tell him you love him. … Yeah, me too. Bye, Jen.”

Brian came into the room about thirty seconds later. Justin rolled over to face him, grateful that he could open his eyes this time.

“Feeling better?” Brian asked.

“Yeah. Fuck...that was awful.”

“It seemed like it was a bad one. When I woke up, you were moaning in your sleep, and it looked like you couldn’t get comfortable.”

“I just wish they would stop.”

“So do I. I hate seeing you like that. It makes me wish there was something I could do, even though I know there isn't. I just got off the phone with your mom… She sends her love.”

Justin rolled onto his back and sighed. “I miss her.”

“I know. Me too.” Brian was looking down at his hands in his lap, twisting his fingers around each other like he was at a loss for what to do or say. “You hungry? Thirsty? I can make you some tea.” Like always, Brian wanted -- needed -- to do something to help. To take action. But Justin didn’t need him to do that. All Justin really needed right now was Brian.

“I’m okay right now. Fuck, I feel so useless. Like I should be doing something other than just lying around, but I don't know what else to do. I don’t feel like doing much else.”

Brian parked his chair by the bed and slid his body onto the mattress, pulling his legs up, then scooting closer to Justin before settling onto his side, facing him.

“Listen to me. Are you listening?” Brian’s gaze was intensely focused on Justin, yet still soft. “You’re not useless. The only thing you need to do -- the only thing I want you to do -- is whatever feels good to you,” he said, starting to trace a lazy, random pattern over Justin’s arm with his fingers. “Whatever makes you comfortable, even if it’s only for a few minutes. I’ve been there. I know how it feels to be in pain that feels like it's never going to end, whether it's physical or not. Do what works for you.”

“If only I could figure out exactly what that is. I feel like there are things people would have expected of me before, that I can’t do now. So I just sort of feel stuck. Like I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, fuck expectations. You do whatever you can -- whatever you want to -- and that’s fine. That’s enough. I just want you to be happy. No matter what that looks like.”

They were both quiet for several seconds, Brian looking at Justin, until Justin had to look away. He still didn't know what would make him happy.

“I know you probably wanted me to say yes to Adam’s offer last night,” he said softly, still not looking at Brian.

“It’s not my decision to make. It’s yours. Do you feel like you should have?”

“I said no because I don’t feel like I can. I’d like to, but I don’t know how I could.”

“If you really want to, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Justin wasn’t sure exactly what that way would be, but maybe it was time to try to figure that out.

Justin had missed creating, and the time he’d spent with Esme and Sophia had reminded him of that. Sitting there, in the floor of Esme’s room, Justin had felt the happiest he’d been since before Christmas. Even though he wasn’t the one doing the creating, he’d felt more like himself.

He wanted to feel that way again.

On Monday morning, Justin waited until Brian had left the apartment to start his full day of client meetings, then decided to go to his studio. Quietly. Without fanfare. Without Brian knowing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he got there, but he just felt drawn to go.

He rode the subway there just like he had thousands of times. Walked up the steps, out onto the sidewalk. Punched in the door code to get into the building, then rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. He hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew, because he really didn’t want to answer any questions about where he’d been and what had happened to him and why he wouldn’t take his right hand out of his coat pocket.

He took a deep breath as he stuck his key in the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.

It looked exactly as it had back in December. Like it was frozen in time. He was the last one who had been there, mere hours before he’d left to drive to Pittsburgh. Hours before his life changed forever. Before his art career was taken from him.

There were paintings leaning against the far wall, in a sort of makeshift display. As he looked at them, studying their arrangement, he had a sudden flashback of being here, with Brian. Picking out paintings for the show. Planning their road trip. How everything had seemed so perfect. Like it was all falling into place so beautifully.

How had it all fallen apart just as quickly?

Justin wished more than anything that he could turn back time and respectfully decline the opportunity to show his art in Pittsburgh. In a way, that show -- which was supposed to be a celebration, a homecoming -- had taken away his entire career. If it hadn’t been for that show, he would never have been in Brian’s car hurtling down a dark highway in the snow. He would have flown into Pittsburgh with Brian, as planned, a few days later. Safe and sound. And his right hand would still work. At least, as well as it had before.

The tubes of paint he’d chosen for the piece he’d been working on before he’d left for Pittsburgh were still laid out on his workbench, clean brushes alongside them.

And the half-finished painting stood on the easel.

He recognized his carefully blended colors -- the gradient of cadmium red and yellow. The bold strokes. The signature style that people had come to expect from and associate with Justin Taylor.

The strokes and the style that he might not ever be able to produce again.

Suddenly, he was no longer feeling as confident or as hopeful as he had been when he’d decided to come to his studio. Instead, he’d been reminded of the fact that he could no longer work in the same way he did before. Reality had yet again knocked him right on his ass. He could feel himself starting the downward spiral, but he felt powerless to stop it.

Would he even be able to finish this painting now? Or would he only be ruining it if he tried?

Would it be better to leave well enough alone? To leave it half finished, as the visual testament to the final moments of his career as an artist, before everything he’d worked so hard for was ripped away from him on an icy highway east of Pittsburgh?

Justin felt caught somewhere between a deep sadness and an intense, all-consuming rage. It wasn’t long before the rage won out.

Before he could stop himself, he raked his useless right hand over the surface of the workbench, knocking the tubes of paint and the brushes to the floor, where they landed in a haphazard pile. What the fuck did it matter? It wasn’t like he’d be using them again. Might as well leave them there.

Next, he went over to the half-used box of blank canvases in the corner -- canvases he’d never have the opportunity to turn into art -- and kicked it, turning it over and sending it skittering across the floor, canvases spilling out onto the tile.

Drafts were torn down from the wall. Sketchbooks were thrown and pages ripped out unceremoniously and tossed to the floor. Easels were turned over and kicked into walls. One by one, every surface was cleared of its contents, all of which ended up on the floor.

He bent down and picked up the exacto-knife he’d just knocked to the floor, turning it over in his hand. Watching the blade reflect the sunlight coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall. He looked up at the half-finished canvas, still standing on the easel in front of him. Taunting him.

It would be so easy to just destroy it now. Shred it. Cut it up into pieces. Let it all fall to the floor along with everything else.

With a trembling hand, Justin pressed the blade of the knife against the surface of the painting. He didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to press down -- to drive the blade through the canvas. To make it bleed, just like he felt like his soul was bleeding as he looked at the evidence of the artist he’d been and thought about what he would become. A has-been. A tragedy. A sad story people would tell.

Oh, poor Justin Taylor. What happened to him was so awful. It’s such a shame. He had such promise.

The knife slipped through his shaking fingers and fell to the floor, the metal clinking against the tile.

Then, just as quickly as the rage had taken hold, sadness won out again, and Justin collapsed to the floor in front of the easel, where he sat sobbing and gasping for breath and pounding his hands against the floor until they were aching -- even the one that was half numb.

He didn’t know why he’d come here. What he’d expected to do. What he’d expected to feel.

He knew what he did feel, though. Like he didn’t belong here anymore.

So he left. He didn’t bother cleaning up. It was all garbage anyhow.

Returning home after visiting his studio felt like a walk of shame. How delusional he’d been to think that going there would make him feel inspired. Instead, it had made him feel defeated. He still missed creating, but now he felt even more like there was no hope he’d ever do it again. How could he ever put his work out there in the world again -- attach his name to things that were nothing like what he’d made before?

He collapsed onto the sofa, still unable to control his emotions. This time, it was just the tears. There was no anger. He’d used all of that up.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, feeling sorry for himself, when he heard a knock on the door.

He had no idea who it would be. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and Brian wasn't due back until later that afternoon. Besides, Brian had a key -- he wouldn’t be knocking anyhow.

Justin was considering not answering at all when whoever it was knocked again, more loudly this time.

Trying to quickly collect himself, Justin got up and walked over to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open, revealing Rob on the other side. Rob’s expression quickly became concerned as soon as his gaze met Justin’s.

“Brian’s not here right now,” Justin said, wiping his cheeks with the back of his left hand and cursing the fact that he was sure his eyes were red and swollen. He stepped aside so Rob could come in, then closed the door behind him.

“I know. I’m here to talk to you. Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Did Brian send you over here to try to fix me?” Justin wasn’t even sure why he’d said that. He knew Brian only wanted to help him, and even if Brian had sent Rob over, it would have been because he thought it would help. But he was getting so fucking frustrated with how he was feeling, that sometimes it led to him saying things he didn’t completely mean.

“No, not at all.” Rob looked confused now. “He doesn’t even know I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“I went to my studio today.” Justin was staring down at his shoes, still feeling ashamed for having gone there at all. “I don’t even know why I went. What I thought I would do. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I think Brian would be proud of you for going.” Rob came a little closer, looking up at Justin, who still didn’t feel like he could make eye contact. “I’m proud of you for going. Even if you didn’t do anything, you went. That’s a good first step.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever go back.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not who I am anymore.”

“What, an artist? Why would you not be an artist anymore, just because you can’t use your hand?”

“I can’t create.” Justin walked over to the armchair in the corner of the living room and sat down in it, putting his head in his hands. Rob followed and parked his chair directly in front of Justin.

“Yes, you can.” Rob’s voice was insistent. Clearly, he believed in Justin much more than Justin believed in himself at the moment. “You just have to find a different way to do it. There are plenty of ways to make art. You’re an artist, Justin. You’ll always be an artist. It’s just who you are.”

“You don’t get it. It’s just like it was after I was bashed, when I couldn’t draw. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I feel like I don’t know who I am now. At least back then, I got enough function back to be able to draw for a few minutes before my fucking hand seized up on me. Now, I still can’t hold a pencil or a paintbrush, and I’m not sure I’m going to. I haven’t seen any real progress in a few weeks now. Nothing is really changing anymore. I think they’re afraid to tell me that I might not be able to expect anything more.” Justin finally managed to look Rob in the eye, halfway expecting to see the same sadness he saw when he looked at Brian most of the time nowadays, but instead he just saw empathy and understanding, free from sadness.

“Have you told Brian about any of this?”

Justin sighed. “I can’t talk about it with Brian, because it makes him feel bad. It’s like he feels guilty and I don’t know why, and then I feel guilty for upsetting him. So I just keep it to myself.”

“You should talk to him. He wants to help you. But he doesn’t know what to do to help. All he wants is for you to be happy. I understand how you might feel like that’s a lot of pressure, though.”

“I just don’t know if there’s anything he can do. Maybe the new me is just sad. How could I not be? I can’t do anything.”

“Let me tell you a story. You know I was injured right after I graduated from college, but did you know that I went to college on an athletic scholarship?”

Justin shook his head.

“I played baseball,” Rob continued. “Played it my whole life up until that point. Went to the Little League World Series when I was in 6th grade. I made all my friends through baseball. Spent all of my free time playing or practicing or trying to get better at one aspect of the game or another. I’d just finished my senior season. Got my degree, got a job, and then, this.” He pushed his hands down on the tires of his wheelchair and shifted his weight a little. “Paralyzed from the chest down. Talk about feeling like you’ve had everything you’ve ever known stripped away from you. Not really knowing how you’re going to still be the person you’ve always been, when you can’t do what you’ve always done. I know it sucks.”

Justin nodded and looked down at his right hand, laying in his lap, fingers curled just slightly into a curve as it sat idle. Not much different from how it looked when he tried to use it. It was still throbbing from being pounded against the floor of his studio as he was losing his goddamn mind.

“And I know for a lot of people, the solution would be finding some other way to do what they always did, but for me, that didn’t feel possible. It wouldn’t be the same. I wasn’t interested in it unless it would feel the same. Maybe that’s how you feel right now. I spent a few years feeling really down on myself, trying to figure out who I was and who I would be now. My friends didn’t really know how to relate to me, and a lot of them stopped coming around. I was still living with my parents, and I never left my bedroom unless I absolutely had to. Believe me, my parents tried everything, and I didn’t want to hear any of it. All I wanted to do was sit there and think about how my entire life had gone down the crapper, just because I thought it would be fun to jump off a cliff into a lake. I’d fucked everything up in a split second and it was all my fault. I was angry at everything and everybody. My mom finally got fed up with it and practically dragged me to see a therapist. One of the things the therapist recommended was yoga, and I laughed in her face. I remember asking her if she was crazy. If she was somehow not seeing that I came in there in a wheelchair. How the fuck was I going to do yoga?”

“I always wondered how you got started with that.”

“That was how. I told her I felt like two-thirds of me was dead and the rest of me might as well be. She wanted to challenge me on that. I agreed to try it, mostly to prove that it wouldn't do anything for me, but fuck if she wasn’t right. The rest of my body wasn’t dead -- it just spoke to me in a more subtle way, and I had to learn how to listen. I was still a whole person. Not just a head, shoulders, and arms.”

“I’m not sure that would fix my hand, though.”

“It didn’t fix my legs either. What it fixed was my head. The way I thought about the world, and my role in it. How I think about my body and how I connect to it. How I relate to everything around me. It changed my whole outlook. Taught me that it’s not about how something looks or how you get there -- only that you do, in your own way. And I’m not here to put any more pressure on you or make you feel like you have to do something. I just want you to know that I’m here, and I’m willing to help you in any way I can. I know it’s hard to ask the people closest to you for help sometimes, because they’re so invested that you feel like if it doesn’t work out, you’ve failed them too. So I’m just here to be a neutral third-party. Whether it’s yoga, or whether it’s something totally different. I’m on your side. You’re my friend as much as Brian is. So if there’s anything I can do, just say the word and I’ll do it. No pressure. I’m just here if you want me. And if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

“I’m just not sure what would really help.”

“The only thing I agreed to try at first, even though I really wasn’t sure it was going to do much of anything, was the breathing. She made me promise I’d keep trying that at least, and told me the next time I got pissed off or wanted to tell someone to go fuck themselves, I should just breathe.”

Justin laughed. Maybe Rob did get it.

“Yeah, I laughed too,” Rob said, smiling. “But she showed me how to breathe, and it really did help. I could show you how. Only if you want me to. Try it with me? It’s okay to say no. You won’t be hurting my feelings.”

“Okay,” Justin said hesitantly. “I’ll try it.” He still wasn’t sure about any of this, but what did he have to lose?

Rob shifted so he was sitting up a little straighter, then put his right hand on his lower abdomen. “Put your hand right here on your belly.”

Justin started with his right hand, out of sheer habit, before quickly switching to his left.

“Either one is fine,” Rob said. “Whichever one you’re comfortable with.”

Justin settled on his left hand, bringing it to rest on his lower belly.

“Okay, now this part will actually be easier for you than it is for me. Your ab muscles will help you make the breath deeper. Think about breathing in three parts...filling up the bottom of your lungs and into your belly, where your hand is, then filling the rest of your abdomen, and then the top of your lungs last. Just like you’re pouring water into a pitcher, only you’re filling your lungs with air. Then you breathe out in reverse, top to bottom, emptying your lungs completely. Then do it again.”

It felt good to breathe deeply like that. It reminded Justin a little bit of the way he’d been taught to breathe through a panic attack all those years ago, but he hadn’t needed to use it in a long time. So he hadn’t given much thought to his breath lately, or realized how shallow his breathing typically was, but this made him conscious of it. Rob had his eyes closed, so Justin closed his too, as Rob led him through a few more cycles of breath. Then, they just breathed together in silence. Justin already felt a bit better, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the breathing or from the knowledge that someone else really understood how he felt, right down to the pressure he was feeling to not cause Brian any pain in the process of dealing with his own.

Justin could feel himself starting to relax, when he heard Rob’s voice again -- soft and compassionate.

“Then, when you’re feeling a little calmer, you can go back to your natural breath.”

Justin opened his eyes and saw Rob smiling at him, his eyes sparkling.

“So, if you feel like giving that a try, you’ve got that in your arsenal, okay?” Rob looked at his watch. “I have to get back to the office. But you can call me any time. If you just need someone to talk to. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.” He laid his hand on Justin’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “No pressure from me. Only the knowledge that I’m here if you think you can use me.”

“Thanks,” Justin said quietly. He felt like he should say more, but didn’t really know what else to say.

Rob angled himself so he could give Justin a hug.

“I mean it,” he said. “Call me any time.”

“I will.”

Rob gave Justin one last reassuring smile, then let himself out, leaving Justin sitting in the chair, thinking about everything Rob had just said.

Brian came home a couple of hours later, while Justin was working his way through the stretching he was supposed to do to keep his hand as flexible as possible. Brian hung his coat up by the door and deposited his briefcase on the bar between the kitchen and the living room, then came over to Justin and took Justin’s hand in his own, continuing to stretch it gently, massaging the tense muscles. It felt good, even though his hand was still sore from his temper tantrum earlier at his studio. He’d decided not to tell Brian about that. About any of it, really. Not even Rob’s visit. He knew that telling Brian the details of what had happened would only cause Brian pain and guilt. So it was best kept to himself.

He gave Brian a vague answer when Brian asked what he’d done today, and tried to ignore the concerned look on Brian’s face. Justin was sure that Brian was imagining he’d spent yet another day sitting in the apartment not doing much of anything. While Justin still didn’t feel like he’d accomplished anything, the day had certainly not been typical.

The rest of the night was a lot more typical -- Brian ordering takeout for dinner from the Thai restaurant that had recently opened only a couple of blocks from their building, and the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms on the sofa. Justin fell asleep that night with Brian’s arms around him, feeling Brian’s steady breathing against his back.

The next day, Brian had another full day of meetings with clients, which left Justin to his own devices yet again. He’d felt fine when Brian left, but it wasn’t long before his head started to hurt. He closed all of the blinds in the living room and the bedroom and crawled into bed, hoping that rest and darkness would ease the pain without him having to take anything, since he didn’t want to be asleep or zoned-out for the better part of the day. Not that he had any plans; he just didn’t like the way he felt after the pills wore off. Like he was in a fog. But after an hour with his head buried under the pillow and the pain only getting worse, Justin realized he wasn’t going to have a choice. He climbed out of bed and padded slowly into the bathroom, where he grabbed the bottle that contained his pain medication and started trying to open it. Only, the lid wouldn’t budge.

He must have put it on wrong when he took them in the middle of the night on Saturday -- that was the only explanation, because he hadn’t touched the bottle since then, and he was fairly sure Brian wouldn’t have either. Squinting at the label, he made sure he had the right bottle and hadn’t accidentally grabbed something of Brian’s, but it was his. Again and again, he tried to open it, feeling like all of his frustration was going straight to his head, making the pounding even more intense. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, threatening to take control.

He kept trying to open the bottle, noticing his breath getting more rapid as he became more and more desperate to just get the damn thing open so he could get some relief. Tears of frustration were pricking at the corners of his eyes as he struggled with the lid, wishing more than anything that he had two fully functional hands. He tried holding it as best he could in his right hand, then holding it against his body, against the counter, and even trying to clutch it between his thighs, but nothing provided a solid enough grip for him to get the lid to turn.

Why couldn’t he do this one simple fucking thing for himself? He was an adult; he shouldn’t need his partner there to do everything for him all the time. But because of his goddamn gimp hand, apparently he did. And that pissed him off even more.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d taken the bottle in his good hand and slammed it into the mirror, shattering it. Jagged pieces fell to the floor, and the tears finally let go as his knees gave out and he fell to the floor too, his chest heaving as he cried. He couldn’t even pick out the emotion he was feeling. Was it sadness, or was it anger, or was it something else entirely? The only thing he knew for sure was that he felt out of control, and he was scared to death. He wished Brian was home, because right now all he wanted was to feel Brian’s arms around him and to hear Brian’s voice telling him he was okay, even if he didn’t quite believe it. Maybe if he heard it enough, he’d start to. And maybe then it would come true.

But Brian wouldn’t be back for hours. And there Justin sat, amid the broken glass with nothing but a throbbing head, an unopened pill bottle, and the unidentifiable but incredibly intense emotion that was soaking his shirt with tears and keeping him from catching his breath. He leaned against the wall by the shower, tilting his head back so he could feel the coolness of the tile against the back of his head. What was happening to him? Was he having a panic attack? He didn’t think he was, but he couldn’t be sure. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows on them, burying his face in trembling hands. All he wanted was some relief. For at least some small part of this to be fixed. Justin knew none of this was fixing anything, but he also didn’t know how to stop. And that was scary too.

Suddenly, through the haze of anger and frustration and helplessness, Justin could hear the echo of Rob’s words in his head: Just breathe.

He tried to get control over his breath, but it was hard. He could hear himself gasping, and knew he needed to stop before he ended up hyperventilating, because then he would be in trouble, especially since he was alone.

Justin sat up against the wall again and concentrated on breathing in slowly. It still wasn’t exactly slow, but it was at least a longer and steadier breath than he’d been taking. He tried to breathe out just as steadily, fighting the impulse to make his next inhale short and quick. Remembering what Rob had taught him, he brought his left hand to his belly and tried to fill that space on his next inhalation, making his breath deeper. That helped him slow it down even more. He closed his eyes and tried to focus only on his breath -- the movement of air in and out, keeping it slow and steady.

Soon, he was lost in that action, feeling the chaotic emotions that had taken him over when he’d smashed the mirror finally begin to ebb. His head still hurt, but it no longer felt like it was about to explode. He didn’t know how long he sat there, leaning against the tile, just breathing. But when he finally opened his eyes, the panic and the fear were gone, and his head had cleared enough for him to realize that something needed to change. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep feeling this way -- not knowing what was going to set him off next, or what he’d be driven to do once it happened.

He remembered the list of doctors and therapists and other medical experts they’d brought home with them when he was released from rehab, and the number listed at the bottom that he’d thought he would never call -- a psychologist. But maybe it was time. Maybe he could use some help in sorting through what he was feeling.

Carefully, Justin pushed himself up off the floor and stood, keeping a hand on the wall in case his knees buckled again. When he felt surer that he’d be able to let go of the wall without falling, he stepped over the remnants of shattered glass that still littered the bathroom floor and went out into the kitchen, where the list of names and phone numbers that had been given to him and Brian at the rehab center hung on the fridge. The magnet that held it to the refrigerator door was a small picture frame, with a photo of him and Brian on a beach at sunset, that he vaguely recalled being taken several years before at a cabin on Lake Michigan. They were smiling. Happy. Justin wanted to feel that way again, just as much as he wanted to feel like himself again.

But in order to do that, first he needed to dig his way out of the quagmire he currently found himself in. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew he needed someone to help him do that. All he’d succeeded in doing on his own was digging a deeper hole. He wondered if what he’d experienced today was what Brian had warned him about -- how scary things got when it all became too much and you couldn’t hold it inside anymore.

Justin picked up his phone from the counter and dialed the number. His thumb hesitated over the “send” button for a few seconds before he took a deep breath and pressed it, waiting for the call to connect. Willing himself not to hang up.

It took him a few more seconds to speak after the receptionist answered the phone, but he managed to set up an appointment for the next week. Justin wasn’t sure if he felt proud or apprehensive, but at least he’d done something. Now, he just had to show up to the appointment and hope that it would help.

Justin carried his phone over to the sofa and sat down, lying back on the pillows and closing his eyes. He knew he needed to eat, but the pain in his head had completely taken away his appetite. Bringing his consciousness back to his breath, he imagined the pain leaving his body with each exhalation. Slowly, he felt his body relax until he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up, the angle of the sun had changed, but he was still alone in the apartment. Picking up his phone again, Justin glanced at the time and realized that Brian would be home soon. With the throbbing in his head now reduced to a dull ache, reality started to set in when he realized that he was going to have to explain to Brian what had happened to the mirror, and that he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say. The least he could do, though, was clean up the mess.

He pushed himself up off the sofa and retrieved the broom and dustpan from the closet in the hallway, before continuing on to the bathroom. Justin was still sweeping up glass when he heard Brian’s voice behind him, bearing a slight note of panic.

“What the fuck happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Justin said, his calm tone contrasting with Brian’s. “I got frustrated, and I broke the mirror. But I’m better now.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brian breathed, now looking more concerned and confused. “Frustrated about what?”

“I couldn’t get my pain pills open.”

“And you broke the mirror with the bottle? With your hand? How? Did you cut yourself?”

“I’m fine. I swear.” Justin swept up the last of the tiniest bits of glass into the dustpan, leaned the broom against the wall, then turned to face Brian, holding his hands up so Brian could see them. “No cuts, no blood. But I realized something.”

Brian looked at him almost apprehensively, but didn’t say anything. Brian’s hazel eyes studied Justin’s blue ones intently.

“I realized I didn’t want to feel that way anymore,” Justin said, looking away. “So I called and I made an appointment with a therapist.”

Brian closed his eyes and breathed out what sounded like a sigh of relief as he took Justin’s hand and pulled him onto his lap, wrapping his arms around Justin in a tight embrace. For a long time, Brian just held him.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke.

“I’m proud of you,” Brian whispered. “So fucking proud of you.”

The next week was relatively uneventful, thankfully. Justin chose not to poke the bear by trying to go to his studio again, so he spent the time when he wasn't at physical or occupational therapy at home, mostly poking around on the internet instead, researching random things, including more breathing exercises he could try, and even attempting a little bit of yoga, although he still hadn’t worked up the courage to reach out to Rob.

Brian let Justin go to his therapy appointment alone without even the slightest bit of objection over him taking a cab there by himself, despite the fact that Justin was so fucking nervous he was practically shaking, even before he left the apartment. Brian had simply hugged him and kissed him and told him to be careful, and if he noticed the trembling, he didn’t say anything.

The appointment went fairly well, Justin guessed. He’d never really done this kind of thing before -- aside from the time his mom had dragged him to a therapist and he’d openly declared his love for cock. This time was nothing like that one.

The session was mostly focused on the therapist, John, getting up to speed on what had been going on in Justin’s life and what he was feeling. Where he’d been before the accident, where he was now, and where he hoped to be in the future. That had been the hardest one to answer, because right now, where he wanted to be and where he realistically could expect to be felt very different. John had done a lot of nodding, and quite a bit of writing that made Justin nervous even though he’d been told not to be.

They’d talked about how hopeless Justin felt about most everything. How frustrated he was. What had made him feel good in the past, that he could try again in order to boost his mood.

Justin rode home trying to think of things he could try, but all he could think of was sex, and the fact that the only time he really felt good now -- instead of guilty or bad or regretful -- was when he and Brian were having sex. And he suspected Brian might share at least some of those feelings, particularly given how fucking had once been the way Brian had dealt with most of his emotions. Just because Brian wasn’t tricking anymore, didn’t mean that he didn’t still have a lot of his emotional intelligence wrapped up in sex. And apparently some of that had transferred to Justin.

Justin wasn’t sure that sex was exactly what John had in mind when he suggested doing more things that made him feel good, but for right now, it would work.

Even though sex with Brian was always great and Justin would take it however he could get it, there were things he missed. Things he wondered if Brian missed as well. And that got him wondering… Thinking about ways that they could do more.

He supposed he could ask Rob for advice -- and figured Rob and Brian had probably already broached the subject a long time ago -- but the thought of asking those kinds of questions of one of his husband’s best friends made him cringe. So he turned to the internet, and soon found something interesting -- a low-set seat that acted as a sort of swing, that moved with very little effort and seemed like it would open up a whole plethora of different positions for them.

A few minutes later, Justin had his credit card out, placing an order.

When his purchase arrived a couple of days later, Justin anxiously unboxed it and set it up in their bedroom while Brian was out. He was excited to try it, but he didn’t want to just pull Brian straight into the bedroom as soon as he got home. He wanted it to be special, even though he knew Brian would probably laugh at him for thinking that. So, on the spur of the moment, Justin decided to turn his big reveal into a full-on romantic evening, complete with a candle-lit dinner.

He was just finishing up cooking when Brian opened the door. Perfect timing.

“You must be feeling better,” Brian said, raising his eyebrow as he hung up his coat and came over to the dining room table, where two candles illuminated the plates of salad Justin had already put together. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” Justin stated simply as he turned off the stove and covered the steaming pot of eggplant curry with a lid. He’d plate up the rice and curry once they’d finished their salads. The curry was a new recipe that Ben had shared on social media the week before, and Justin hoped Brian would like it. Justin had already sampled it and thought it was delicious, but he wasn’t exactly a picky eater. Brian liked exotic flavors, but sometimes his list of preferred foods could be a bit less than diverse.

“Well, it’s a nice surprise.” Brian came into the kitchen and tugged on Justin’s arm, pulling him down so he could kiss him. “Thank you.”

Justin smiled, knowing that the dinner wasn’t the only surprise he had for Brian. The rest would have to wait, though. In the meantime, they’d enjoy their meal.

The look on Brian’s face when he took his first bite of the curry was worth every bit of the effort Justin had put into it. Chopping the vegetables with his left hand while trying to hold them with his right and not accidentally cut his fingers had been a challenge -- and it had taken a while -- but he’d done it. Maybe soon they could get back to their impromptu kitchen competitions Brian had been telling him about. They sounded fun.

Once they’d finished their dinner, Justin cleared the table, barely able to contain his excitement about the rest of the surprise he had for Brian. He hoped Brian would like it, too.

“I have another surprise for you in the bedroom,” Justin said, grinning as he returned to the table after putting the plates and silverware in the dishwasher.

“Well, since you’re out here with me, and you still have your clothes on, I’m guessing it’s not you.” Brian quirked his eyebrow upward again as he cocked his head just slightly to the side and stuck his tongue in his cheek. God, that look drove Justin crazy, in a good way.

“Depends on your perspective,” Justin said, perhaps more seductively than that phrase had ever been uttered.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Brian laughed. “Are we having a threesome? Has there been some guy hiding in our bedroom all evening?”

“Nope, not a threesome… Follow me…”

Justin led Brian down the hallway to the bedroom, where his purchase was already set up by the bed.

“I found this thing...on the internet,” Justin said.

“What the fuck is it?” Brian moved himself closer, looking skeptically between Justin and the chair.

“Sit on it.”

“You bought me a chair?”

“Not just any chair. Seriously, try it out.”

Brian slid his body over to it, causing it to rock back and forth underneath him.

“Christ, it moves. You’ve gotta warn a guy about that.”

“Sorry. Yes, it moves,” Justin said, in his best sultry voice as he gave the chair a gentle push. “Feel familiar?”

Justin knelt in front of Brian and started unbuttoning his shirt, then kissed his way across Brian’s collarbone. He pulled his own shirt over his head and caressed Brian’s shoulders, sliding his shirt off as his hands continued down Brian’s arms. Once Brian’s shirt was off, Justin moved on to Brian’s pants, unbuttoning them with his left hand as he lightly scraped the fingernails of his right across Brian’s hips, just to give Brian a little taste of what was to come.

“Are you getting it now?” Justin whispered.

Brian nodded and pressed his hands down on the sides of the seat to lift his hips up a little, so Justin could slide his pants down farther. Justin took off Brian’s shoes and socks, then his pants, before removing his own. He teased Brian’s cock until it was ready, then kissed Brian hard and whispered, “Fuck me,” in his ear.

Justin handed Brian the bottle of lube, pulled two of the pillows off the bed to prop himself up on, then got on his knees in front of Brian, who wasted no time in preparing Justin for what he figured was probably their first time fucking like this since before Brian got hurt. Brian’s hands gripped Justin’s hips, and Justin could feel Brian using his body as leverage to push himself back and forth. Relishing the sensation that came along with being in a different position, at a different angle, Justin was quickly approaching his peak, although he was trying to hold it back. He pushed backward into Brian, hoping his partner was loving this as much as he was. A quick glance back over his shoulder revealed Brian with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, clearly enjoying what was happening. Brian pressed his hips against Justin’s ass again and again as he thrust into Justin, until Justin could no longer hold back his orgasm and collapsed onto the pillows. He felt Brian move himself down to the floor alongside him, draping an arm over Justin’s chest and burying his face in Justin’s collarbone.

“How the hell did you find that thing?” Brian said breathlessly.

“Oh, I have my ways.”

“Christ...I never thought I’d be able to do that again.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to make it happen for you. Open up our options a little.”

In truth, Justin had bought the chair because while what they could do in Brian’s wheelchair and in the shower and of course in the bedroom were all great and he loved it all, the Brian he’d known for so many years had always liked being in control. Brian had never been a passive partner. There was a reason that Brian’s fucks were legendary in gay Pittsburgh. Even now, he was as active as he could be given the limitations of how he could move. But this setup brought with it all sorts of new possibilities to add to their repertoire, and put Brian back in control. Justin liked being able to do that for him.

Now, if only he could do more to feel like he was putting himself back in control of his own life. He knew he’d taken a couple of steps in the right direction -- being conscious of how he was feeling and using his breath to get back in control of it, and making (and keeping) an appointment with a therapist. It felt good to do that, instead of continuing to wish for everything to go back to exactly like it was before.

The truth was, things were probably never going to be the way they were before, ever again. But for some reason, now, that truth felt a lot less scary. At least, for the time being.

Justin still wasn’t sure he was ready to go back to his studio again -- not yet -- but he’d taken those first two steps toward being back in control. And that felt good.

Family by TrueIllusion

“I asked him to marry me.”

“You what?”

“Don’t worry. He turned me down.”

“I didn’t know. … For what it’s worth, I just want you to know that I’m sorry...that I’m not going to be your mother-in-law.”

*****

Late night phone calls are every mother's worst nightmare. Someone telling you that your child has been seriously injured. That they might not make it. That you should get to the hospital right away.

Jennifer Taylor had received two of those calls in her lifetime. Both about her only son. Both of them from Brian Kinney. Fifteen years apart. Worlds apart, really.

The first call came on the night of Justin’s prom. He’d gone to the prom with Daphne. He’d asked Brian, but Brian had told him no -- that he wouldn’t be caught dead in a room full of 18-year-olds. So the last person she expected to hear from that night was Brian. And she definitely didn’t expect to hear his panicked voice on the other end of the line, sounding barely able to speak as he told her that Justin had been attacked and they were in an ambulance on their way to the hospital. He hadn’t sounded like the Brian Kinney she’d met at all.

At the time, she hadn’t been exactly sure what Brian was to Justin. Not really. She suspected this man -- this Brian -- loved her son, although she wondered what on earth a 29-year-old man with a college degree and a career and a baby could possibly have in common with a high school senior.

Then the world came crashing down. And she saw just how much Brian Kinney cared about her son. But she couldn’t push the questions out of her mind. If Brian hadn’t gone to the prom, would Justin have been bashed? Was it Brian’s fault he’d almost died?

She’d fought with herself, caught between the knowledge that Brian had saved Justin’s life and the fact that his presence might have been the cause of the attack. That Brian’s appearance in Justin’s life had been the turning point that transformed her sweet little boy into an out-and-proud young gay man who refused to be shoved back in the closet. There was no denying that Justin had antagonized Chris Hobbs. But had he done that because of Brian’s influence?

There was also no denying that Justin’s quick recovery was due in large part to Brian, because Justin wanted so badly to get out of the hospital so he could see him. Because he didn’t know Brian was visiting him every single night while he slept.

Looking back now, it’s clear how important to one another Brian and Justin already were, way back then. And their bond had only grown stronger over the years.

They’d had their ups and downs and their struggles, sure -- but what relationship doesn’t? The important thing was that they ended up together in the end, because they loved each other. And Jennifer was sure that now would be no different.

She remembered when they’d called off their wedding the first time. When Justin had moved to New York. She’d run into Brian a couple of times after that, and they’d made polite small talk with each other, but that was the extent of their contact. Then, she stopped seeing him altogether. Nothing had changed in her routine -- she still went to the diner for lunch occasionally, mostly to see Debbie, whose presence and support had been invaluable to her over the years since Justin had come out. But something had clearly changed in Brian’s routine. She hoped he was all right, because the times when she had seen him, she’d been able to clearly see the sadness underneath his aloof exterior.

She’d known that Justin missed Brian as well, and she was fairly sure that they still talked regularly on the phone. She remembered hoping that maybe someday they’d be able to work things out so that they could be together again, without either one of them feeling like they were sacrificing their own identity or their own happiness for the other. Although, really, what seemed to be happening was Brian sacrificing his own happiness for Justin.

Brian certainly did love Justin. She’d been sure about that for a while, but Brian sending Justin to New York so he could make all of his dreams come true had proven it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Then, Justin came home for Christmas. She’d dropped him off at Debbie’s on Christmas Eve, knowing that he was nervous about seeing Brian again. She’d assured Justin that everything would be fine, no matter what. And she was right, although things weren’t as simple as she’d assumed. Brian dropped Justin off at her condo later that night, and Jennifer learned just what it was that had been keeping Brian away from his usual Liberty Avenue scene.

She’d been sitting on her sofa, enjoying a glass of wine and a quiet Christmas Eve since Molly was at Craig’s, watching holiday chick flicks on cable, when she saw a pair of headlights drive by slowly and then stop in front of her condo. She leaned forward to look out the window and saw Justin, sitting in a black Mustang with Brian. Apparently Brian had gotten a new car, which surprised Jennifer as well. He’d really had a thing for that Corvette, it seemed, and she wasn’t sure that the Mustang was quite his style, but then again, he’d always been full of surprises.

She saw them kiss, and felt a sense of relief. With some of the things Justin had mentioned to her, she was afraid Brian might have someone new, even though it really would have surprised her if anyone else was able to get to Brian in the way Justin had. From what Debbie had told her, Justin might as well be considered a miracle worker for the way he’d transformed Brian Kinney. The kiss was a brief one, but she still felt like a voyeur, so she turned away from the window quickly, before one of them spotted her.

Not long after that, Justin walked through the front door. Jennifer tried to act nonchalant when she asked how the evening had gone.

The look on Justin’s face when he turned around after hanging up his coat was strange -- not really what Jennifer expected to see from him when he’d just reunited with the man that she was pretty sure was the love of her son’s life, and he’d just kissed him in the car seconds before. She’d expected him to be happy -- excited, even -- but instead, he looked troubled. Conflicted. Like he was trying to reconcile something in his head.

“It was...interesting,” Justin said. He went into the kitchen for a moment, returning to the dimly lit living room with a wine glass, then helping himself to the bottle she had sitting on the coffee table.

“Oh?” Now, she was curious. “I saw Brian dropped you off,” she said. “I was wondering why you hadn’t called me to come pick you up yet.”

“Yeah, sorry. We, uh… He and I had a lot to talk about.”

In the next several minutes, she found out that Brian had been in an accident and was now paralyzed from the waist down. And he’d been that way for six months, without telling Justin about it. She saw why Justin had looked the way he had when he came in -- she was pretty sure that she had the same look on her face right then.

It was hard to imagine -- Brian Kinney, in a wheelchair. And it got even more difficult to imagine when she thought of what she knew about paraplegia, and tried to combine that with what she knew about Brian Kinney. It had to be a really rough time for Brian. But why hadn’t he reached out to Justin before now?

Justin and Brian spent a lot of time together that Christmas, until Justin had to go back to New York. In fact, Justin didn’t spend another night of that visit in her condo past Christmas Eve -- he stayed at Brian’s apartment for the remainder of his trip. She didn’t mind, though. She was happy that they were together. Reconnecting.

Not long after Justin went back to New York, she found out that Brian had surprised him by coming to visit. And not long after that, Justin was talking about Brian’s plans to move to New York. Then, after that, Justin’s plans to move in with Brian. Things were moving quickly.

Given that, she wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when she received a phone call from Justin telling her that he had big news -- that he and Brian were getting married. Finally. She’d been every bit as thrilled for him then as she was two years before, when he’d wordlessly handed her a wedding announcement in an envelope during the open house at Brian’s loft. Maybe even a little bit more so, because she knew that this time it was going to happen. And she knew, from what she’d seen of their relationship over the years, how good they’d be for each other as husbands.

They’d gotten married in Boston, and Brian had surprised Justin by standing during the ceremony. It had been an emotional moment for all of them, but especially for Justin and Brian. Jennifer was fairly sure that what made it the most touching for her, was watching the two of them embrace, leaning on one another for support. Just as they would in life -- and in marriage. It had felt so symbolic, as they began their lives together as married men.

But what she’d seen over the past three months had been a true testament to that unconditional love and support, and Brian and Justin’s commitment to one another.

It all started with the second middle-of-the-night phone call she’d received from Brian. This time, it wasn’t from her teenage son’s older lover -- it was from her son-in-law. Telling her that her son had been seriously injured.

Justin had been driving to Pittsburgh, because he needed to transport paintings for a show at the Sidney Bloom Gallery. Brian was originally supposed to come with him, but plans had changed at the last minute, so Justin was arriving early and Brian would be flying in later. She’d been hoping to see Justin that evening, but he never came. She didn’t think too much of it, though, because she’d talked to him briefly on the phone while he was driving, and he wasn’t sure what time he’d get in or how tired he’d be. It was a long drive, after all. So she’d assumed that he’d gone to the hotel and fallen asleep. But it turned out, he’d never arrived at the hotel at all.

Brian called her at about half past midnight, rousing her out of a sound sleep. The second she saw his name on the screen, her stomach dropped. There was no good reason he’d be calling her at this time of night. Her hands had been shaking as she answered the call, halfway not wanting to hear what Brian had to say, but knowing that she had to answer. Because the only reason he’d be calling was if one of them needed her, and it was urgent.

She heard Brian’s panicked voice on the other end of the line, just as she had all those years ago on the night of Justin’s prom. He’d sounded frantic and on the verge of tears, and he wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. He’d told her he was packing up to head to the airport right then, but it turned out that he didn’t make it to Pittsburgh until the following afternoon. In the meantime, Jennifer had rushed to the hospital, only to be told that she couldn’t see Justin because he’d been admitted to the intensive care unit, and they had strict visiting hours. All she had to hold onto was a label that described his condition -- “critical” -- and some information that had been delivered to her by a resident whose bedside manner needed some serious work. The resident had told her, matter-of-factly, that Justin was in a medically induced coma because he had swelling on the brain. They were monitoring the pressure in his skull to see if he’d need surgery to relieve it. The sense of deja vu Jennifer had felt in that moment was overwhelming, and she’d collapsed into tears right there in the waiting room. Thinking of baseball bats and ruined prom nights and months of nightmares and not really knowing who her son was anymore. She hoped that history wasn’t about to repeat itself. But, it was.

The next month was a blur of doctors and phone calls and family and friends and trying to make sure everything was taken care of at the office at the same time. One thing she’d learned in more than a decade as a real estate agent was that her work was never done. Brian felt the same way about owning an advertising agency, and over the years they’d bonded and become friends as much as they were mother and son.

Their bond had become even stronger during the month that Justin spent recovering in Pittsburgh before they’d headed home to New York. She’d hated to see them leave, but knew that they had to. New York was their home. Where they’d built their life together.

She missed them, though.

She talked to Brian regularly, and Justin too, but often wished that the news where Justin was concerned would be more positive. It sounded like he was in a lot of pain, and he was really struggling with the lack of function in his hand. She kept praying for a miracle, just like she had the first time -- that Justin would regain the use of his hand, so he could do what he loved: make art. But that didn’t seem to be happening this time.

It made her hurt for both of them, because she could hear in Justin’s voice how badly he wanted to draw or paint or just do something, and she could hear in Brian’s voice how badly he wanted Justin to be able to do that, so he could feel happy again. It seemed like that was all Brian had ever wanted, really -- for Justin to be happy.

The Brian Kinney she knew -- the one she’d known for a decade a half now -- was far removed from the one she’d heard talked about on Liberty Avenue all those years ago.

This Brian was really good for her son. And she knew that together, they would get through this challenge, just like they had every other challenge they’d dealt with over the years.

The eight restored paintings that had been a part of the show at the gallery had been sitting in Jennifer’s guest bedroom for nearly two months, after she’d picked them up at Brian’s request. Justin had never even seen the show in person, and hadn’t yet seen the work Lindsay had done to repair them, other than in pictures. She’d done a fantastic job, if Jen did say so herself.

Jennifer still wondered what had happened to the other two paintings of the ten Justin and Brian had selected for the show. Had they been stolen? Had they been thrown farther than the rest and were still lying on the side of the highway somewhere? Surely they wouldn’t be, because Jennifer knew Brian had sent a couple of the security officers who worked for Kinnetik out there to thoroughly comb the area, and they’d come up empty-handed. By now, it was probably a moot point, which was unfortunate, because she knew firsthand how much work and how much passion Justin put into each one of his paintings.

And she knew that passion was the reason it was so hard for him to not be able to paint.

The last few times she’d talked to Brian, it hadn’t sounded like Justin was doing too well. Brian said he hardly ever left the apartment, except to go to therapy. He still had physical and occupational therapy twice a week, and he’d recently added appointments with a psychologist, after Brian came home one day and found Justin sweeping up pieces of glass from where he’d broken their bathroom mirror in a fit of rage and frustration. Hearing about that had been all too familiar, as she clearly remembered Justin screaming at her and shoving her into the bedpost as he destroyed his bedroom in her townhouse fifteen years before, partially over art, and partially over Brian. She was relieved that he hadn’t hurt himself when he broke the mirror, and that he’d made a decision to go to therapy. She just hoped it was helping.

As Jennifer loaded the last of the paintings into her SUV, she was grateful that Justin had Brian. They truly were perfect for each other, and she was glad that they’d found their way back to one another, even if the road to get there was a bit rough.

She and Brian had been planning this trip for weeks -- she’d bring the paintings back to Justin’s studio, and spend a week with Brian and Justin in New York. She was really looking forward to seeing them, and that made the long drive go by much more quickly.

She’d left Pittsburgh early in the morning, in hopes that she would be able to avoid rush hour in New York. But when she got there, it seemed like rush hour might be all day long. Eventually, she made it to Brian and Justin’s apartment building in Chelsea -- a modern high-rise with lots of glass that seemed so perfectly in line with Brian’s taste in real estate that she’d always thought it was no wonder he’d chosen to live here when he’d moved to New York a decade ago. She pulled up into the loading zone and called Brian on her cell phone. He was supposed to be alone in the apartment -- they’d purposely timed her arrival so that Justin would be out at a doctor’s appointment, since the entire visit was a surprise for him.

They planned to take the paintings straight to Justin’s studio and arrange them into a display for him, so he could finally see what they’d looked like in the show. Of course, they were both also secretly hoping that being back in his studio again might help inspire Justin to at least try putting brush to canvas again, no matter how he did it.

Sitting there by the curb, waiting, Jennifer realized just how tired she was. She hadn’t slept well the night before, thanks to a variety of different nightmares, all of which started with her imagining that her phone was ringing, and Brian was calling to deliver bad news about Justin.

A few minutes later, Brian emerged from the double doors in the center of the building’s first floor facade. He opened the door and started the process of getting himself and his chair into the car. Jennifer -- having learned a long time ago not to offer any sort of assistance with any of it unless she was asked -- had already surreptitiously moved her seat forward a bit to make it easier. She watched the traffic on the busy city street -- a seemingly never ending stream of cars and taxi cabs -- in her side mirror as Brian got himself settled, waiting until he’d closed the door before she greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Bet you don’t miss having to do that twice every time you go somewhere, huh?” she said, smiling.

“Not really,” he laughed. “When I lived there, I was used to it, but this last time I think I realized it’s a pain in the ass. And also that I’m fairly sure I’m getting arthritis in my left shoulder.”

“Welcome to your mid-forties.”

“Don’t remind me. Your son already takes every opportunity he can to remind me how old I am. Considering I never thought I’d make it past 30, I think I’m holding up pretty well. So, how was your drive?”

“Long,” she said, yawning. “And boring. Pennsylvania is a long state. I knew there was a reason I preferred flying.”

“Tell me about it. And I was asleep for half of the drive when we did it.”

“You look good,” Jennifer said as she looked over her shoulder and pulled out into a gap in the traffic.

“I always look good,” Brian grinned, looking out the window. “There’s a reason I buy more face cream than most middle-aged women.”

“Vanity, thy name is Brian Kinney,” she laughed. “You know what I meant.”

Brian exhaled and started chewing his thumbnail, still watching the cityscape go by. “Being home helped. Still not sure I have less stress now than I did then. It’s just different. We’ve moved from recovery, to trying to navigate a loss. And fuck, I know that’s hard. I’ve been there. It’s really fucking hard. But he helped me so much with that, and I feel like he’s not willing to let me help him. Sometimes it seems like we’re making progress -- really good progress -- but other times, it feels like we’re still back at the start.”

Jennifer yawned again, suddenly feeling like she could barely hold her eyes open.

“He says that seeing the therapist is helping, but if he wasn’t telling me that, I wouldn’t know,” Brian said as he turned to face Jennifer again. “Are you alright? You’ve yawned twice in less than a minute. I mean, I’d offer to drive, but…”

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.” Jennifer paused and took a deep breath before deciding to continue. “I’ve been having these...dreams.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“Dreams where Justin gets hurt.”

“Christ, this is so fucked up.” Brian shook his head.

Jennifer stopped behind a taxi at the next red light and turned to look at Brian, confused. “What?”

“All three of us are having those kinds of dreams. Well, I know I have, and I think Justin is too, although he doesn’t usually wake up like he used to...back when… You know.”

Jennifer nodded and took a deep breath. She definitely did know, and she remembered all too well how helpless she’d felt when Justin would wake up screaming and crying, then push her away when she tried to comfort him. But if he wasn’t waking up, then maybe they weren’t as bad this time. She prayed they weren’t, for both his sake as well as Brian’s.

“Hell, mine were so bad I have to be medicated to fucking sleep through the night,” Brian said quietly as he turned to look out the window again and resumed chewing his thumbnail. Jennifer wondered if what he’d just said had been intended for her to hear at all.

She watched him carefully for a moment, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“When did that start?” She was asking because she was genuinely curious, although she was a little bit afraid of the answer.

“A few days after the accident.” Brian still wasn’t looking at her. “The day Michael and I went to see the car.”

Jennifer didn’t like hearing that it had been going on that long -- right under her nose, to boot -- but she wasn’t surprised that Brian had kept it to himself. That was just who he was -- if you wanted to know something that made him look vulnerable, you were probably going to have to pry it out of him. He’d gotten a little bit better about that in recent years, particularly with her, but he was still Brian Kinney, and he didn’t share his feelings very freely.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jennifer asked, after a few long seconds of silence. “I could have helped you.”

Brian shrugged and continued looking out the window. “There wasn’t anything you could do.”

“We could have at least talked about it.”

“I didn’t want to talk about it. Still don’t. Not really.” He exhaled loudly. “Forget I said anything.”

Jennifer pulled into a parking space near the building that housed Justin’s studio and put the SUV in park. “Brian…” she started, still trying to decide what else to say.

“I said forget it. I’m fine.” Brian ran a hand over his mouth, then reached for the door handle and pushed the car door open, effectively ending their conversation as he started retrieving the pieces of his wheelchair from the back seat. He made quick work of it, then transferred himself to it. He backed up, pushed the door shut, and waited for her to get out so they could unload the paintings and take them upstairs.

Jennifer didn’t particularly want the conversation to be over, but she knew Brian well enough to be fully aware that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She was, however, starting to put the pieces together -- thinking about how stressed out Brian had been back in Pittsburgh, and how sick he’d gotten. He hadn’t looked like he was sleeping at all, but she hadn’t wanted to be yet another person telling him how tired he looked, so she hadn’t mentioned anything, aside from asking him if he was feeling alright when she thought he felt feverish. Other than that, she’d let it go, all the while reminding herself that Brian was a grown man and he could take care of himself, even though she'd wanted really badly to mother him because he looked so completely and totally spent. Now that she knew even just a little bit more about what had been going on while Justin was in the hospital, she wished there was something she could have said to prompt Brian to talk to her, so she could have done something -- anything -- to help him. Or at least made sure he wasn’t spending every single night alone. But, hindsight is always 20/20.

Neither of them said anything while they unloaded some of the canvases from the back of her vehicle. Jennifer eyed Brian as inconspicuously as she could, trying to read him. She’d gotten better at that over the years, but Brian’s poker face was well-practiced, and he was giving nothing away today.

“You can stop looking at me like that,” he said, pushing the button for the elevator after they got inside the lobby.

“Like what?”

“That concerned, mama bear look you’re giving me right now.” He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, don’t worry about me. I’m talking to someone too. I’m not sure how much it’s helping, since it’s sort of feeling like we’re going in circles, but trust me, I’m talking about my feelings plenty. More than I’d like to. Christ, is somebody holding this thing on another fucking floor?” Brian pushed the button again, more forcefully this time.

“It hasn’t been that long. And I’m getting in the elevator with you, so don’t act like you’re getting away from me when it gets here.” She paused and sighed. “I just want you to know you can talk to me. If you want to.”

“I know I can, mom.”

“Okay. I’ll stop mothering you now.” Jennifer gave him a small smile as the elevator doors slid open.

“Thank you,” Brian said, pushing himself over the threshold and turning around to face the elevator door again, his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. “I promise to let you know if and when I need mothering.”

They exited the elevator on the sixth floor and Brian led her down a long hallway to a nondescript door at the very end. He pulled his keys out of his coat pocket and picked through them, finally selecting one and sticking it in the lock.

When he turned the door handle and pushed the door open, both of them were taken aback by what they saw.

Justin’s studio had been ransacked, as best as Jennifer could tell. Brian pushed his chair slowly into the room, turning his head from side to side, seemingly taking in the scene, before turning around and looking back at the door, confusion clear on his face.

“I’m pretty sure that door was locked,” he said slowly, pointing toward the still-open door. “Did someone break in?” He turned again and she watched as his gaze fell on a pile of painted canvases in one corner. He furrowed his brow. “But why wouldn’t they steal those?”

Brian moved to the other side of the studio and gently set down the paintings he’d been transporting in his lap, propping them against the wall. Jennifer did the same with the canvases she’d been carrying, as they both continued surveying the scene. There were tubes of paint and brushes in piles on the floor. Canvases, both painted and unpainted, were scattered across the tile. Easels were turned over, and shreds of paper littered the floor in random spots throughout the room.

Jennifer slowly realized she had seen this exact scene before, when Justin had destroyed his bedroom and several drawings that he hadn’t known at that point if he’d ever be able to reproduce. She was just about to say something to that effect when Brian apparently came to the same conclusion -- Justin had been here.

“Fuck,” he said. “This has to be Justin’s doing. I had no idea he came down here. When did he do this?” He bent over to pick up one of the canvases and leaned it upright against the wall, then ran a hand nervously through his hair. “I wish he would have told me.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t want you to know.”

“You’re probably right. But I still wish he would have. I’ve been feeling for a while like there are things he’s not telling me, and this proves it. Goddamn it, I feel like I don’t know what to do or say anymore. I’m just fucking lost.”

“I know. Me too. But unfortunately, we can’t make him open up. Hopefully he’s at least opening up when he’s at therapy. Time will tell.”

“Let’s hope. I didn’t know what to think when I came home and found him picking up pieces of our bathroom mirror. He was just so fucking...calm. Too calm. He said he was okay, but he didn’t look okay.”

Brian continued picking up the canvases that were scattered on the floor, while Jennifer righted the empty easels that sat on their sides.

“You know, the last time he did this, it was the start of a turning point for him,” Jennifer said. “Maybe this will be too.”

“Christ, I hope so. I’m just at a loss for what to do. I feel like I’ve done everything I can, short of shoving the brush in his hand and ordering him to paint. And we both know how well that would go over.”

Once Brian had picked up all of the canvases, he moved on to the paints and brushes, while Jennifer picked up the paper and sketchbooks. She was just about finished when she heard Brian mutter, “Shit.”

“What?” she said as she turned toward him, where she saw him sitting in front of the only painting and easel that hadn’t been turned over, holding a small knife in his hand.

“I can’t even think about what he was going to do with this,” Brian said, shaking his head slightly. “It was the only thing over here, so I don’t think it just fell here by accident. I hope it was nothing, but…” He paused and took a breath. “I don’t want to think about what could have happened. Especially since I don’t know when he was here. What state of mind he was in. But, like I said… He says the therapy is helping, but I’m not so sure.”

Jennifer didn’t want to entertain the thought of what could have happened with that knife either. Even when Justin had been so frustrated and despondent after he was bashed, he had never considered hurting himself. At least, not that she knew of. And she hoped that she would know if he had -- she was his mother, after all.

“What matters is that he didn’t do anything though, right?” she said, coming over to Brian and putting an arm around his shoulders, hoping it would be reassuring.

“Yeah,” Brian said softly. “I just hope that whatever he was feeling when he left this on the floor, he isn’t feeling anymore.”

Jennifer did too.

She and Brian finished straightening up the studio, then brought the rest of the paintings upstairs and arranged their makeshift display using the photos on Brian’s phone to get them in the order Lindsay had selected for the show, since Justin hadn’t been able to choose for himself. Jennifer had been looking forward to Justin seeing the restored paintings, but now she wondered what she was going to be walking into when she brought Justin back here. Would she be making a mistake that would undo any progress he’d been making? Or would she be able to say the right thing to encourage him to start being creative again? She was hoping for the latter.

They stopped for coffee to-go at a small, local shop across the street from the studio, then drove back to the garage where Brian had been storing his car since they’d moved to the city. In all of the chaos after Justin’s accident, Brian had forgotten to cancel the automatic renewal on his lease, so he had a space for at least another year, even though he had no car. While it didn’t make financial sense for Brian, it worked out for Jennifer’s visit.

The garage was a few blocks from their apartment, so they made their way back there on the sidewalk, anticipating that Justin should be home now. Brian had told Justin that he’d be in a meeting with a client this afternoon. So Justin would be expecting Brian’s arrival, but he wouldn’t be expecting Jennifer. She hoped it would be a good surprise.

It was, indeed. Brian went in first, and when Justin turned his attention from the television to greet him, his eyes immediately focused on Jennifer. He blinked a few times, like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Mom?” he said.

“In the flesh.” Jennifer held her arms out, and Justin was soon in them as they shared a long embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder, and for a moment, she felt like he was a little kid again.

Justin looked up at her as they let go. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprising you.”

“No, I mean… Why?”

“Do I really need a reason?” She laughed a little and tousled his hair. “I missed you, honey. And this one,” she said, gesturing toward Brian, who looked like he was enjoying this little reunion, “thought it might be a good idea too.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Justin asked, looking back and forth between Jennifer and Brian.

“Long enough,” Brian said. “Now, you two catch up. I’m going to order us some dinner.”

Brian ordered takeout from a nearby Italian restaurant -- a huge portion of spaghetti and meatballs for Justin, and some lighter fare for himself and Jennifer, although he kept sneaking bites of Justin’s pasta.

They spent a quiet evening in the apartment, just talking about life. It was nice, and Jennifer wished she could do it more often.

The next night, Justin surprised both Jennifer and Brian when he came home from his therapy appointment and said he wanted to go out. Brian and Jennifer exchanged a look, but Brian just shrugged.

The first place Justin took them to was a shop that Jennifer had been to a couple of times before on previous visits.

“I remembered you really liked the hand-blown glass paperweights here,” Justin said as he held the door open for her and Brian.

Justin followed her around the store, excitedly pointing out things he thought she might like. Jennifer could see Brian out of the corner of her eye, just watching them, a faint smile on his face.

Ultimately, they ended up at a restaurant and bar that doubled as a performance venue -- another place they’d been to before, that Justin had remembered she liked. It seemed like more and more was coming back to him, and Jennifer was thankful for that.

It was an intimate space, with small tables arranged around a stage, and there were always interesting things to be seen and heard. That night’s performance was part comedy show, part musical. And it was very, very loud, with a lot of bright lights.

After a while, Jennifer could tell that Justin wasn’t feeling well, although he was trying to hide it. She glanced at Brian, who was eyeing Justin carefully. A few minutes later, during the intermission, Justin excused himself to go to the bathroom.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Jennifer asked Brian quietly, once Justin was out of earshot.

“No,” Brian said, as he held up a hand to get their server’s attention. “And he’s not going to say anything about it, so I’m taking the lead here. He won’t like it, but that’s okay. He’s going to be spending all day tomorrow in bed if we stay.”

By the time Justin returned to the table, Brian had paid the check, and they were both ready to go.

But when Justin saw the signed receipt on the table, he immediately objected.

“We’re not leaving because of me,” he said. “I’m fine. Let’s stay for the rest of the show.”

Brian started to speak, but Jennifer interrupted him.

“I’m still pretty tired from my trip,” she said. “I just don’t think I can stay awake for the second half.”

It took a little more convincing, but eventually, she and Brian got Justin to agree to go home. When they got down into the subway, the platform was packed with people, all of whom had apparently been waiting on the same train they needed. Justin looked dead on his feet, so they went ahead and squeezed themselves into the full train car, just so they wouldn’t have to wait for the next train.

Justin leaned tiredly against one of the poles in the center of the car, with Jennifer on one side of him and Brian on the other. After a couple of stops, Brian took Justin’s hand and pulled him down into his lap, where he ended up nearly falling asleep on Brian’s shoulder before they made it to their stop.

Jennifer didn’t think she’d ever get tired of seeing the visual manifestation of just how much Brian loved Justin. How much they cared for each other. Brian had always let his actions speak more loudly than his words, and even though he’d gotten much better with the words over the last ten years, his actions were still what sent the message through loud and clear.

By the time they got back to the apartment, it was obvious that Justin was exhausted. He sat in the living room with Jennifer and Brian for a while, fighting to stay awake, until Brian finally convinced him to take a hot shower and go to bed, even though it was barely 9 p.m.

“He’s still sleeping a lot,” Brian said, shortly after they heard the shower turn on. “At this point, I’m not sure if it’s brain injury or depression, or both. And I know how exhausting chronic pain is, so hell, it could be that too.”

“Is that still an issue for you? You haven’t mentioned anything recently.”

Brian scoffed. “That’s because it’s not worth mentioning. Not for me. It’s always there, and it’s always going to be. I’m used to it. I try not to think about it most of the time. But it’s there. And spending a month and a half sleeping in a hotel bed definitely didn’t do me any favors.”

“Have you thought about buying a house in Pittsburgh?” Jennifer knew her question was going to sound completely out-of-the-blue, but she'd been thinking about it for a while, and now seemed like as good a time as any to bring it up.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“I meant for the future.”

“I’m hoping to not be spending an extended time there again anytime soon.” Brian sighed and took a sip of the bourbon he’d poured himself a few minutes after they got home. “No offense. I just… I need to be done with the Pitts for a while. The last thing I need there is a house.”

“I get it. And I’m not talking about moving back or staying for months at a time. I was just thinking… I got a new listing in Michael and Ben’s neighborhood a few days ago. It would give you someplace to stay when you’re in town for business or just visiting. More comfortable than a hotel, and you’d have everything you needed. It’s single story, and the rooms are fairly large. You could renovate it to be exactly what you want. You could even make it into an investment property doing short term rentals online. And maybe I could see you both more often…” Jennifer let her voice trail off as she winked at Brian.

“Jesus, Michael would shit a brick if I ever bought a house in his neighborhood,” Brian laughed. “I’d never hear the end of it. I can see the headline in the papers now: Brian Kinney Becomes Stepford Fag.”

“Need I remind you that you and Justin are married and monogamous?”

“That doesn’t mean I have to buy a house in the suburbs and adopt two-point-five kids and a dog.”

“Just something to think about.” She smiled and took another sip of her wine. “If you change your mind, I know a good real estate agent.”

“I’m sure you do. Say, how did your television ad work out? I saw the finished product, but I haven’t heard anything else about it.”

“Pretty well, I think. Not that I ever had any doubt.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“It’s easy to be confident when you have such a talented son-in-law,” Jennifer said. “I’m lucky that both of my sons are talented.”

“Now if only we could get one of them to stop doubting himself long enough to actually try something.”

Jennifer raised her eyebrow at Brian and gestured toward the bedroom. She’d heard the shower turn off a while ago, but she wasn’t sure if Justin would be asleep yet. “Should we…?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s out. He could sleep through a damn hurricane now,” Brian said, shaking his head. “If he’s already asleep when I come to bed, he doesn’t even wake up when I do. And me getting myself into bed isn’t exactly inconspicuous.” He chuckled and turned up his glass to drain the last of his bourbon, then set the empty glass on the end table. “Anyhow, I know he’s a lot better than he was, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t want to sound like I’m not. But I feel stuck. And I think he does too.”

“Maybe. I know he felt that way before.”

“Yeah, I know he did. But that time, things were different. He got unstuck when he started getting more function back in his hand. Even though he could only draw for fifteen minutes at a time, he could still draw. I’m just not sure what’s going to get him unstuck this time.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think either one of us can find it for him,” Jennifer sighed. “He has to find it for himself.”

“Adam was telling me that the art teacher at his school is retiring at the end of the school year. He thinks Justin would be perfect, and I do too -- you should see him with their girls. He’s a natural. But right now, he just doesn’t have the confidence in himself to believe he could do it. He won’t even agree to come back as a sub for a day or two right now. We just keep waiting for the right time to bring it up, when he might say yes. But I don’t know when that time would be. It’s starting to feel like never. I know it’s his decision, but I really want him to do it. I think if he would just take the damn jump, he’d feel a lot better about so many things, because he’d see he could do it. But how do I get him to do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think we just have to keep trying.”

The next day, Jennifer figured she might as well do just that, and take Justin to his studio so she could surprise him with the restored paintings from his show and make her attempt at encouraging him to paint again. He tried to talk her out of going at first, but eventually agreed to it, although he was quiet on the subway and seemed a bit nervous. Given the mess she and Brian had walked into a few days ago, Jennifer guessed that he was anticipating having to explain the mess, especially since he didn’t know they’d already been there, seen it, and cleaned it up.

When they got there and he unlocked the door, Jennifer was holding her breath, hoping that his reaction to the paintings would be a positive one.

“Wait,” he said, looking around the room, where everything had been put back in order by her and Brian. “Did you…”

Jennifer nodded and put her arm around him.

“We took care of it, sweetheart.”

A few seconds of silence passed before Justin spoke again.

“When I did that, I was…” he paused and took a breath. “I don’t know. I just felt...mad. I didn’t know what to do. It just...happened. I felt like I couldn't stop.”

“I know, honey.” She pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay to be mad. Anybody would be mad.” When she released him, she gently turned him toward the paintings. “I had an ulterior motive for my trip,” she said. “I know you never got to see them in the show, so I thought you’d like to see them here. I went down to the show a couple of times. You should have heard the things people were saying about you. Good things. Really good.”

“Too bad all of that’s over now.” Justin pulled away from her and walked toward the wall where the paintings were displayed. He ran the fingers of his left hand over the edge of one of them -- a boldly colored piece with a lot of intricate detail.

“It doesn’t have to be over.”

Justin took a deep breath before responding. “I can’t do this anymore. There’s no way I’d be able to.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound like the Justin Taylor I know. The one who never let anybody tell him no.”

“He’s gone,” Justin said softly. “I think maybe he died back in December.”

“Honey…” Jennifer started to put her arm around Justin, but he shrugged her off.

“I’ve been trying to make changes… Do some things, get out more... But it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I don’t feel like I’m the same person I was before.”

“Who would be, sweetheart? But that doesn’t mean you can’t get through this. You’ve always been able to do anything you wanted. Anything you put your mind to. Why should now be any different?”

“I’m not that person anymore. I’m not who I was. I can’t be. I made my living painting, and now I can’t do that anymore. Even if I can figure out a way to do it, I won’t be able to do what I did before. What people expect. What they want when they buy something from me.”

“It’s not all about the money, Justin. Whether or not something sells. It’s about whether or not you love it. You’re getting too caught up in the business aspect. You’ve always loved art. I’ve seen how your face lights up when you’re creating something -- how you just get lost in it. That’s why you wanted to be an artist, remember?”

Jennifer watched Justin as he slowly made his way down the line, touching each canvas in succession.

“I can see how much you still love it. That you want to do it,” she continued. “All that matters is that you’re doing something you love -- making something you love. And if you love it, chances are someone else will too. If it sells, great. If it doesn’t, who cares? If it made you feel good when you were creating it, then that’s all that matters.”

“She did a great job with the restoration, didn’t she?” Justin said, his fingers resting on the last canvas. Jennifer knew he was trying to change the subject.

“She did. But she had some pretty great raw material to work with. And I know you still have more where that came from, even if it might look a little different. Why don’t we go across the street and get a cup of coffee? I could go for one of those lattes like I had the other day when Brian and I were here.”

Justin laughed. “He loves that place. Sometimes I swear he comes down here claiming he wanted to see me, but it was really just a convenient excuse to have a white mocha.”

“It seems like you’re remembering more,” Jennifer said as they locked up the studio and stepped into the elevator.

“I am. It comes back in flashes. I’ll remember one small thing that seems really weird and random, but then it fits into something bigger a lot of the time, or something that I had a vague sense of and couldn’t quite put my finger on.” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “But our wedding is still just...gone. And that sucks.”

“The prom was gone once too, though.”

“I know. But I had to spend more time in a coma to get that back, apparently, so I’ll pass on that. I keep hoping that maybe someday, I’ll have a dream or something, and I’ll wake up and it’ll be there.”

“Maybe it will. You never know.”

They crossed the street and went into the shop, ordering their drinks and choosing a cozy table in what looked to be a quiet corner.

“You know, there have been a lot of famous artists with disabilities,” Jennifer said, stirring her latte and trying to act nonchalant, even though she knew Justin would see right through her and know exactly what she was trying to do.

“Mom,” he said, sounding exasperated already.

“Just hear me out. Michelangelo had limited hand function, and look at all he created -- all of those beautiful sculptures and paintings that we wouldn’t have, if he had just given up.”

“I took art history in college, mom,” Justin grumbled.

“Then you should already know all of this, right? May I continue?”

Justin rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“Francisco Goya didn’t have full use of his right arm.”

“You know that was because he had syphilis, right?” Justin laughed.

“That’s not the point. His style changed after he got sick, but he kept painting, and people still loved his work. Matisse did the same thing -- after he ended up in a wheelchair, with limited mobility, he found something else he could do to keep making art. He viewed it as an opportunity to re-align his priorities and to create something that said exactly what he wanted to say.”

“Are you done with your motivational speech now?”

“No. My point is, they all created because they loved it. Not because they thought it would sell. Art was their passion. It’s yours too, sweetheart.” Jennifer paused and laid her hand over Justin’s. “Look, I know you’re afraid. And you know what? I bet every single one of them was too at some point. It’s human. But they didn’t let fear rule their lives. Your fear is the only thing that won’t let you move on. Don’t let it do that to you. You’re bigger than that. You always have been. Now shouldn’t be any different. Okay, I’m done now.”

“Thank god,” Justin said, slumping back in his chair.

“Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

Justin sighed and stirred his tea. “Okay,” he said, his lips turning up into the tiniest smile. “Only if you promise me that you’ll stop researching disabled artists throughout history.”

“Guilty as charged,” Jennifer laughed. “But I do think I put together a compelling case, if I do say so myself.”

“Maybe your second calling is to be a lawyer.”

“No thanks. Real estate is hard enough, without trying to go to law school in your late fifties.”

They finished their drinks with lighter conversation, then killed some time walking around the neighborhood before heading back to the apartment, where they found Brian in the kitchen, making dinner.

“Boy, you’ve really domesticated him, haven’t you?” Jennifer said, elbowing Justin gently in the ribs. “I can remember when you used to do all of the cooking yourself, just to keep him from ordering takeout.”

“I’ll have you know, I learned this all on my own,” Brian said, with mock indignance. “When I moved to the suburbs and all of the restaurants were chains and they all sucked and none of them delivered.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Justin said. “I’m pretty sure all he knew how to do back then was make omelets, grill chicken, and microwave vegetables.”

“I survived, didn’t I?” Brian reached up and stirred what was in the pot, which smelled suspiciously like one Debbie Novotny’s chicken soup.

“Is that what I think it is?” Jen asked, coming closer and peering into the pot.

Brian smiled almost shyly and said, “I thought maybe we could all use a little comfort food.”

The next few days were uneventful, just the three of them doing things as a family, hitting up some of Jennifer’s favorite spots in the city while performing the delicate balance of making sure Justin didn’t get overwhelmed, without him knowing that she and Brian were keeping a close eye on him.

On the last day before she was planning to head back to Pittsburgh, they all headed down to SoHo to check out a contemporary art museum Jennifer had heard about but had never been to. While Jennifer enjoyed seeing the art, what she really loved was watching her son as he made his way through the rooms. How his expression lightened the moment they stepped through the door. How he looked like he wanted to reach out and touch everything. How he seemed to be looking at certain pieces more critically, as if he was trying to figure out how he could do something like that.

Maybe there was hope, after all.

They went to a tapas restaurant down the street for dinner and had a few cocktails, before going over to a nearby park. Jennifer had asked Brian to bring his camera so he could take a few headshots of her to use on her business cards, and they both thought the green space would be a perfect backdrop. Brian had resisted a little at first, saying she should just hire a professional photographer, but she’d ultimately been able to sweet-talk him into doing it for her.

Once they got started taking photos, however, the alcohol they’d had at dinner seemed to take over, and the serious photoshoot turned a little bit lighter, with Brian tossing her the flat cap he’d been wearing and telling her to put it on and strike a pose. A few photos later, Justin had joined in the fun, posing with her, and not long after that, Brian was setting the timer on the camera and they were having an impromptu family photo session.

They could care less what anyone thought of them as they posed together, making funny faces, sticking their tongues out, and giving each other bunny ears. They finished it out with one last shot -- Jennifer in the middle, with her arms around both of her boys, all three of them smiling.

Their laughter and smiles kept on long after they’d stopped snapping photos, as they chatted on the subway about what a great time they’d had -- not just that night, but all week long. It really had been a great trip. Jennifer was so glad she’d decided to come, even though she knew it was going to make her miss her boys even more after she went back home.

When they got back to the apartment, Jennifer stepped into the kitchen to get herself a drink, watching as Brian and Justin settled themselves on the sofa. Brian took Justin’s hand, threading their fingers together as Justin laid his head on Brian’s shoulder.

“I had fun tonight,” Justin said softly.

“It was a good night.”

“I can’t wait to see the pictures,” Justin said as he nestled himself in closer to Brian’s side, then tilted his head upward and smiled a little. “We’re making new memories, huh?”

“Yeah, Sunshine,” Brian said, closing his eyes and nodding as he took a breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were glistening. He tightened his grip around Justin’s shoulder and returned his smile. “We are.”

Adaptation by TrueIllusion

“I know what happened to you sucks. And I’m not gonna give you some Pollyanna shit about how everything happens for a reason, or this was God’s gift to make you strong, because if anybody had said that to me, honey, when Vic was dying, I would’ve punched them right in the fucking mouth. All you can do at a time like this is just hang on, until the scenery changes.”

*****

His mother went home. And Justin went back to his life.

Such as it was.

And Justin wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel.

Having his mom there had been a nice distraction from the shitshow he felt like his life had become. Now, it was back to reality.

It wasn’t that all of his current reality was bad, because it wasn’t. But right now, Brian was pretty much the only positive part of it. That was why it helped him so much to do things for Brian -- it took his mind off of everything that was going wrong and focused it on the one thing that was right.

His mom was another thing that felt right, even if she drove him crazy sometimes with her attempts at motivation and encouragement. That was just her -- she wanted to give him the world, and was willing to move heaven and earth to make that happen. She’d always been like that. Right now, though, there was really nothing she could do.

When she was there, Justin had two people to focus his attention on. Two people that he could glean some semblance of happiness-by-proxy from, just by doing things he thought they would like. Now, if only he could find some of that happiness for himself.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Brian that the therapy was helping, even though he could tell by the look on Brian’s face when he said it, that Brian didn’t believe him. It really was helping. His thoughts might not have been exactly bright and cheery now, but they were a lot less dark, and that was something. He was sure that a good part of it was likely a result of chemical intervention rather than an actual change in his mood, but still -- it was something.

His memory had been improving as well -- bit-by-bit, things were coming back to him. He’d learned that when he got a flash of something that seemed inconsequential, he could follow it -- keep thinking about what had happened next, or what had happened around it -- and usually find its place in his head. He tried not to think about the fact that he still couldn’t remember his and Brian’s wedding, because it hurt to have that hole in his memory. And he knew it hurt Brian, too, even though Brian pretended it didn’t matter.

Maybe that was part of what made it easier for Justin to do nice things for Brian. He’d put Brian through so much in the past few months, and it made him feel a little guilty, even though he knew it was silly to feel that way, and Brian would tell him that, no questions asked. Either way, he liked being able to bring a smile to Brian’s face, and it made him want to smile too. So that was a good thing.

But even so, Justin still felt a little bit stuck. Like he was trying to find himself and figure out who he would be now, but he just couldn’t quite get there.

Justin had fallen into a comfortable routine over the last several weeks -- physical and occupational therapy on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and talking with John, his psychologist, on Wednesdays. Working on what needed to be worked on, in all aspects of his life, but still sometimes wondering if any of it was doing as much good as he wanted or needed it to.

He hadn’t seen much improvement with his hand in a while. He still couldn’t pick up the fucking paper clips. Still couldn’t throw a ball with any semblance of control. Still couldn’t hold a pencil, or a spoon, or a paintbrush. He had a little bit more movement in individual fingers now, instead of feeling like it was all-or-nothing, but still no real dexterity. He had a tiny bit more grip strength, but still not anything approaching functional. He still had to struggle to hold his pill bottles when he needed his medication, but he still wasn’t willing to let Brian do it for him unless he was desperate. Brian had bought him one of those weekly pill organizers and left it on the bathroom counter -- already filled -- without saying a word, but so far Justin had refused to use it, because he preferred to pretend he didn’t need the easy access that it would provide.

Then, there was the sensation. Strange was about the best way he could manage to describe it. It was like his nerves were confused. Sometimes, it felt like his hand was partially numb, and other times, there was an intense pins-and-needles feeling that made him want to scream. But it wasn’t like his hand was asleep, because if it was, touching it would increase the pins-and-needles sensation. Instead, it was like he couldn’t feel the touch at all. Everything remained exactly the same. He could feel deep pressure more than light touches, but when it came to being able to tell if something was hot or cold, he got radio silence, which kind of scared him. The numbness affected his control, because he couldn’t really rely on what he was feeling, but the problems with thermal sensation could be dangerous, and Justin knew that. He’d developed a habit of testing everything with his left hand first, because with his right, he could easily burn himself and not even know it. It made him paranoid that he was going to get hurt.

So, given all of the the cold, hard evidence Justin had that his hand was probably exactly the way it was going to be, forever, he didn’t know why he was surprised when his physical therapist took him into her office for a private conversation at the end of his appointment, to let him know that there was really nothing more she could do for him that he couldn’t do for himself. That she was officially releasing him.

She gave him a printed list of exercises and stretches and activities he could do at home, and the addresses for a few different websites where he could purchase tools and aids to help make up for his own physical shortcomings. He still had one more session left on Thursday, but beyond that, there would be no more. He was on his own.

Justin didn’t know why he felt so blindsided by that. He knew that they’d met in that same office every few weeks to discuss his progress. They’d been taking measurements of his strength and mobility all along the way, and he knew that there hadn’t been any significant change for a while. But he’d never really been listening when all of that was discussed, because if he was being honest, he didn’t want to hear it. He guessed he’d just assume that they’d keep trying indefinitely, waiting for something to change, even though he knew full-well how ridiculous that sounded.

Now, he felt like she might as well have taken him into the office to tell him that she’d given up on him, and he should give up too. He knew that wasn’t at all what she’d said, but that was how it felt.

Justin was torn. He didn’t know if he should be glad it was over, or disappointed that he’d already gone as far as he could go, when he wanted so desperately to go further.

It was time to face the music and start learning how to accept the new him. Learning how to adapt, and how to do things with what he felt amounted to one-and-a-half hands, with the knowledge that nothing was likely to change from here on out. Only Justin wasn’t sure where to start with that. How to accept that this was his life, and it was going to be his life from here on out, and he needed to find some way to move on.

He carefully folded the printouts, mostly with his left hand, holding them against his leg with the right, and stuck them in his jacket pocket. He nodded numbly as his physical therapist kept talking, although he wasn’t comprehending much of anything else she said beyond, “I can’t do anything more for you than you can do for yourself at this point.”

Now, it was down to what he could do for himself. But what was that, exactly? Was there even anything he could do?

When it seemed like she was done talking, he thanked her politely -- fucking WASP manners -- and got up, left the office, rode the elevator down to the ground floor, and wandered out onto the street with no idea where he should go or what he should do.

Brian was probably home -- he’d been working in his office earlier in the day on something that seemed to be stressing him out. Justin wasn’t blind to the increases in spasticity that would happen to Brian when he really got stressed, and that was exactly what had been happening for the last week or so. It had started a few days after his mother had left to go back to Pittsburgh, when Brian’s phone started ringing almost constantly with some sort of crisis at Kinnetik over a multi-million dollar account. Even if Brian tried to hide how tense he was, his body would give him away, and it had been doing exactly that. Of course, Brian was pretending that wasn’t happening either, as was par-for-the-course and always had been -- Brian never wanted to be anything other than cool, calm, and collected.

Even though Justin knew Brian would drop everything to talk to him, comfort him, and help him work it out and come up with a plan, that wasn’t what Justin wanted. Not right now. Not yet.

He needed some time to think. To just be alone with himself for a while.

It was a nice day in New York -- a little bit of a spring preview, with temperatures above average for late March -- and it seemed like there were a lot of people out. It was late afternoon, and the sidewalks were bustling with people as if it was already five or six o’clock instead of three. Justin tucked his right hand safely in the pocket of his hoodie, suddenly painfully aware that he’d probably be doing that forever. His hand felt vulnerable, like he needed to protect it. It made him self conscious to have it out in the open when he was in public. So most of the time, he kept it in his pocket. It had become an unconscious habit, that at one point had seemed likely to have an ending date, whenever something changed or shifted and his hand felt less like a useless appendage and more like a vital part of him again. Now, he was hit with the sobering thought that none of that was likely to happen anymore.

Someone bumped into his right elbow accidentally, and Justin inhaled sharply. Not because it hurt, but because it made him feel exposed. It reminded him of the months after the bashing, when he’d hold Brian’s hand with a death grip as they walked down Liberty Avenue, because he’d been so afraid of everything and everybody. But he’d learned how to deal with it, and he’d gotten over it, with Brian’s help. Now, he had to figure out how to do the same, again, this time with a completely different issue.

He started to walk past a deli, and his stomach growled as if it could somehow smell the freshly baked bread too, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten much for lunch because he’d been feeling nauseous for absolutely no reason that morning. The nausea was gone now, but he didn’t feel any better, thanks to the news he’d just received. He wondered if the random bouts of dizziness and nausea were yet another thing that wasn’t going to go away. If the migraines were going to be something that plagued him too. He wondered if he was about to get more bad news at his three-month checkup with his New York neurologist next week.

Justin pulled the door open with his left hand, noticing how awkward it was to do that when the door handle was also on the left side and the door swung open to the right. How it essentially made his own arm block his way as he opened the door and moved to go inside. He pushed his right elbow against it to hold it open and stepped over the threshold and into the bright, fluorescent lights of the deli. Not his fucked-up brain’s favorite kind of lighting, to say the least, but he’d survive for however long it took him to eat a sandwich.

The man behind the counter was your typical New Yorker -- gruff and ready for you to get to the damn point and just order already and stop wasting his time. He didn’t actually say any of those things, but his body language and his tone said it all. Justin ordered himself a grilled cheese, because right now all he really wanted was two slices of sourdough slathered in butter with at least five slices of cheddar stuffed in between. He could see Brian in his head, rolling his eyes and muttering something about clogged arteries and 30-year-old metabolisms. The man shouted out Justin’s order to another man standing not four feet from him, while Justin started fumbling with his wallet to get his money out one-handed. Eventually, he got it, but not without a struggle, which didn’t go unnoticed by the impatient clerk, who was huffing and puffing the whole time, in spite of the fact that Justin was the only person at the counter.

Brian probably would have told the guy off -- told him to go fuck himself, to be exact -- but Justin was too embarrassed to even consider doing that. He really just wanted to get his sandwich and not be noticed at all.

He took a seat at a table near the counter and waited for his number to be called. Suddenly, he had a flashback of sitting with Brian at a cafe on the Lower East Side, talking about Brian not wanting to be noticed, because he felt like everyone was staring at his wheelchair. Justin remembered encouraging him to not give a shit what other people thought, and at the same time, internally marveling at the fact that Brian Kinney felt that way at all, and how un-Brian like that was, although he didn’t say those things out loud. Justin had known how Brian felt, even back then, because he’d felt that way after the bashing. But as things got better -- thanks in no small part to Brian -- he’d gotten over it. Now, he felt like he was right back where he’d started all those years ago. He and Brian were reversing their roles again. Brian was back to not giving a fuck what anybody else thought, and Justin was back to being extremely self-conscious.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Now, he realized how much Brian must have felt like he wanted to murder Justin with his bare hands ten years ago. But Justin hadn’t given up on Brian, and Brian had eventually gotten past it all. He’d waded through all of the shit and come out on the other side. Justin hoped he could do the same, even though he knew it would be hard, and there would probably be plenty of times when he wanted to give up.

Hell, there already had been. And he hadn’t given up yet. But today’s events weren’t exactly giving Justin a confidence boost.

His number was called, and he picked up his sandwich at the counter, bringing it back to his table. He sort of hated eating with his left hand, even after nearly three months of doing it. But, it was what it was, and it sure as hell wasn’t changing any time soon, so he had to live with it. Still, it felt...strange. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he’d once been considered ambidextrous. Just goes to show that school and society really can train you out of anything that goes against the norm. His teachers had discouraged the constant switching of hands that he used to do in his elementary school years, encouraging him to go with the right, because it would “make things easier,” they said. If only they had known how wrong they would end up being almost thirty years later, after he smacked the left side of his head against the side window and the B-pillar of a car.

How could they have known though? How could anyone have guessed that Justin would find himself unable to use his right hand, not once, but twice in his lifetime? Sometimes he had to wonder just who he had pissed off upstairs to make all of this bad shit happen to him.

Sure, there were plenty of good things that had happened to him in his life, and he wasn’t denying that. But sometimes it was hard to not get dragged down into the darkness where all of the bad things seemed to take over. John and his meds were working together to try to keep him out of that dark place. Today, though, the darkness felt inviting. Almost comforting, as strange as that sounded. Trying to stay positive was a lot of work. He didn’t have to work as hard if he just let the darkness take over.

The sandwich was every bit as greasy and gooey as he’d wanted it to be, and it was delicious. Justin didn’t know why making a grilled cheese at home was never as good as getting one at a diner or a deli. One of life’s great mysteries, he supposed. He finished up the last bite and took his empty plate over to the dishpan that sat on a cart by the counter, then wandered back out onto the sidewalk.

He still didn’t want to go home, but he wasn’t sure where to go, so he walked around midtown aimlessly for a while, making it a point to avoid Times Square because the last thing he wanted right now was to find himself in the middle of a throng of tourists. He kept walking north -- still not quite sure why he was walking in the opposite direction of home -- eventually finding himself at the southern edge of Central Park. He’d walked at least fifteen blocks without even realizing it.

Justin kept walking, following one of the paths that led into the park. He bought himself a cup of coffee from a street vendor, then found a bench to sit on, so he could think.

Where would he go from here? Where could he go, really? So much of his existence had always been wrapped up in his art, and his identity as an artist. He felt like that had been stripped away from him, and as a result, he didn’t know who he was anymore.

He knew what Brian would have told him if he’d said that: “You’re still you. You’re still my husband, and I love you, no matter what.” Brian would tell him that he just needed to get out of his own way. And his mother had basically told him the same thing when they’d been sitting at the coffee shop across the street from his studio. That he was letting fear rule his life and keep him from moving on. But this whole thing was so fucking scary that Justin didn’t know how to push the fear away so he could move on. It was too big and too overwhelming.

Justin sipped his coffee and looked around at the people moving past him, trying to guess details about their lives based on how they looked or how they moved or what they said. If Brian could see him right now, he would have laughed and told him that he’d been around Rob too much. But Justin agreed that it was interesting to just sit and observe people, and he could absolutely see why Rob did it so much. Actually, Justin was pretty sure Rob scheduled it into his week, even if he didn’t exactly call it that.

The breathing technique Rob had taught Justin really had helped -- he’d already used it several times when he got frustrated or angry. And he had been kicking around the idea of calling Rob and asking him if he could show him more -- maybe some yoga poses. He wondered if there was anything that might help with his hand, or if it would only be a hindrance, like it was in so many other aspects of his life. Justin felt stupid even considering that, given that Rob was a paraplegic, and if not being able to use his legs didn’t hinder him, there was probably a way for Justin to not be held back by his hand either. But he felt like that was what he had to consider now when he started to do anything -- can I do it one handed?

Either way, he wasn’t quite ready to make that call yet.

Right where the pathway made a curve, Justin saw a caricature artist set up just off the sidewalk, making sketches of tourists. At least, Justin assumed they were tourists, and he felt pretty safe in that assumption, given that in more than ten years as a New Yorker, he’d never had a desire to have a caricature drawn of himself.

Justin sat, and he watched.

He could see the conflict in the man’s eyes -- on one hand, he was making art, and that was probably something he enjoyed doing, or else he would haven’t gotten into it in the first place. But on the other hand, he could see the longing -- the same longing Justin had when he was spending time waiting tables so he could pay his rent, when he would have rather been focusing on his art. He could clearly see that this artist would also much rather be doing exactly what he wanted, which definitely wasn’t making these quick sketches in the park for $20 or $30 a pop.

But Justin also couldn’t ignore his own jealousy -- how grateful he’d be to just be able to draw right now. How much joy it would bring him to draw anything, even a caricature for a family of tourists in Central Park. He wanted to curse all the time he’d wasted -- how he’d taken for granted that he had all the time in the world to draw and paint. If only he’d realized that time would be finite, he would have let Brian convince him to devote all of his time to his art much sooner.

He sat and continued observing everyone around him while he finished his coffee, which had gone curiously cold. He watched the families with young children, the runners and cyclists getting in their daily exercise, the groups of people taking tours they’d probably bought on a discount app. A lot of people smiling, who looked much more content with their lives than Justin felt right then. At some point, Justin started to become aware that the light from the sun was getting more and more golden as it made its descent in the western sky. Had he really been out there that long? He glanced at his watch and noticed it was almost 6:30. He guessed he had been out there that long. Reluctantly, he got up from the bench, tossed his empty cup into a nearby trash can, and started toward home.

Justin ran the fingers of his left hand over the folded-up papers in his pocket as he pushed the button for the elevator in the lobby of the building where he and Brian lived. The papers that represented all he’d be able to do for himself at this point. He still wasn’t ready to go home, because he didn’t want to have to tell Brian his news. But he didn’t have a choice -- he couldn’t just wander around the city all night. Not without Brian sending out a search party. Frankly, he was a little surprised he hadn’t heard from Brian all afternoon, but he also knew that when Brian really got absorbed in his work, he often didn’t realize how much time had passed either.

So when Justin unlocked the door to their apartment and pushed it open, he halfway expected for Brian to be in his office, still working. But he wasn’t -- he was in the living room, and it looked like he’d been pacing. At the moment when Justin walked in, Brian was facing the sofa, looking at his phone like he was trying to will it to ring.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Brian said loudly, sounding relieved. He let his phone drop into his lap and ran a hand through his hair nervously as Justin closed the door. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? Where the fuck were you? I thought you’d be home hours ago. I’ve been calling and calling and you haven’t answered.”

At that moment, Justin suddenly remembered that he’d put his phone on silent before going into his therapy appointment, and he hadn’t turned the ringer back on when he left. He’d been too distracted. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw a string of texts and missed calls, all from Brian.

“Sorry,” he muttered, knowing that it wasn’t enough, but it was all he could manage. He shrugged out of his hoodie and hung it up by the door, stepping out of the dark corner of the living room and into the light, closer to Brian.

Brian took one look at Justin’s face, and his expression immediately softened. Jesus, Justin thought, I must really look bad. Brian came closer to Justin, taking Justin’s hands in his own.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Brian’s brow was furrowed, and his concern was clear on his face.

Justin took a deep breath, not quite sure he was ready to have this conversation, but also not sure how to get out of it.

“I just needed some time to think,” he said, fully aware that he was stalling.

“What about? Did something happen at therapy?”

Leave it to Brian to cut right to the point, every single time.

Justin pulled his hands out of Brian’s grasp and sank down heavily on the sofa, putting his head in his hands. Still stalling.

“Justin, what? What’s going on?” Brian rolled closer to Justin and gently pulled his hands away from his face. “Tell me.”

“I’m being released from therapy,” Justin said, his voice flat. “They’ve done all they can do.” Justin closed his eyes, because he didn’t want to look at Brian right now.

Brian used Justin’s hands to pull him forward and into a hug, but didn’t say a word. Justin could feel Brian’s palm on the back of his neck, holding him close. He could feel Brian’s fingers moving through his hair, ever so slightly. It was soothing, in a way. At that moment, feeling Brian’s strong arms around him -- holding him, supporting him -- all of the emotion that had been running just beneath the surface all afternoon broke loose, and Justin collapsed into Brian’s arms, sobbing.

Brian only held him tighter -- his long fingers alternately combing through Justin’s hair and gently cupping the back of his head.

Brian didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell him it was going to be okay. He just sat there, and held him, for a long time. And that was exactly what Justin needed.

“I don’t know what to do,” Justin whispered through the tears, once he’d stopped gasping and sobbing for long enough to speak. He lifted his face from Brian’s shoulder and looked at him. Brian’s eyes were glistening. He looked as devastated as Justin felt. “Where do I go from here? What happens now?”

“I don’t know, Justin,” Brian said quietly, blinking away the wetness. “I wish I did.”

“Brian, I’m scared.” Justin almost didn’t recognize his own voice, it sounded so small and so...broken. “I’m so fucking scared. I’ve spent this whole time waiting for everything to get back to normal… But…”

“I know.” Brian nodded solemnly. “God, do I know.”

“I know I’m being stupid. This is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Brian brushed the tears from Justin’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“I know I’m lucky. It’s just my fucking hand. I can walk, and I can think, and I can talk… I’m fucking lucky. I should just shut the fuck up and count my blessings.”

“Justin, stop.” Brian took Justin’s hands again, pulling them into his lap until they came to rest on his knees. “We all have our own shit to deal with, okay? You and me and Joe Schmoe on the street corner, we’ve all got our shit. But that doesn’t mean that any one of us doesn’t have a right to fucking feel something about it.”

“It’s just so much effort, you know?” Justin sniffled and looked down.

“What is?”

“Staying positive. Looking at the bright side. Being fucking...Sunshine. Sometimes it’s just easier to let the darkness take hold. It’s less work.” Justin felt Brian’s hands squeeze his own, the different sensations between the two only serving to remind him of how fucked up his life was. “I feel pretty dark right now.”

“Do you know how many times in rehab I had to put on a happy face for Deb or Mikey or whoever, just so they wouldn’t hassle me? How fucking hard that was to do? What a relief it was when they left, and I could just let myself fall into the darkness, where I wouldn’t have to think? I get it, Justin. I really do. I know it’s a lot of work. It gets easier, though.”

“When?” Justin sniffled, raising his gaze to meet Brian’s.

“It’s a process. There are a lot of steps, and they aren’t clear-cut, and they aren’t linear. This is a loss. You’ve lost something that was important to you. It’s okay to let yourself feel that. Grieve for it.”

“I know. That’s what John says too.”

“Then listen to him.”

“I just… I wasn’t expecting this. I feel like I should have been, but I wasn’t. I’ve had my fucking head in the sand this whole time, pretending that things were getting better when they weren’t. And now I feel like reality just hit me in the face. I don’t know where to go or where to start.”

“You start with one step. A small one. I don’t care what it is, just something. Then you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you get closer and closer. And when you’re afraid to take the next step, you jump, and you don’t look back.” Brian ran his thumbs over Justin’s knuckles. “What do you think moving to New York was for me? It was a fucking jump, and I didn’t really know what was going to happen when I got here. But I had to do it. And if I hadn’t, where would we be right now?”

“You’re stronger than I am, though.”

“Bullshit. That’s never been the case and you know it. And it’s sure as hell not the case now. So you got some bad news today. Okay. We take that, together, and we come up with a plan. We move on. You jump, and you know that I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.”

“What if I can’t get back up? What if I just keep falling?”

“Then I’ll still be there. Every single time. That’s it. That’s the only option.” Justin could see in Brian’s eyes how much he meant what he’d just said. “You’re not in this alone. You never have been, and you never will be. But I need you to talk to me. You scared the shit out of me tonight. I didn’t know if you were dead or hurt or passed out somewhere with a damn migraine.”

“I really am sorry for making you worry. I just didn’t realize my phone was on silent.”

“I know.” Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just… don’t give me any more heart attacks, okay? And promise me that you’ll try something. I don’t care what it is. And if it doesn’t work, then try something else. But this… this giving up. It’s not you.”

“Yeah,” Justin said softly. “It’s still scary, though.”

“Anybody in your position would be scared, I think. But you never know. This could be the beginning of something really great for you -- your second coming as an artist, or something. It’s a chance to start fresh. Try new things.”

Justin let out a breathy laugh. “You make it sound like I’m Jesus Christ or something. A second coming?”

“You know what I meant. But if you let fear get in the way, and you don’t try, then you’ll never know what might have happened.”

“That’s what mom said, too.”

“She’s a pretty smart lady.” Brian raised an eyebrow. “Even if you won’t listen to me, you should listen to her.”

“I miss her,” Justin sighed. “I wish she was closer. I could use one of her hugs right now.”

Brian tugged Justin closer once more and wrapped his arms around him. “I know, Sunshine,” he murmured. “Me too.”

They ordered takeout for dinner that night and ate it on the floor, which Justin felt like they hadn’t done in a long, long time. Maybe they had and he just couldn’t remember it. Either way, it felt good. When they were done, they laid down together on those floor cushions that Justin was surprised Brian had kept all of this time, Justin’s head on Brian’s stomach, Brian’s fingers carding lightly through his hair. They were quiet, but the silence wasn’t heavy -- it was nice. Comfortable. It existed because they didn’t need words to show what they were to each other -- friends, partners, and confidantes.

And when they fucked later that night, it was just like old times -- Justin’s legs atop Brian’s shoulders, his ankles crossed behind Brian’s head, as they moved together. Making love. It was still almost unbelievable to Justin how transformative that one little online purchase had been for their sex life. It might not have been exactly like it was before, but they’d found a way. The end result wasn’t the same either, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t just as good.

Maybe the same would be true for Justin’s art.

The next day, Justin met with John. He expected to cry when he told John his big news, but he didn’t. Apparently he’d gotten all of that out with Brian as he laid bare all of his fears about what came next for him.

They talked about those fears -- why he had them, where they came from, what he could do to get past them. And that suddenly didn’t feel quite as impossible as it had just 24 hours before.

That’s not to say that the fears were resolved -- they definitely weren’t -- but it felt good to have a game plan. And support. Even if he didn’t quite know how he would execute the plan.

The day after that, Justin went to his last physical therapy appointment, which was mostly focused on showing him how to do the things he could do from home to keep working toward whatever improvement he could expect from this point forward, if anything. When his time was up, she led him to the door, gave him a hug, and wished him luck.

Then, he was on his own. Anything that happened from here on out would be of his own doing.

He started spending some more time on the internet, looking up more he could do to try to help himself. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so invested in it, when he’d been sloughing his way through rehab and therapy for nearly three months now with minimal interest in spite of how desperate he was to get something -- anything -- back. Why he’d suddenly realized that he was only going to get out of this exactly what he put into it. That his life would be what he made it. And even though he was scared, he had to at least try to move forward.

He owed it to Brian, who gave him unwavering support no matter how much he felt he didn’t deserve it. And he owed it to himself.

Oddly, he felt more at peace right then, than he had since this whole ordeal started back in December.

The next few days, however, weren’t nearly as peaceful.

It seemed like Brian’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Whatever crisis he’d been dealing with the previous week at Kinnetik had kept on going, and from what Justin could hear, things were getting worse instead of better. Brian was up before Justin most days, and staying in his office just about every waking hour that he wasn’t out meeting with a client. Justin could barely get him to eat, because he said he didn’t have time. This was a very important account, they were working on a tight deadline, and no one in Kinnetik’s art department could manage to bring Brian’s vision for the campaign to life.

Justin heard the clear frustration in Brian’s voice as he tried, over and over again, to articulate what he wanted. And, over and over again, his disappointment when the so-called “finished” product failed to meet his expectations.

As Justin was on his own computer researching ways to retrain his left hand to become his dominant hand -- now that he no longer had medical professionals telling him not to do that or he’d slow his recovery -- he could see the artwork Brian had been sent. He could hear Brian describing what he’d like to see, and he had an idea he thought might work. But, there was fear. He wasn’t sure he could pull it off alone. And what if it didn’t work? Brian was already agitated enough -- Justin certainly didn’t want to add to that. So he stayed quiet and pretended to mind his own business.

Brian’s shoulders were constantly tense, and there were plenty of times as they lay together in bed that Justin wondered if Brian even noticed the tremors in his legs, or if he was too tired to care.

And once again, Justin’s desire to do something nice for Brian drove him to push himself just a little bit further, offering Brian a massage one night after he finally came to bed, well past midnight. Even in his exhausted state, Brian looked surprised, and maybe a little confused, but Justin didn’t give him an opportunity to object. Slowly and carefully, Justin used his left hand to pour some of the luxurious massage oil that Brian had purchased a while ago, mostly for Justin, into his right hand. He willed his hand not to shake so he wouldn’t spill it, even though he knew Brian wouldn’t care. He snapped the bottle closed and rubbed the oil between his palms -- it felt good, even with the noticeable difference in how each hand perceived it.

Then, he set to kneading the tight muscles in Brian’s shoulders and upper back. He knew he was doing a much better job with the left hand than with the right, which was doing next to nothing, although neither felt particularly agile or adept. He switched his hands back and forth periodically to try to make up for the significant disparity in capability between them, and it seemed to be working. Brian’s eyes were closing, and he let out a quiet moan as Justin’s left hand worked on a particularly stubborn knot.

His eyes were drawn to the scar that marred the otherwise perfectly smooth and flawless skin of Brian’s back. It was a pale whitish-pink, indented slightly, and very long. Justin hesitated to touch it, because he didn’t know how it felt. And he wasn’t sure if that was something he was supposed to know -- something he might have known before. So he stayed to the left and right, treating the scar as a dividing line.

As his hands crept downward, he felt the change in Brian’s muscle tone -- where taut and tense gave way to soft and unresponsive. He heard Brian’s involuntary sharp intake of breath, which he wasn’t sure whether to owe to pleasure or pain. He didn’t want to ask, and he couldn’t tell by looking at Brian’s face. Silently, he pushed his hands back upward, away from that spot, and kept going, using the heel of his right hand for what his fingers couldn’t do.

Soon, Brian was asleep -- snoring softly, the funny little wheeze he had when he breathed deeply through his nose clearly audible. Justin kissed Brian’s shoulder, turned out the light, and lay down, as close to Brian as he could get without being on top of him. He could feel a muscle in Brian’s right calf twitching, leaving him wondering if he should have kept his massage going, all the way to Brian’s feet. But he hadn’t, because he didn’t want to cause Brian pain, even if it wouldn’t be pain in the traditional sense. Instead, it would likely be a neuropathic pain flare-up, or even more spasms, which would defeat the purpose entirely.

So he stayed with what he knew was safe. Because of fear.

Funny how that theme seemed to be a common thread running through all aspects of his life now.

The next day, Justin continued his quest to take care of Brian -- bringing him coffee, making him breakfast and lunch and staring at him until he ate, forcing him to take a break and lie down when Justin could tell he was physically uncomfortable. Justin didn’t have anything else to do, so why not focus all of his energy on Brian?

By late afternoon, Brian was lying on the sofa, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he rode a wave of pain that Justin could tell he wanted to take medication for, but he couldn’t afford to do that because he needed to be awake and alert to get done all he needed to get done. He had presentations to prepare for and ad copy to approve and artwork to tear apart. So he insisted on suffering through it, and Justin didn’t like that one bit.

Justin was sitting in the armchair in the corner, trying to watch-without-really-watching, while pretending to be absorbed in a book, when Brian’s voice broke the silence.

“When are you going to your studio?” he asked. His voice was tight with discomfort, and if he thought Justin was going to leave him alone when he was in pain, Brian was sorely mistaken.

“I don’t know,” Justin answered honestly. He hadn’t thought a whole lot about it.

“You should go. No sense sitting here watching me work.” Brian shifted his body a little bit on the sofa, hissing in pain as he did so. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“You should take your meds and go to bed for a little while. You’re not going to get anything done if you’re hurting so much you can’t move. You’ve been sitting at the computer too long.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Brian said, through gritted teeth.

“You know I’m right.”

“You’re still changing the subject.”

“I’ll go when I know more about what I want to do,” Justin said calmly. “There. Happy now?”

“No, what would make me happy is if you went down there and at least tried to paint something.”

“Well, what would make me happy right now is if you would take a break and take care of yourself.”

Brian pushed himself back up into a sitting position, wincing as he did it. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t let me sleep for more than an hour.” Justin could see the clear discomfort on Brian’s face as he transferred himself back to his wheelchair. He cast Justin a somewhat defiant glance -- even though he was doing exactly what Justin had asked him to do -- then went to the bedroom. Justin heard him shake the pills out of the bottle, followed by the water running briefly. Then, he heard the soft creak of the bed frame as Brian got into bed. Justin made a mental note of the time so he could wake Brian up later, although he knew Brian needed more than an hour of sleep. By this point, he probably needed to sleep for an entire day to make up for what he’d lost in the last two weeks. And it didn’t sound like he was any closer to having what he wanted to present to his client, even as the deadline neared.

Meanwhile, Justin’s brain had been continuing to work on Brian’s art problem, even though his lack of confidence in his own abilities right now was keeping him from speaking up.

He kept reading his book, although he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d read, because his mind was elsewhere -- thinking about graphic design and everything Brian had said he wanted, that his art department had yet to actually produce.

After an hour had passed, Justin went into the bedroom to wake Brian, as much as he didn’t want to. He found Brian lying on his side, still in his jeans and t-shirt, his legs bent to a 90-degree angle and one of their extra pillows between his knees, providing cushion between them. Brian never laid like that, and it made Justin wonder if the pain Brian was feeling was more about his legs than his back. Even in his sleep, it was obvious from his face that he was uncomfortable.

Justin lightly touched Brian’s upper arm, but Brian didn’t stir.

“Brian,” Justin said, keeping his voice soft as he gently shook Brian’s arm until his eyes fluttered open. “It’s been an hour.”

“Fuck.” Brian closed his eyes again and breathed out with a heavy sigh. He curled his fingers around part of the pillow that was under his head, and Justin could see the tension in his jaw. Brian laid there for a few seconds, just breathing, before he said, “Call Theodore and tell him I’m taking the rest of the day off, and if anybody calls me, they can consider themselves jobless.”

“Okay,” Justin said, not quite sure what he should do here. Not sure if there was anything he could do, really. “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question, but it might get Brian to tell him what he needed, so he asked it anyway.

“Don’t worry about me,” Brian grunted.

“That’s not what I asked. Tell me what you need.”

“Another pain pill,” Brian mumbled, still keeping his eyes closed. “And help me get out of these pants.”

Ordinarily, that last request would have been a sexual one, but this time, it definitely wasn’t. Carefully, Justin removed the pillow from between Brian’s knees, unbuttoned his jeans, and slid them down as slowly and gently as he possibly could, even though he knew Brian wouldn’t feel it, and whatever he was feeling had nothing to do with actual physical sensation in his legs. He helped Brian move off of the duvet a little so he could pull it out from under him, then replaced the pillow and covered Brian up.

Once he had Brian settled, he went into the bathroom and looked through Brian’s many prescription bottles until he found the one he was looking for. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get it open, so he took the whole bottle back to Brian, then went into the kitchen to get him a glass of water.

Brian pushed himself a bit more upright so he could swallow the pill, then sank back down onto the bed and let his eyes close again.

“Do you need anything else?” Justin asked.

Brian shook his head a little.

“Okay,” Justin said. “Let me know if you do, and I’ll get it for you.”

He turned to walk away, but Brian reached out and grabbed his hand. When Justin turned back around, Brian was looking at him, the corners of his lips turned up into a small smile, still tinged with pain.

“Thanks,” Brian said softly.

Justin returned his smile. “Anytime,” he said. “Love you. Now go back to sleep.”

Brian nodded and closed his eyes, releasing Justin’s hand.

Justin left the room, glancing over his shoulder at Brian, wishing there was something more he could do to help. All he could do that he hadn’t already done, was call Ted and deliver Brian’s message. He walked down the hallway and into their home office, where Brian’s phone was laying on his desk, to the left of his keyboard. Justin picked up the phone and unlocked it with the passcode -- Gus’s birthday -- then scrolled through the contact list until he found one Theodore Schmidt.

He held the phone to his ear as it rang on the other end of the line, before being picked up on what was probably the last ring before the call was sent to voicemail.

“Bri,” Ted said breathlessly. “I know, I know, it’s late, and we’re running out of time, but half of the art department is out with the flu and the interns don’t know what to--”

“Ted, it’s me,” Justin interrupted Ted’s explanation.

“Justin.” Ted sounded surprised. “Is Brian okay?”

“He’s sleeping. He’s not feeling well. He wanted me to tell you that he was taking the rest of the day off, and if anyone called him, they could consider themselves jobless. I believe those were his exact words.”

Ted laughed a little on the Pittsburgh end of the line. “Sounds like Brian,” he said. “If he wakes up, tell him I’ve got it covered.”

“From what you said earlier, it doesn’t sound like you do.” Justin couldn’t help but smile, remembering the years he spent as a graphic artist for Kinnetik. How challenging it was sometimes, but how accomplished he felt when he got something done and the client really loved it.

“Well, you know Brian. A perfectionist, and a queen, even though he’ll deny the latter until the day he dies. We’ll get it done. We always do.”

“I’ll let you get back to work.”

Ted chuckled again. “Throwing me back to the wolves, huh?”

“You’ll get it done. You said it yourself, you always do.”

“Bye, Justin. Take care.”

“You too.”

Justin hung up the phone and returned it to the desk, accidentally bumping Brian’s mouse in the process. The offending graphic was still up on one of Brian’s two monitors. He stood back and studied it, tilting his head to one side and thinking about everything he’d heard Brian say he wanted to see, that he wasn’t seeing. He grabbed his desk chair and pulled it over, taking a seat in front of Brian’s computer. After a few more minutes of thinking and brainstorming, it came to him -- almost like one of those cartoons where a character suddenly gets hit by a bolt of lightning in the form of a genius idea. Hesitantly, he laid his hand on Brian’s mouse and clicked around until he had created a copy of the image and sent it to himself so he could work with it on his own computer, with his touchscreen. Then, he rolled his chair back over to his own desk, sat down, and started working.

It all came back to him pretty quickly, even though he hadn’t done much graphic design work since he had resigned from his position at Kinnetik years ago. Of course, it was also quite a bit more challenging now that he had a lot less use of his right hand than he had the last time he’d done this job. He found himself using the stylus in his left hand, the way he’d been doing pretty much everything else. It still didn’t feel right, but it felt less and less odd with each passing minute, as he started to lose himself in his work.

He used to do quite a bit of drawing when he’d design an ad, but this time, he was focusing more on the different manipulations he could perform in his graphic design program, and how to use them to bring Brian’s vision to life.

The fear was still there, making him doubt whether or not he should even be doing this, but something else drove him to keep going. Maybe it was the fact that he was helping Brian. Or maybe it was the realization that he really didn’t have anything to lose. If it worked, then great. And if it didn’t, at least he’d tried. And that felt huge.

He’d taken this big step without even thinking much about it, all in the name of helping Brian.

As he put the finishing touches on the graphic and hit “save,” Justin glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen, realizing that nearly three hours had passed. It had felt like only minutes. He sat back in the chair and put his arms behind his head, elbows out, fingers interlaced as best he could. It stretched his right hand a bit, and that felt good.

The bathroom shared a wall with the office, and Justin could hear the sound of Brian moving around in there. After a few minutes, the water in the sink ran briefly, then shortly after that, Brian appeared in the doorway to the office. He’d changed into a pair of sweatpants, and he still looked tired, but the pain in his eyes was gone.

“Hey,” Justin said. “Feeling better?”

“It’s bearable now.” Brian shrugged. “I fucking hate it when that happens.”

“I know. Me too.” Justin took a deep breath and turned his screen to face Brian. It was now or never. “I’ve been working on something.”

Brian came closer, squinting at the screen and tilting his head to the side, then looking at Justin and cocking his eyebrow upward.

“You did all this?” he asked, still looking back and forth between the screen and Justin.

Justin nodded.

“It’s perfect,” Brian breathed. “Fucking finally. Someone with some goddamn brains and vision managed to…” He paused and studied the screen again. “But how?”

Justin picked up the stylus with his left hand and wagged it back and forth. “I do have two hands,” he said. “I think maybe I forgot about that. And I had a little help from some really expensive computer software that some asshole bought for me.” Justin grinned.

“Some asshole, huh?” Brian came around behind Justin’s desk and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad you like it. I wanted to help.”

“Well, you did. You saved my ass. Say, do you want your old job back?”

Justin laughed. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.” He paused and bit his lip. “But maybe I could help out sometimes, if you need me.”

“I’ll take it.” Brian kissed him again. “My little artistic genius. The only person to ever grace my art department who had an actual brain and actual artistic vision.”

“Don’t let the others hear you say that, or you won’t have an art department at all.”

“That’s why I’m saying it to you.” Brian took Justin’s right hand and linked their fingers together, then brought Justin’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I feel like I should thank you properly,” he said in a low voice, as he made a grab for Justin’s cock with his other hand.

“Brian, if you’re not--” Justin started to object, but Brian silenced him quickly by laying a finger over his lips.

“Take my mind off it,” he said. “Let me do something for you.”

With that, Brian turned and headed back in the direction of their bedroom, beckoning Justin to follow. Once they were both in the bed, Brian pulled Justin’s pants off, then traced a warm, wet trail with his tongue up Justin’s thigh, all the way to his cock, which was quickly becoming hard. Christ, Brian was a fellatio expert -- even more so now than back when he was the Stud of Liberty Avenue, if that was even possible. Slowly and steadily, Brian took him in, and Justin’s mind was immediately cleared of all thoughts except for the feeling of Brian’s lips and the warmth of his mouth and the sensation that made Justin’s back arch up off the bed and a moan come from his lips when Brian’s tongue traced the tip, just before he practically swallowed Justin. And when Justin came, Brian swallowed that as well, then pulled himself upward and kissed Justin deeply. Justin could taste himself on Brian’s tongue.

“I hope that was a sufficient thank you,” Brian said softly, between kisses.

“Oh, it was more than sufficient, Mr. Kinney,” Justin said, still a bit breathless. “It’s a pleasure working under you. Even when you’re the one doing all the work.”

“Speaking of work, I think I’ll let the art department squirm a little bit more,” Brian mused as he rolled off of Justin and laid back on the mattress.

“Ted said half of them are out with the flu.” Justin reached down and retrieved his pants, pulling them back on.

“Bunch of pussies,” Brian snorted. “I’m still letting them squirm. Then I’ll send them your version and ask them why the fuck they couldn’t just do this? Why I had to hire some outside artist to do it?”

“You aren’t going to tell them it was me?”

“I will if you want me to.” Brian turned to face him, and hazel met blue in a questioning glance. “If you want the credit.”

Justin considered it for a minute, then took Brian’s hand and said, “Maybe we’ll just let it be our little secret.”

“Okay,” Brian said. “But if you change your mind…”

“I know. I’m just not sure I’m ready.”

Brian pulled the duvet over their bodies and wrapped an arm tightly around Justin, kissing him once more. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” he said. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

Justin wasn’t sure if he’d quite go that far, but as he settled into Brian’s arms, he certainly did feel loved. Cared for. Supported. Like maybe he could do this, after all.

Later that evening, Brian forwarded Justin’s graphic on to Ted so it could be be printed and mounted for the client presentation. He never mentioned who had designed it, although Justin had a feeling Ted would know. Justin made them dinner, and for the first time in almost two weeks, they enjoyed a quiet evening at home, without Brian’s phone ringing even one time.

When they returned to their bed a few hours later, Justin’s mind kept wandering back to what he’d done. How he hadn’t even thought about it -- he’d just gone for it. And in the end, it had worked out.

The next morning, Justin was up before Brian for the first time in a long time. And he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He slid carefully out of bed, dressed and got ready as quietly as he could, then left a note on the counter for Brian -- just a few words in the uneven, slightly-too-large scrawl he could manage with his left hand -- before leaving the apartment and heading for his studio.

He’d spent most of the night thinking about what he might need to do in order to work again. How he could take what he’d learned while he was making the graphic for Brian and apply it to his own work. As the subway train rocked back and forth gently on the tracks, Justin thought back to their trip to the art museum with his mother. How everything he’d seen had been so inspiring. So different. Maybe now, his artwork would be different, but that didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter if the strokes changed, or if everything changed and he wasn’t painting at all, but instead creating sculptures or fiber art or collages. All that mattered was that he was making something, and whether or not he was happy with it when it was finished. Whether or not he’d said what he intended to say.

When the train reached his stop, he stepped out into the busy station and walked up the stairs and out onto the equally busy sidewalk. It was morning rush hour, and everyone was heading to their jobs, most of them looking none-too-happy to be doing that. It reminded Justin that he was lucky -- he had the opportunity to do exactly what he wanted. He was no longer stuck doing a job he hated just to pay the rent and put food on the table.

He rode the elevator upstairs, then walked down the hallway and unlocked his studio door. The work from his show was still hanging on the right-side wall. But instead of reminding him of what he’d lost, this time, it reminded him of what he had. His mind was intact, he could still create, and he still had his left hand. It might take some getting used to, just like it had with the computer and the stylus the day before, but now, he felt like he could do it. The defeated, hopeless feeling was gone, replaced with a blossoming confidence... and hope.

Justin picked up a tube of paint and held it steady against his workbench with his right hand, then twisted the cap off with his left. He squeezed some of the paint onto a palette, then did the same with another color, and another, then mixed a few of them with the palette knife until he had exactly what he wanted.

He looked at the half-finished canvas he’d been working on before his ill-fated trip to Pittsburgh, and pictured what his original vision had been. Then, he brought to mind his new vision -- the one he’d thought of as he lay in Brian’s arms in their bed, watching him sleep. Thinking about how Brian’s life had changed a decade ago, and how he had adapted. How his own life had changed after the bashing, and how he’d had to learn to do things differently to keep his anxiety at bay, and to keep his gimp hand from cramping. But he’d adapted. He’d had a lot of help from Brian, but he’d adapted.

Now, fate had changed the direction of his life again, and dealt him what seemed like a cruel hand. But he still had Brian. And he could still adapt. He just needed to have the right frame of mind.

He needed to jump, and not look back.

Justin picked up a brush in his left hand, and dipped it in color. Then, he took a deep breath, and put the brush to the canvas.

Stress Response by TrueIllusion

“I want the full-color comps on my desk first thing in the morning. And set up a conference call with Remson for 10, so that he can sign off. … When it’s your own business, the sign on the door says, ‘We never close.’ Come to think of it, that’s what it used to say on the old bath house door.”

*****

Stress. That was all it was. Just stress.

It had been a rough last few days -- last couple of weeks, really. And Brian’s body was definitely revolting.

Sometimes he forgot how fucking annoying involuntary muscle spasms were, even in parts of your body that you can’t feel. Most of the time, the medication he took daily for it was enough to keep it from happening, but when he was really stressed, it always came back. Like the paralyzed part of his body saying, “Hey, you really shouldn’t abuse me like this.” And he knew he shouldn’t. But sometimes he didn’t have a choice.

Sometimes there were just things that needed to be done, and Brian had to do them, regardless of what the fucked-up nerves in his lower body had to say about it.

The ever-present ache in Brian’s back had increased to more of a painful throb as well, likely thanks to spending so much time sitting in front of his computer. Justin had been right about that -- he was spending too much time there.

He didn’t normally do that much work on his computer anymore, and when he did, he tried to mix it up a little and take the laptop to the sofa sometimes, where he could lean back into the pillows and prop his feet up.

He knew his posture wasn’t always the greatest when he was sitting at his desk, and he was glad that it was coming up on time to order himself a new chair, because something definitely wasn’t right anymore, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Maybe he just needed a different kind of backrest, given that the back pain that had been a constant presence in Brian’s life for a decade now seemed to be ratcheting up a notch for some reason. Fuck whatever anybody said about taking advantage of the fact that he had good abdominal control and thus, good sitting balance, which meant he could go with the lower height options without any problem. He wasn’t getting any younger -- a fact he’d only admit begrudgingly -- and he was starting to think some more support might be a good thing. Although that thought was making him wonder when he’d turned into an old man.

He also knew what Rob would tell him if he even so much as mentioned any of that. That his body was changing and that was normal and it happens to every single person on the planet, and it’s going to keep happening. That yes, spinal cord injury complicates it, but at the end of the day, it’s just part of getting older, no matter how old you are. That you just have to accept it and move on. Although that was a skill that Brian had never been particularly good at when it came to aging.

It was why he’d dreaded turning 30. Why he’d always said he wanted to go out while he was still young and beautiful. He no longer felt that way, but change was sometimes still hard to accept.

Brian knew what he was getting into any time he got boxed into having to work like this. He knew the result wouldn’t be pretty, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made, he supposed.

The nerve pain, though, he could have done without.

He’d thought he was done with that after Justin woke up and remembered that he loved him and Brian started at least trying to take care of himself again. He’d suffered through the burning and the stinging and the never ending pins-and-needles for a while, but then it faded away again, mostly once he managed to get a little bit of sleep and got over the urinary tract infection.

It was yet another thing that was usually well-managed, but when he was stressed out, it would creep back into the picture.

And yesterday, it had come back with a vengeance.

After several hours of trying, Justin had finally talked Brian into resting for a while on the sofa -- although really, Brian had only done it to shut Justin up. Once he got there, though, he realized how much he needed it, even though he’d never admit it. He could see how swollen his feet were as soon as he got them up onto the cushions, and his back felt like it sighed in relief as he took the pressure off by lying down. But Justin didn’t stop there -- he was still as persistent as he’d always been, and he kept going until he’d talked Brian into a nap. Although, really, it hadn’t taken much convincing, because a nap sounded pretty good, even though Brian tried to act like he didn’t want to do it. Truthfully, he did. He was exhausted, and he knew it. And maybe, just maybe, it would quiet the uncomfortable burning sensation that he’d had in his legs all day.

It didn’t.

If anything, it might have somehow made it worse. Or else it just got worse on its own and the nap had no effect whatsoever. That was the more likely explanation.

It had taken a lot for Brian to ask Justin to call Ted and tell him he was taking the rest of the day off. Brian didn’t feel like he could afford to do that, really, but at the time, he also hadn’t been sure he could get out of bed without tears springing to his eyes involuntarily because he was so stiff and sore and his legs hurt so fucking bad and the pain medication he’d taken was doing jack shit for it.

So he’d asked for another pill and had Justin help him take his jeans off just in case they were part of the problem, and he’d kind of liked it when Justin had tucked him in, if he was being honest. Then, he’d fallen asleep. When he woke up, Justin surprised the hell out of him.

The first surprise was finding Justin in the office, instead of on the couch watching television, like he spent most of his days now. The second surprise was what he saw when Justin turned the screen to face him.

There it was, exactly what he’d been trying unsuccessfully to get his art department to do. And Justin had done it. All by himself, apparently. Brian hadn’t even known Justin was listening to all of those conversations, but clearly he had been. And he’d done it. He’d taken the leap.

Brian could tell how challenging it had been for Justin to do what he’d done -- he could see it in the shy smile on Justin’s face when he revealed his finished product. But he could also see in Justin’s eyes how proud he was of it.

It made Brian proud too.

And it was the last thing Brian expected to see less than a week after he’d held Justin while he cried tears of despair over being released from physical therapy. Brian had tried his best to say all the right things that night, but he wasn’t sure if he got through to Justin. He tried to be encouraging and supportive without being overbearing, and he managed to push aside all of the fear and worry and the tiny bit of anger he’d felt at Justin for going missing all afternoon and a good chunk of the evening. What mattered in that moment was that his husband was hurting, and he wished harder than he’d ever wished for anything in his life that he could fix it somehow. But he couldn’t. No one could.

All that there was left to do was grieve the loss and try to move on. Brian had been there, though, and he knew that was a long process. He also knew that, in the end, it would all be up to Justin. There really wasn’t anything Brian could do other than offer support.

But as he’d sat in his home office, looking at the artwork Justin had created for his campaign, Brian had felt like maybe he had gotten through after all.

Brian rolled over in bed and looked at the clock, surprised to see that it was after 8 a.m. They’d gone to bed relatively early, but apparently Brian’s body had decided it needed more sleep. He wasn’t surprised after the long day -- and week -- he’d had. But he needed to get to work.

He was still tired, and the low-level burning sensation that felt like it was emanating from his legs in pulses made him want to curl up and stay in bed, but he couldn’t do that. He had too much he had to get done.

He sat up, pushing his legs over the side of the bed, and transferred to his wheelchair. The apartment was oddly quiet. Brian couldn’t hear the sound of the television in the living room, nor could he smell coffee -- two things that were always present whenever Justin woke up before he did.

Brian took care of everything he needed to do in the bathroom as quickly as he could, put some clothes on, picked his phone up off the nightstand, and went out into the living room. He expected to see Justin reading a book or doing some other quiet activity, but he wasn’t there. So Brian checked the office, but he wasn’t there either. Did he have some sort of appointment this morning that Brian had forgotten about? He was reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone so he could check his calendar, when he saw the note on the counter.

It was just a small scrap of paper, torn off of the magnetic notepad that hung on the refrigerator, written in handwriting that, at this point, still felt unfamiliar to Brian. The note consisted of just a few words:

Studio. Back later. - J

Brian couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he held the piece of paper between his fingers. Those three words held so much significance, especially in the face of what had happened over the last week. And in spite of it all, or maybe even because of it, Justin had finally gone back to his studio.

Just that knowledge made Brian want to go down there himself, to see what Justin was working on, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He shouldn’t. He needed to let Justin have his own space to do whatever he wanted to do, and he needed to wait until Justin wanted to show him whatever he’d been working on. It was hard, though, and the impulse to grab his coat and head down to the subway was strong.

Still smiling to himself, Brian laid the note down on the counter, went into the kitchen, and started making coffee. He’d just closed the lid and turned it on when his phone started to ring. It was Jennifer.

“Hey mom,” he answered, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reached for a coffee mug and set it down on the counter. Christ, his neck was stiff.

“Hey,” she said. “I’ve got some good news. Can you talk?”

“Yeah, I’m the only one here.” Brian stretched his neck from side to side as he held the phone to his ear, wincing as he did it. “So are we good to go?”

“We’re good to go. Your offer was accepted. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, we’ll be able to close in a couple of weeks.”

Brian watched the coffee drip slowly into the pot. So this was becoming reality. He was buying a house in Michael and Ben’s neighborhood. Brian still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to call Jennifer the day after Justin’s next-to-last therapy appointment and tell her he wanted to make an offer on the house she’d told him about. She’d sounded every bit as surprised to receive his call as he was to be making it, but there was just something about Justin’s voice when he said he missed his mom. It made Brian want to take action. So he’d jumped. Taking a bit of his own advice, he supposed.

“Where’s Justin this morning?” Jennifer asked.

“At his studio, believe it or not.”

“Wow,” Jennifer said. “That’s great.” She sounded relieved, and Brian could practically see the smile on her face just from hearing her voice. “I’m almost afraid to ask, because I don’t want to jinx it, but what brought that on? I mean, the last time you and I talked, it sounded like...”

Jennifer let her voice trail off, as if she wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence, but Brian didn’t need her to finish it.

“I wish I knew. It was like he just...decided to do something. He designed a graphic for me yesterday that no one in my entire art department could manage to produce, saved my ass for the presentation I’m supposed to give this afternoon, and this morning, I woke up and found a note saying he’s at his studio and he’ll be back later.”

“I’m glad he’s doing something. I just hope he’s happy with the results.”

“You and me both.”

The two of them worked out the rest of the logistics for how they’d close on the house, with the purchase being made by Kinnetikorp -- the umbrella under which Brian operated both Kinnetik as well as Babylon -- and Ted acting as his representative. Everyone involved had been sworn to secrecy, as Brian wanted the house to be a surprise for Justin. Now, he just had to work on getting everything lined up so renovations could start as soon as they closed.

The house was single-story, but it still needed some work to make it fully accessible -- ramps at the front and back doors, modifying the bathroom, and making the kitchen work for someone who used a wheelchair were at the top of the list, along with tearing out the carpet in the bedrooms and replacing it with hardwood flooring that matched what was already in the rest of the house. Ideally, Brian wanted to make it ADA compliant, because he was planning on taking Jennifer’s suggestion of offering the house up for short-term rentals when he and Justin weren’t staying there, and he knew firsthand how difficult it could be to travel as a person with a disability. Particularly, how frustrating it was when you booked something and they claimed it was accessible, then you got there and it wasn’t. It was almost enough to make him not want to travel at all, because not only was it frustrating, it could also lead to some embarrassing situations. Even though it would require less renovations was he merely adapting it to himself and his own needs, he had a feeling his investment would pay off even more if he took it one step further. So he was.

But thinking about all of that would have to wait, because Brian had a presentation to prepare for. He had a mid-afternoon appointment with the first big client he’d landed in New York, with a total overhaul of their campaign, and he still needed to put the finishing touches on what he wanted to say, as well as pick up the boards featuring Justin’s artwork from the printer. He couldn’t wait to show them what Justin had created.

Brian could already feel a headache starting behind his eyes. Christ, he thought, not today of all days.

He just needed to get through today, then he could take a few days off. Maybe. If all the stars aligned.

Brian poured himself a cup of coffee, adding a generous amount of sugar, then made his way back to his office. He wanted to hold his breath as he opened his email, because he wasn’t looking forward to wading through the pile of messages he was sure he’d accrued between yesterday afternoon and now. Half of them were probably crap that other people could have -- and should have -- taken care of, that they would shove off on him. And because he wanted it done right instead of done half-assed, most of the time, he’d go ahead and do it himself. Maybe they knew that, and that was why they sent them his way in the first place. Because then they wouldn’t have to do it themselves.

He was about halfway through the new messages in his inbox -- and had kicked most of the bullshit over to Cynthia to take care of -- when his phone rang again. This time, it was Rob. Brian looked at the phone for a few seconds, letting it ring, before sending it to voicemail. He hated to do that, but he had too much he needed to do. Rob left a message, but Brian didn’t listen to it. He waited a few more minutes before sending a text message to Rob, letting him know he’d need to cancel their lunch, because he’d be working through it. He’d had to do the same last week, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Rob refused to be ignored, but for right now, Brian was going to let it ride and try to stay focused on his work.

Brian closed the text messaging app, his eyes settling briefly on the icon for the meditation app he’d downloaded after his last session with Rochelle. The app he hadn’t used at all. He hadn’t promised her anything -- in fact, he’d laughed out loud when she suggested that he try meditation as a way of helping him deal with stress, regardless of its source. That if he could find an effective way to neutralize stress and let it go, he might find it easier to move past the memories of Justin’s prom that were still lurking in the back of his mind, ready to pop up at the most inopportune times.

“The response you’re having to those memories is stress-based, Brian,” she’d said. He’d bitten his tongue to avoid giving her the smartass response he wanted to, concerning the fact that post-traumatic stress disorder did, indeed, have stress in the name. “So this is what we’re dealing with,” she continued. “You need tools to help you process those feelings in the moment. Meditation can help give you that. There’s a ton of scientific evidence out there supporting this. To put it simply, when you’re having a nightmare or a flashback, your brain is stuck in a loop. Certain parts of your brain become overactive when you have PTSD, and they keep that loop going. But meditation can help slow those parts back down, helping you get out of the loop. It also helps you practice feeling things without reacting to them or getting caught up in them. I know it doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, and trust me, I hesitated to even bring it up to you, but I really think it could help.”

She was absolutely right that it didn’t sound like his cup of tea. In fact, it sounded like she’d been talking to Rob, even though he knew she hadn’t. Surely there had to be another way to get past this. Hypnosis or witchcraft or some sort of quick fix that wouldn’t involve sitting and communing with the cosmos for ten minutes a day, or whatever-the-fuck people did when they meditated.

Still, he’d downloaded the app, and he’d even opened it up a couple of times when he was feeling particularly on-edge, but he hadn’t tried it. And he didn’t know if he ever would.

Brian opened up the outline for his presentation so he could go over it one last time. He’d been working with this client for seven years now -- the first really big account he’d landed in New York. Everything in the first few years after his move had seemed like small potatoes after he got this one. And the victory felt even sweeter because the client was extremely picky and notoriously difficult to please, but Brian had been able to deliver everything they wanted. He hoped that trend would continue with this complete overhaul of the campaign for their flagship product. He also knew that if he wanted the trend to continue, the presentation would have to be as perfect as Justin’s artwork was. There was no room for error.

After he’d overanalyzed every aspect of the campaign and the presentation at least half a dozen times, Brian headed for the shower so he could get ready for the meeting. As he undressed, Brian wondered what Justin was doing in his studio. Curiosity was really getting the best of him, but he knew he had to give Justin space, and he was going to do that, even if it killed him.

The warm water in the shower brought with it a slight sense of relief for the ache in Brian’s back, and it helped relax him a bit too. Today was one day when he was grateful for the modifications he’d made to the shower a few years ago, adding a second shower head on the back wall of the shower, so it would be behind him when he sat on his bench, and he could let the water sluice over his shoulders and down his spine without having to hold up the handheld portion that was attached to the main shower head on the other side. Sometimes it was really nice to just sit and let the water run over his body, especially when he was tired. And today, god, was he tired.

He hoped that the pain in his legs would stay at the level of just irritating, without crossing over into full-on distraction today. He’d much rather not have it at all, but that clearly wasn’t happening. At least, not today. The shower always helped a little, even though Brian didn’t understand why. Maybe just the fact that he was relaxing for a bit, or perhaps the way the warm water soothed his muscles, even the ones he couldn’t feel or control.

Brian really needed for this presentation to go well -- with nothing needing revising -- because he knew he needed a break. He was pushing the limits of what his body could handle, and he could feel it in the exhaustion that seemed to be permeating every fiber of his being. Physical and mental.

He leaned into the water, tilting his head back and letting his eyes close. Just one more day. He had to get through today, then he could sleep.

After several minutes, he finally managed to bring himself to turn the water off so he could finish getting ready, before he ended up making himself late. He slid the door open and reached for a towel, drying himself off quickly before laying another towel in the seat of his wheelchair, pulling it closer, and transferring himself to it. He wrapped the ends of the towel over his lap so he at least wasn’t completely naked going through the bedroom to get dressed, not that it mattered since no one else was there. Brian had never been a modest person. At least for most of the first 35 years of his life, he had never hesitated to let it all hang out, but that was one thing spinal cord injury had changed about him. He wasn’t really ashamed of the way his body looked anymore -- not the way he had been during the first year or two -- but sometimes it could be hard to look at, because it had changed so much, and was continuing to change as the years went by.

He went into the closet, pushing aside several suits before he settled on the one he’d bought most recently -- the one that had been custom tailored to his body and to the fact that he sat all the time. It had been expensive, but it was worth every penny because it looked really fucking good, if he did say so himself. So it was perfect for this presentation.

Brian put on his pants and his favorite Armani shirt, dried his hair, added the jacket and the tie, then checked his reflection in the mirror. He could see in his face and his eyes that he was tired, further backing up the notion that he’d been pushing himself too hard, in case he didn’t already know that. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too obvious to his client.

He called the car service to come pick him up, while he finished gathering up everything he needed from the apartment. Using a car service on days when he had important meetings made things so much easier, because he was no longer dependent on the subway schedule or whether or not elevators were working or trains were running on time or crazy people weren’t causing delays that made everybody late. Brian was glad to be free of that stress, without having to deal with finding a taxi driver that was willing to take a chance on picking him up, either.

His car arrived right on time, and Brian was waiting in the lobby of the apartment building when it pulled up. Brian’s first stop would be picking up the boards from the printers. He couldn’t wait to see Justin’s artwork in print. If it looked half as good in print as it had on the computer, it was going to be perfection.

Brian barely managed to get back in the car after picking them up, before he was sliding them out of the bag to check them out. They were exactly as he thought they’d be -- impressive, perfect, and precisely what he felt the client has asked for. Of course, that would be up to them, but Brian was rarely ever wrong about this. Hopefully, today would be no exception.

Everything started off going perfectly -- exactly the way Brian liked things to go. They were practically eating out of his hand, and they’d loved everything he’d shown them so far. Then, he started feeling that slight tightness in his belly that told him he needed a bathroom, and he’d need it soon. He furtively glanced at the clock on his laptop, trying to determine how much longer he had to go in the presentation, calculating whether or not he could wait, and trying not to let his face show how annoyed he was at his body for doing this right now.

He’d thought he had the timing down to a science by now -- his body was well-trained, and he’d done the same thing today that he always did to prepare for a meeting, so that he could avoid any potentially embarrassing situations arising during said meeting. He’d learned his lesson during his first few months back at work after his injury, when he’d ignored his body’s signals throughout an important meeting because he was too embarrassed to ask for a break, and it had resulted in his body deciding to do its own thing and get the relief it wanted one way or another -- thankfully after the meeting had adjourned, and not during it. Brian didn’t particularly want a repeat of those events, but he also really didn’t want to have to take an unscheduled recess in the middle of the presentation. And especially not with this client.

His body, however, had other plans. The feeling wasn’t going away -- it was getting worse. It was always subtle, and nothing at all like what he remembered it felt like before his injury, but there were definitely degrees of it. He tried to keep talking, tried to ignore it, and tried to not get too distracted by his internal fight about whether or not he should call a time-out before he ended up pissing his pants in front of a client. But when his right leg started to shake, he knew he wasn’t going to have a choice.

Brian excused himself, apologizing profusely to the client, but in his head, he was cursing. Cursing his body. Cursing this day. It pissed him off when his paralysis got in the way of things, because it reminded him how his physical situation was always going to take precedence in his life, over everything else. All of the acceptance in the world didn’t matter -- it was frustrating because it was always there, and it was always going to be paramount. But he never wanted it to be an excuse for anything, so he hated it when it basically had to be -- when he had no choice but to say something along the lines of, “Sorry, my body’s broken, so I need to waste ten minutes of your valuable time while I do this so I don’t piss my pants.” He knew it wasn’t broken -- just different -- but situations like this always made it feel broken.

And it was shit like this that made clients doubt his ability to do his job effectively. It shouldn’t, and it didn’t really make any sense that it did, but he could always tell when it was happening. Whenever his body decided to do something that turned their attention to his disability, the look in their eyes would shift, and he could practically see them losing confidence in him. He knew that it didn’t matter -- that his legs didn’t help him do his job at all, and he was every bit as good at what he did as he had been before, likely even better now that he had ten more years of experience owning his own firm. But their judgments were rooted in their own unconscious prejudices, and no matter how maddening they were, he couldn’t call them out if he wanted to continue to have a thriving business. He had to simply try to prove them wrong, and that took a lot of effort sometimes. Too much fucking effort. And that kind of pissed him off too.

When he finally finished what he needed to do -- thankfully he’d already seen where the bathroom was and hadn’t had to ask, making his request for a break even more explicit than he’d ever want it to be -- he made his way back into the room, and he saw the look. The look that told him he was going to have to bust his ass now to keep this account. He cursed silently to himself again, trying to be sure he kept his game face on and didn’t let on that he was rattled, and more than a bit annoyed.

He picked up where he left off, and had only been talking about target markets and return on investment for a couple of minutes when the CEO interrupted him to say, “Mr. Kinney, I have a flight to catch, if we could speed this along.”

The man’s impatient, slightly judgmental tone told Brian everything he needed to know. It took everything Brian had to not say, “Fuck it, and fuck you,” and to simply nod, agree, and continue. He wanted to keep this account, so he had to keep his cool. Brian managed to get through everything else that was essential to say in the next ten minutes, and they adjourned the meeting with a handshake and a promise that someone from their office would be in touch early next week.

So Brian left without even really knowing exactly what the result would be, after two weeks of burning the candle at both ends trying to get this pulled together. All of his hard work might have been undermined by one unscheduled ten-minute break that planted that seed of doubt in the client’s mind, and he’d have to wait all weekend to find that out.

Sometimes this shit really, really sucked.

It didn’t matter how much he’d embraced his life now, or how confident he was, or how charismatic. Sometimes it all still came down to superficial, ableist bullshit.

And dealing with that type of bullshit almost always left Brian needing a drink. Old habits die hard.

By the time Brian got back to the apartment, he had a headache and a deep-seated need for a glass of whiskey. He also kind of needed to see Justin’s smile and for Justin to tell him that it would all work out. But Justin still wasn’t home.

He hoped that was a good thing -- that it meant Justin had lost himself in some sort of artistic endeavor and not another fit of frustration.

Brian was stretched out on the chaise lounge at one end of the sofa, about halfway through his second glass of whiskey, when Justin walked through the door. It was dinner time, but Brian wasn’t hungry.

“Drinking already?” Justin said as he crossed the room and came up behind Brian, starting to massage his shoulders. God, it felt good, even if it could only be done one side at a time. “Should I even bother to ask how your meeting went?”

“Fuck if I know,” Brian said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice but not really succeeding. “Won’t find out until next week.” Brian reached over and set the glass down on the end table, then looked up at Justin. “I’d rather talk about your day. How was the studio?”

Justin smiled that shy smile he had that could make Brian do any goddamn thing for him. “It was good,” he said. “Really good.”

Brian didn’t have to ask Justin if he was happy with what he’d done -- it was written all over his face.

“What did you work on?” Brian asked, leaning into Justin’s touch.

“Just experimenting,” Justin said.

“Experimenting with…” Brian trailed off, hoping Justin would finish the sentence for him.

“That’s all. Just experimenting.”

Brian decided not to push any further -- if Justin wasn’t ready to tell him, then he would respect that, no matter how much he wanted to know. He was just glad that Justin had gone to his studio, and he’d come back happy. At least one thing had gone right today.

Justin came back around the sofa and plopped down next to Brian, leaning his head on Brian’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had a crappy day,” he said.

Brian shrugged and reached for his glass again, downing the rest of his drink in one swift gulp. “It is what it is,” he said. “No sense worrying about it now. I’ve done all I can do.” He interlaced his fingers with Justin’s. “Your artwork was killer by the way. The boards are amazing. I put them in the office if you want to see them.”

“I’d rather cheer you up first,” Justin said, starting to plant a series of small kisses along Brian’s jawline. Soon, Justin’s hands were unbuttoning Brian’s shirt and sliding across Brian’s chest as Justin kissed Brian hungrily. It all felt sublime, until Brian’s shirt was off and his pants were unbuttoned and Justin’s hands hit that area where everything could either be really, really good, or really, really bad. Tonight was one of the nights when it was really, really bad. Brian couldn’t stop himself from crying out, because it felt an electric shock when Justin’s fingers pressed against his hip. It was sharp, and it was strong, and it fucking hurt like hell.

Justin stopped, his eyes full of concern as he looked up at Brian.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

Brian closed his eyes and swallowed, steeling himself against the reverberation he was currently feeling as his fucked-up nerves sent a cacophony of mixed signals up the line to his brain.

“Shit,” Justin said. “I’m sorry.” He moved his hand and tried to smooth Brian’s pants back down, hitting Brian’s hip again in the process.

This time, it felt like Justin’s finger might as well have been a red-hot poker, and Brian had to bite his tongue to stay quiet. The burning sensation stuck around -- pulsating with each beat of Brian’s heart -- long after Justin’s hand had moved to clutch Brian’s.

“Are you okay?” Justin whispered, his lips lightly brushing Brian’s cheek in a soft kiss. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Brian squeezed his eyes shut more tightly and tried to regain control over his breath. He knew Justin didn't mean it, and he didn't need him to apologize for it. If anything, hearing him apologize only made Brian feel worse.

What the fuck was going on with his body? Was all of this just because he’d spent too much time sitting at his desk? Too much time working? Too much time not sleeping?

Once Brian’s breathing had returned to normal and the pain had faded to a tolerable level, he brought the hand Justin was holding up to his lips, kissing Justin’s fingers.

“I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he said softly. “I want it. I do. But...I can’t tonight.”

Brian hated having to say that. He hated knowing that his fucked-up nervous system was getting in the way of giving Justin something he wanted. Hell, he really did want it too, and that made the whole situation even more maddening.

But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

They went to bed early that night, and Brian fell asleep with Justin’s hand brushing lightly -- soothingly -- over his shoulder.

Brian woke up the next morning alone in the bed. He could tell by the angle of the sun streaming in the windows that it was much later than he normally got up, and one glance at the alarm clock confirmed that -- it was after 10 a.m. He groaned as he rolled over, feeling all of the muscles in his back tense up at the movement. Christ, he was glad he didn’t have to work today. He really had overdone it this week, and now he was going to pay the price.

He was moving very, very slowly -- out of necessity -- as he got himself out of bed and went about his morning routine.

When he made it into the living room, Justin was standing in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. He’d even bought wine, which Brian thought was strange, given that Justin still wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol, by order of his neurologist, and Justin knew that Brian preferred whiskey.

“Expecting company?” Brian questioned, pointing toward the bottle and raising an eyebrow.

“We’re having Rob and Adam over tonight, remember?” Justin said brightly, as he started pulling vegetables out of one of the bags.

No, he didn’t remember. In all of the chaos that the past week had been, he’d completely forgotten that this was their weekend to host.

Brian didn’t really want to have dinner guests, but he also didn’t want to say no, because Justin seemed excited about it. The last thing Brian wanted to do right now was put a damper on anything Justin was excited about, so he went along with it, even though he spent the afternoon dreading whatever Rob was going to say, given that Brian still hadn’t returned any of his calls, or even so much as listened to the voicemail messages.

Justin took care of everything -- from straightening up the apartment to cooking the meal -- which was a good thing, because Brian didn’t really have the energy to help out. He had a headache that nothing would touch, and his back was stiff and sore. But he tried to smile through it. Tried to act normal. Tried not to let his discomfort show in his face. Tried to at least eat something, even though he didn’t feel much like eating.

Brian was shifting his weight again, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t hurt, when Rob suddenly took their dinner conversation in a completely different direction.

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Rob asked. When Brian looked up, he found Rob watching him curiously. There was a good amount of concern there too, that Brian didn’t like seeing because he knew what was about to happen, and Brian didn’t want to talk about it. He knew he’d been pushing himself too hard, and he didn’t need anyone else to call him out on it.

“Nothing,” Brian shrugged. “I’m fine.” Brian knew he wasn’t fine, but he also hoped that Rob would let it go.

Instead, Rob turned to Justin. “Okay, is everything alright with Mr. Hard-Headed over here?”

Justin glanced apprehensively at Brian and opened his mouth to speak, but Brian spoke first. “I said I’m fucking fine. Seriously. Jesus Christ.” The words came out harsher than he intended, but whatever -- it would get his point across.

Adam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Rob turned back to Brian. “For a guy who is ‘seriously fucking fine,’ you seriously look like shit,” he said.

“Just tired.” Brian picked up his fork and turned his attention to his plate, purely to avoid looking Rob in the eye. He’d been feeling nauseous all day, so he wasn’t really interested in eating, but he could at least pretend to be, for the sake of distraction.

The incredulous look he could see Rob giving him in his peripheral vision was exactly the reason he was avoiding Rob’s gaze.

“Can we please talk about something else?” Brian said, cursing how weary his voice sounded, but he was desperate to change the subject and move the focus away from how shitty he looked, which he knew matched how shitty he felt. “I don’t particularly enjoy being the topic of conversation when I’m right fucking here.”

Rob, thankfully, let the subject drop, but Brian had a feeling that wasn’t the end of the conversation. They spent the rest of the meal discussing plans for the conference they’d be attending that summer, just as they had been for a few years now -- where they’d convene with over a hundred other people whose lives were affected by spinal cord injury, and spend the week meeting with legislators and advocating for disability-related issues. Brian continued picking at his plate and trying to participate in the conversation, but the amount of pain he was in was making it hard to focus on anything else.

After everyone else had finished eating and Brian had managed to make it look like he’d eaten more than he actually had, Justin took Adam into the office to show him something he’d found on the internet, leaving Rob and Brian alone in the kitchen, cleaning up.

“Okay, tell me what’s really going on,” Rob said, as he rinsed plates and put them in the dishwasher. “And not the watered-down, ‘I don’t want to worry Justin because he has enough to worry about’ version. Justin’s not here, so give it to me straight.”

“I told you. Nothing.” Brian focused his attention on putting the leftovers into containers, just so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with Rob. Not that Rob wasn’t seeing right through him anyhow, but Brian really didn’t want to be having this conversation.

“Then why do you look like you haven’t slept in a week?”

“Because I’ve got a lot going on with work.”

“And Justin is just standing by, letting you run yourself into the ground? Or is he trying to make you stop, and you’re refusing to listen?”

Brian shrugged.

“Look, Justin might not have a frame of reference for this because he doesn’t remember, but I know this isn’t normal for you.” Rob stopped what he was doing and looked at Brian, saying nothing, until Brian met his gaze. “I know that you know what you need to do to take care of yourself, and for most of the past nine years, I’ve known you to do it. You work hard, and you’re a stubborn son of a bitch, but you still do what you need to do. Right now, though, you’re not. You’re burying yourself in work. You won’t return my calls. You’ve canceled lunch with me twice. And I’m serious when I say that you look like shit.”

“That’s been firmly established. Thanks a lot.” Brian looked away again and started putting lids on the containers, stacking them up in a neat pile. He swallowed hard against the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Brian, you know what I mean. I can tell that you feel like shit too. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Doing what to myself? It’s just a busy time at work, and I have a lot of shit to do. That’s all.” Brian checked the temperature of the containers with the back of his hand before setting them in his lap to carry them to the refrigerator.

“I’m not buying that, and you know it. What are you hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding from anything.” Brian pulled the refrigerator door open and took an inordinately long time to transfer the containers to the shelves. He needed to find an escape from this conversation, and having his head in the refrigerator was a convenient temporary reprieve.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I know that. You’ve had a lot to deal with. It’s hard to watch someone you love suffer.”

“It’s a lot harder on him.” Brian closed the refrigerator door and turned to face Rob again.

“I won’t argue with that, but it affects you too. You can’t act like it doesn’t. Again, I’m not buying. There’s something going on with you. Are you still having nightmares?”

“No, I take a pill and I sleep like a baby. I just don’t have much time to do it lately.”

“Tell me what’s going on, then. How can I help?”

“I’ve already told you. It’s just work shit, and I’m fine. Now drop it, please.” Brian turned to leave the kitchen, but Rob stopped him with a hand on his wheel.

“Brian, I’m not saying any of this just to hassle you,” Rob said. “I’m saying it because I care, and because I know what can happen if you don’t take care of yourself. Trust me, I’ve been there, and I’ve done it. It can get really, really bad. You don’t want it to get that way.”

Brian didn’t say anything. He looked at Rob’s hand gripping his tire, then raised his gaze to meet to Rob’s eyes. Brian could clearly see that Rob was concerned, but that didn’t make it any easier to be on the receiving end of what felt like a lecture. He knew Rob meant well, but he was a grown man, and he didn’t need anyone telling him what to do.

“I know you don’t like to talk about this stuff, and I know I’m probably putting myself at the top of your shit list right now,” Rob said.

Brian huffed, but still said nothing.

“Just promise me that you’ll tell me if there’s anything I can do to help,” Rob continued. “Please don’t wait until you’ve got a big problem. I know you like to do everything yourself, just to prove you can, and I get that, but sometimes we all need help.”

Rob moved his hand, and Brian left the kitchen without responding, right as Justin and Adam came back into the living room. This was one time that Brian was thankful that Justin was talkative, because the excited, bubbly conversation about art that he and Adam brought with them into the living room was a perfect distraction.

Brian’s stomach still felt queasy, and his head was pounding. Rob had been right -- he did feel like shit -- but being interrogated about it certainly didn’t help. At this stage in the game, Brian didn’t know what was going on with his body, but he knew he needed it to stop, whatever it was.

As they all sat in the living room together, Brian tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but the throbbing pain in his head was making it impossible to pay attention, so eventually, he let his eyes close as he leaned back into the pillows he’d stacked up behind him on one end of the sofa. A few minutes later, he heard Rob say something about needing to get home to relieve the babysitter. Adam started to speak, but stopped after two words, then abruptly shifted to agree with Rob. Brian opened his eyes, noting that his eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and he was having trouble focusing. What the fuck was going on? What was this, and why was it hitting him so hard, so quickly?

Rob came over to give Brian a hug, saying quietly in his ear, “Get some rest. Whatever else there is to do, it can wait. It isn’t worth your health.” Brian nodded tiredly as Rob squeezed his shoulder. Even through the haze of exhaustion, Brian could see how worried his friend was. Rightfully so, he guessed, considering that he couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open long enough to watch them go out the door.

It wasn’t much longer after Rob and Adam left that Justin was whispering, “Come on, let’s go to bed,” and gently helping Brian get from the couch to his chair -- something Brian normally would have objected to, but he was too tired to care. He also felt shaky, which he knew from unfortunate past experience could certainly precipitate a fall, so it was better to let Justin help, even if it hurt his pride. He knew Justin wouldn’t judge, but it still hurt.

Justin stayed outside when Brian went into the bathroom, where he completed just the essential parts of his normal nightly routine, because he was too spent to do it all.

Brian was only about half awake as Justin helped him get into bed and take off his jeans, leaving him only in his t-shirt and underwear.

“You’re shivering,” he heard Justin say softly as he retrieved a pair of Brian’s pajama pants from the dresser.

“Those won’t help,” Brian mumbled, too tired to elaborate on why.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll hurt.”

Through half-closed eyes, Brian watched Justin slide the pants up his legs. Brian pushed his hands down on the bed to lift his hips up a little to help out, but that was all he had the energy for. Fuck, he thought to himself, what had happened to him over the last couple of hours? He tried to think back over the rest of the day, and the week, to see if he could figure it out, but he was too worn out to give it much thought. All he wanted to do was sleep.

The duvet was warm and cozy, which was comforting because Brian felt chilled to the bone. He felt Justin put an arm around him and snuggle up.

Too exhausted to fight sleep any longer, Brian let himself drop off into unconsciousness.

Justin’s voice seemed far away at first, as he repeated Brian’s name. Brian felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He vaguely became aware that his stomach felt damp, and part of his t-shirt was wet. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open and tried to focus on Justin’s face. His head felt like it was going to explode, and every bit of the chill he’d been feeling when he fell asleep had been replaced with burning heat. He wanted out from under the duvet, but his arm felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“Brian,” he heard Justin say, in that strange, high-pitched tone he used when he was anxious about something but was trying to sound calmer than he felt. “You… You had an accident. I think this is blood. It’s a lot of blood. Fuck, what do I do?”

Brian wasn’t sure if Justin was talking to him or to himself -- all he knew was that he still sort of felt like he was underwater, and he didn’t have the energy to fight his way to the surface. He was trying to keep his eyes open, trying to figure out what was happening, but he was so, so sleepy.

“Yeah, I think that’s blood,” Justin said again. His voice still sounded unnatural. Not like him at all. “Shit, I don’t know what to do. Brian? Can you open your eyes for me?”

He managed to open them again and keep them open for a few seconds, long enough to see the panic and worry in Justin’s eyes, but he still couldn’t make his brain work to try to make sense out of what was going on. It was like all of his thoughts were moving through molasses. “Tired,” he mumbled, as his eyes closed again.

“Okay,” Justin breathed. “Okay.” The second repetition sounded more confident. “Brian,” Justin said loudly, as if he wasn’t quite sure if Brian could hear him or not. Brian wanted to tell him that he could, but he couldn’t get his lips to move. “I’m going to call an ambulance. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

Emergency by TrueIllusion

“Sometimes a man needs to know when to ask for help.”

*****

Justin hung up the phone and brushed Brian’s hair back off his forehead with the fingertips of his left hand. He could feel the heat radiating off of Brian’s skin. Brian’s face was flushed, his skin was slick with sweat, and even in his semi-unconscious state, his face was twisted into a grimace that told Justin how uncomfortable he was.

Obviously Brian was very sick, but Justin had absolutely no idea what was wrong. All he could guess was that it had something to do with Brian’s kidneys or his bladder, and the only reason he knew that was because of the pinkish-red liquid that soaked Brian’s clothing and a significant portion of the sheets on their bed, underneath Brian’s body and spreading out in both directions.

It was a lot. Much more than Justin would have expected Brian’s body could hold.

Then, of course, there was the blood. Blood meant that whatever this was, it was serious. Not that the seriousness of the situation wasn’t already immediately obvious in the fact that Brian couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open, and Justin wasn’t sure if he was entirely coherent or not.

It had come up so suddenly, too. Just a few hours before, Brian had been fine. He was tired, sure -- so exhausted that Justin had to help him into bed -- but Justin would have never guessed he would wake up to this in the middle of the night.

Justin knew that Brian had been overdoing it with work, and he’d been doing his best to try to encourage Brian to do what he needed to do to care for his body, but in a lot of cases, Justin still wasn’t sure specifically what that meant for Brian. Brian was very private about those kinds of things, and Justin respected that, but right now, he wished he knew more. Wished he could have had some idea that this might have been coming, so he could have pushed harder for Brian to take better care of himself.

He’d really thought Brian was just tired. That he just needed to get a few good nights’ sleep, and then he’d be good as new. Justin felt awful for not picking up on how serious the situation actually was, and he hoped that Brian wouldn't end up paying the price for his lack of perception.

He knew that thought was stupid -- Brian was an adult, and Justin wasn't his keeper. But on some level, Justin still felt responsible. Like he should have noticed something.

He was his husband. He should have noticed that something wasn't right.

Justin laid down next to Brian -- not caring that they were both wet and the bed was wet, too. He would deal with that later. What mattered right now was being close to Brian. Comforting Brian. Justin gently rubbed Brian’s back, as he tried to calm the anxious feeling that was currently twisting his own stomach into knots. The last time he remembered being this worried about Brian was when the older man had cancer, and Justin had found out about it via answering machine message because Brian had chosen not to tell him. He’d been so scared, because at the time, he had known nothing other than the fact that Brian had been to Johns Hopkins, he’d had surgery, and the doctor who left the message specialized in testicular cancer. He hadn’t known what type of cancer it was, what stage, or what the prognosis was as he lay there in bed with Brian, hugging him close, kissing his chest, wondering what would happen to the man he loved so much. Scared to death that Brian could die.

That was the last time Justin could remember Brian being sick -- as in, really sick, not just a cold or the flu or something -- but he couldn’t be completely sure. And that was more than a little bit upsetting as well. He wished he could remember. So many things felt foreign to Justin now, or foggy, and it was really fucking frustrating. But he couldn’t let himself get dragged down in that now, either. He had to focus on Brian -- getting Brian the help he needed.

“You’re okay,” Justin whispered as he softly kissed Brian’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.” In a way, he felt like he was trying to will those words into fruition, because honestly, he didn’t know what was going on, or what was about to happen.

He’d unlocked the door for the paramedics and gathered up all of Brian’s medications while he was still on the phone with the dispatcher, so all there was left to do was wait.

Justin closed his eyes and continued trying to steady his breathing. He couldn't freak out. He had to stay calm. Brian needed him to stay calm. When he opened them again, Brian was looking at him, eyes half closed and lids heavy with exhaustion. Justin gave him a small smile that he hoped wasn't as hesitant as it felt, then took Brian's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“You're going to be okay,” he said again, as much for his own benefit as Brian's.

“Stay with me,” Brian said softly, his voice raspy and his words slightly slurred. His eyes closed again, and Justin could tell Brian was riding out a wave of pain.

Justin squeezed Brian's hand a little harder. “I will,” he said, trying to sound less afraid than he felt. “I'm staying right here with you.”

He wished there was more he could do. He wanted to fix this -- take it all away, make it better. But he was powerless. And at this point, he didn't even know what they were dealing with.

It felt like it took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and when they finally did, Justin was swiftly but gently pushed out of the way. He stood numbly in the corner, watching them as they turned Brian over, checked his vital signs, and tried to triage as best they could, given Brian’s limited capacity for responding to questions. Justin told them Brian’s name and answered everything he could and gave as much of Brian’s medical history as he knew. Justin still felt helpless, because he couldn’t provide any additional information when it came to what was actually going on at that moment -- he knew no more than they did, because all he knew was what he was seeing in front of him.

“Try to stay with us, Brian,” Justin heard one of them say.

Why hadn’t he been more insistent that Brian take a break, take a nap, drink more water, eat better, do something? Could he have prevented this if he’d been more assertive?

They had just moved Brian from the bed to the stretcher when Justin saw a pool of red forming under Brian’s hip and starting to extend outward. Justin couldn’t tell if the expression on Brian’s face was one of pain or embarrassment, but regardless, he seemed to be aware of what was happening.

Brian’s eyes closed again and his face went slack. Justin heard one of the paramedics say, “Okay, we need to go now,” as they began to move Brian out of the room and down the hallway. Justin grabbed the bag containing Brian’s medications and followed them, still fighting panic. Trying his best to keep a cool head, because that was how he could best help Brian. And that had to be his top priority.

However, he could feel himself quickly losing that battle.

He’d just grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door when he suddenly realized they’d need to bring Brian’s chair too -- it was his legs, and he shouldn’t be without it.

“I just need to get his wheelchair. I’ll be right back,” Justin said to the paramedic who was holding the door open while two more took Brian out of the apartment and into the hallway.

“He won’t be needing it,” the paramedic said. “Not right now. Probably not for a while. We’re not taking it.” His tone was bordering on rude, and it made Justin want to grab him by the neck and shake him and tell him that was his husband they were talking about, but there was no time.

“Okay, then I’ll just--”

Justin had started to go out the door after them, when he was stopped by a hand on his chest.

“We can’t take you either. Just him.”

“But we’re legally married.”

“It’s not a gay thing -- it’s company policy. You can meet him at Mount Sinai. On 1st Avenue. Check in at the emergency room when you arrive.”

Before Justin could even fully process what had been said, the paramedic turned and left Justin standing in the middle of the open doorway, holding his jacket and Brian’s medication.

Justin felt like he’d been struck dumb as he stood there, staring out the door. He heard the elevator doors close, and he knew that Brian was gone. Everything had happened so quickly. He'd promised Brian he would stay with him, and now Brian was gone and Justin was alone. He felt his breathing start to speed up as he struggled to figure out what to do next.

There were so many decisions to make, and Justin didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know why he couldn’t organize his thoughts, or why he felt frozen. It should have been simple, but it wasn’t.

He wished he had someone he could call -- someone who could just tell him what to do. But it was 4:30 in the morning, and there was no one he could call. Justin was on his own.

He felt like he had about a million different options and possible decisions flying around in his head, but they were moving so quickly that he couldn’t pick out what any of them were. He knew what he needed to do, ultimately -- he had to get to Brian -- but the steps to get there were hidden somewhere in the chaos of his thoughts.

Fucking brain injury.

Most of the time, when he felt like this, he was able to slow down and think it through, step-by-step, but this time, he didn’t feel like he could. There was too much pressure. Too little time. And every second that he couldn’t make a decision on what to do and how to react was wasting even more of that time, only serving to amplify his stress.

Justin’s first impulse was to go running after the ambulance crew and demand to ride with them, but he knew that wouldn’t work -- he’d just been told that it was company policy that he couldn’t. So that wasn’t an option.

Okay, he told himself. Step one, what was step one?

His breathing was coming in short little gasps now, as he fought to get ahold of himself. He felt like he couldn't get enough oxygen. His knees felt weak, like if he moved from the spot where he stood, he would collapse.

He couldn't do this right now. He couldn't fucking do this right now. Goddamnit.

Justin sank down to his knees, let his jacket and the bag fall to the floor, and brought his trembling hands up to his face. God, he was scared...so fucking scared. He had to get to Brian, but right now, he was the one who felt paralyzed.

Then, somewhere, out of the tumult of thoughts swirling through his brain, he heard Rob’s voice.

Just breathe.

He had to breathe.

Justin focused all of his attention on his breath, trying to make it smoother and deeper. It took him a while, and he faltered more than a few times, but slowly, he could feel control coming back to him.

He had to help Brian -- had to get to Brian -- and he could only do that if he stayed calm.

“Okay,” Justin said to himself, out loud this time. “You can do this. You have to do this.”

Justin looked down at his clothes, realizing that he looked like he’d murdered someone. Christ, it was a lot of blood. And it had all come out of Brian. The thought almost made Justin panic again, but he managed to push it down, reminding himself to breathe.

He needed to change clothes. That seemed like a good step one.

Still shaky, Justin pushed himself up to stand. He closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, focusing on taking a couple of deep breaths. Reminding himself that he could do this.

He started down the hallway, trailing his left hand lightly along the wall for balance, because his legs felt like jelly underneath him.

When he got to the bedroom, he stripped off his pajamas and pulled on the pair of jeans and the t-shirt he’d discarded on the floor by his side of the bed the night before.

Step one, done. Now what was step two?

Justin looked around the room, his gaze settling on Brian’s wheelchair, sitting by the closet door. It wasn’t in its usual spot because it had been shoved out of the way at the same time Justin was, so the paramedics could get to Brian. So they could help Brian.

Justin needed to get to Brian.

So that meant he needed to get to the hospital. With Brian’s chair. Fuck whatever the paramedic said about him not needing it -- who the hell was he to judge that? Having Brian stranded somewhere without his chair just didn’t seem right.

Acting on impulse and trying not to think because thinking was getting him bogged down and taking too much time he didn’t have, Justin picked up Brian’s phone off the nightstand and called the car service Brian used sometimes to get to his meetings. They answered on the first ring.

“I, um, this is Justin Taylor… Brian Kinney’s partner, he’s a client of yours.” Just speaking felt like a battle for Justin -- trying to push words out and have them make sense, without sounding as panicked as he felt.

“Yes, sir -- does Mr. Kinney need a ride this morning?”

Justin tried to figure out what to say without mentioning things he was pretty sure Brian wouldn’t want mentioned. But there would be no way to do this without at least mentioning the hospital. Maybe he should have just taken a cab, so it would be anonymous, but Justin was afraid that would take too long. It took a few seconds before Justin was able to speak, and when he did, all he said was, “I need a ride to Mount Sinai. They told me it’s on 1st Avenue.”

“Certainly, sir,” the receptionist said. “I can have Mr. Kinney’s regular driver there in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Justin said. “I’ll be downstairs.”

With shaking hands, Justin hung up the phone and stuck it in his pocket, along with his own. He grabbed his wallet off the dresser and pocketed it as well, before pushing Brian’s chair out into the living room. He laid the bag containing Brian’s meds in the chair, then picked up his coat and put it on. Slowly and methodically, trying to focus on keeping his breathing and his brain under control, Justin walked through the apartment, turning off all of the lights he’d turned on as he’d tried to figure out what was going on and what to do for Brian.

As he stood in the bedroom doorway, his hand on the light switch, Justin noticed for the first time just how much blood was in their bed. It hadn’t looked as big when Brian was lying on top of it as it looked right now. Now, it looked large and imposing, and it made Justin’s anxiety rise once again. What was wrong with Brian? Would he be okay? Why was there so much blood? Where had it come from? The paramedics’ reaction to the state Brian had been in when they arrived hadn’t done anything to quiet Justin’s fears. They’d seemed very concerned, and he knew they saw all sorts of crisis situations every day. They wouldn’t have reacted the way they had if Brian’s condition wasn’t serious.

Justin shook his head. He couldn’t let himself get dragged down in those thoughts. Not right now. He had to keep his promise to Brian that he’d be there. So he turned off the light and let the darkness overtake the disturbing image of Brian’s blood on the sheets.

He pushed Brian’s chair out into the hallway and onto the elevator, then into the lobby once he was on the ground floor. He was thankful that the doorman wasn’t on duty yet, because he knew Brian wouldn’t have wanted to be seen by anyone he knew in the state he’d been in when the paramedics had taken him downstairs.

There was already a black town car outside, and as soon as Justin emerged from the door to their building, the driver came around to the rear passenger door and opened it.

“Is everything alright with Mr. Kinney?” the driver asked. “I was told you needed a ride to Mount Sinai.”

Shit, Justin thought. He didn’t want to talk about this. He knew Brian wouldn’t want him to. But he didn’t have much choice -- he had to at least say something. And the driver looked worried.

“I… I don’t know,” Justin answered honestly. He hoped that Brian wouldn’t kill him for even saying that much. He knew Brian was very private about these sorts of things, and highly protective of his image. Desperate for a distraction, Justin turned his attention to the task of trying to break down Brian’s chair so it would fit in the car.

“I’ll take care of the chair, Mr. Taylor,” the driver said. “I do it all the time for Mr. Kinney.”

Good, Justin thought, because he wasn’t sure he remembered. Yet another thing he should have known that he didn’t. Justin climbed into the back seat of the car. The driver shut the door, then took the wheels off of Brian’s chair, folded the back down, and stowed the pieces in the trunk. Justin tried to commit to memory exactly how it was done, in case he needed to know. Hopefully he wouldn’t, but he needed to be prepared.

Less than ten minutes later, they were at the hospital. Justin was grateful that the driver seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, but at the same time had remained calm and professional. That helped Justin remain calm, too. At least, as calm as he could be.

The driver held the door open for Justin and helped him reassemble Brian’s wheelchair outside of the emergency room doors.

“Please let Mr. Kinney know I hope he’s feeling better soon,” the man said, as he shook Justin’s hand.

“I will. Thank you,” Justin said, trying to smile politely at the man as he turned to get back in the car and drove away. Justin took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stood in front of the sliding glass doors, the red glow of the word “EMERGENCY” over the door making the whole situation seem even more foreboding than it already felt. Justin wished this was all just a bad dream he could wake up from, with Brian beside of him -- conscious, coherent, and okay. But it wasn't a dream. It was real. And Justin couldn’t lose it. Not now.

The wail of a siren behind him jarred Justin back to reality, and he started walking toward the doors, pushing Brian’s chair ahead of him. It felt strange to be pushing an empty wheelchair, but it was what had to be done. He’d never pushed Brian’s chair before that he could recall, and, knowing Brian, he was fairly sure that was probably the case, and not just due to missing memories. Brian was independent. His chair didn’t even have push handles, so if that wasn’t a hint that he didn’t want to be pushed by anyone other than himself, Justin didn’t know what was.

The woman sitting at the desk just inside the ER doors raised an eyebrow at him as he pushed the chair up to the counter. Justin could feel his gut beginning to twist with anxiety again, and he hoped he would be able to speak articulately.

“My husband was brought here by ambulance,” Justin said quickly, the words tumbling out of him in a breathless rush, as if he were trying to get them out before his brain had a chance to fuck it all up.

“What’s his name?” the woman said, almost sounding bored. She had a strong New York accent, and was loudly chewing a piece of gum. Her mannerisms reminded Justin more of a television character than an actual person.

“Brian Kinney.”

She clicked her mouse a few times, still chomping on the gum as she studied her computer screen. The few seconds it took her to locate Brian’s file felt like an eternity to Justin.

“Looks like they’ve taken him for some testing,” she said. Her voice stayed flat, but her words made Justin’s apprehension rise. “You can wait over there,” she said, pointing to the waiting area, which was already full of people -- some of them coughing or sneezing, some of them clutching their stomachs, some of them looking pained, and others who looked like they were waiting for news on someone else. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”

Justin took a seat as far away from the coughing and sneezing people as he could, parking Brian’s chair next to him. He looked up at the clock above the television in the corner -- it was just a little after 5 a.m. now. Still too early to call anyone.

Briefly, Justin considered calling his mom anyway, just because he wanted to hear her voice. But there was nothing she could do for him, so there was no point in waking her up and worrying her before he even knew what was happening.

Someone came out to have him fill out some paperwork, and once again, Justin was frustrated by his lack of knowledge about Brian’s health and his medical history. These were probably questions he should have known the answer to, but instead, he had blank spaces where most of those memories should have been.

Fucking brain injury. Again.

He filled in the spaces as best he could, feeling like it took him fucking forever to do it with his left hand, then turned the clipboard over to the gum-chewing receptionist and hoped the information he could remember would be enough.

Returning to his seat, Justin leaned forward and put his face in his hands, trying to focus on his breath. Keeping it calm and even. It felt impossible at this point, though. He felt anything but calm. At this stage, he was just trying to keep his emotions from overwhelming him.

He wondered what was happening to Brian right now. What kind of testing were they doing? What were they looking for? How long would it take? How long until he could see Brian?

He kept running through the last couple of weeks over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what he’d missed. There had to be something. Some sign, some hint -- something. But that was hard to figure out without even knowing what was going on with Brian.

Justin could feel the panic starting to creep up again as he ran through possible scenarios. He knew he needed to stop, but he couldn't. There were too many possibilities. Too many things he probably should have seen, that even looking back, he couldn’t pick out. There was no way this just...happened. There had to be a reason for it. Something he was sure he should have known that he couldn’t remember anymore.

The next hour passed more slowly than any hour ever had in Justin's life. He had too much to think about and absolutely no answers. He just hoped that Brian was comfortable. That he was okay. That he wasn't as scared as Justin was.

The waiting and wondering finally came to an end when a young woman wearing purple scrubs came into the waiting room, walked up to him, and asked if he was here for Brian Kinney. Justin nodded and stood, and they exchanged a few words that Justin didn't fully process before she led him through a maze of curtains and doors until she'd brought him to Brian. Her voice seemed far away as she told him that a doctor would be in to speak with him shortly, then turned and left. Justin took a deep breath and settled his gaze on his husband. Brian was lying in bed, propped up on pillows, asleep, looking sicker than Justin had ever seen him. His face was still flushed, but if it hadn't been for that, he probably would have been lacking any color at all. Even though he was sleeping, he didn't look peaceful. He looked distressed.

They’d taken off his wet clothes and dressed him in a hospital gown. His hair was matted to his forehead, which was still glistening with sweat. Several different colored wires snaked their way out of the gown near Brian’s collarbone and connected to a machine that displayed his heart rate and his respiratory rate, along with his blood oxygen levels, which Justin knew was coming from the clip that was fastened to Brian’s middle finger on his right hand. His hand was lying on top of the blanket, and an IV line connected to two different bags of fluid fed into it. Another tube emerged from underneath the blanket and attached to a bag that was hanging from the side of the bed, containing a relatively small amount of the same reddish-pink liquid that they'd both been covered in earlier that night.

Justin had never seen Brian like this. He knew that for certain. He almost didn’t look like Brian. He looked...fragile. Vulnerable. Not at all the strong, imposing, self-assured presence that Brian was most of the time.

Justin wondered if this was what Brian had looked like right after his accident.

He didn’t know. He’d never known, because he hadn’t been there. And he never would know.

He could ask, but he would never truly know.

Such was the case for so many things where Justin’s memory was concerned now, and it was really fucking frustrating.

Justin had barely had a chance to take it all in when a tall, dark-haired woman in a white coat came into the room and introduced herself as Dr. Gibson, the physician who was currently handling Brian’s case. Justin tried his best to concentrate on what was being said to him, but there was so much medical jargon that it was difficult to digest it all. What he did pick up was that they suspected Brian had a fairly serious kidney infection, based on his symptoms and their severity. They’d taken a CT scan to see if there were any stones or anything that might have caused it, but found nothing. They’d sedated him to make him comfortable, and they were admitting him to the hospital for monitoring and treatment of the infection. It was too early to tell if there would be any permanent damage. Someone would be down soon to get Brian and take him upstairs, once they had a room ready for him. Justin was welcome to wait with him if he chose.

He couldn’t comprehend why on earth anyone would think he’d choose anything else.

So it was back to the waiting game. Justin didn’t know whether he wanted to scream or cry or throw up or all three. He pulled the single chair that was in the room closer to the side of Brian’s bed and sank down into it. He reached under the blanket for Brian’s left hand and held it tightly, as if he was clinging to a lifeline. Brian didn’t stir at all.

Brian’s hand was warm. Justin’s fingers grazed Brian’s wedding band, feeling the slightly cooler temperature of the metal as compared to Brian’s skin. The ring matched his own exactly, right down to the few words engraved on the inside, that it was likely no one other than he and Brian would ever see or know about: Worth fighting for.

Fighting was exactly what they’d done, over and over again, in the years since their eyes first met under the lamppost on Liberty Avenue. Sometimes it was literal and sometimes it was figurative, but somehow, they always ended up together. It was like they were inextricably drawn to each other -- neither of them could be whole without the other. They’d both tried, but in the end, it simply hadn’t been possible.

When they were apart, they were just going through the motions, trying to get by. But when they were together, they were the best versions of themselves.

Justin couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of losing Brian for good. Of going on, somehow, without him. He didn't want to think that was even possible. He knew he’d probably have to face that someday, but not right now. But the question was still there, in the back of his mind: Had he just come close to having to figure it out right now?

Was Brian even out of the woods yet? Or was there still a chance that Justin might lose him?

The doctor’s words ran through Justin’s head on an endless loop: There could be permanent damage. This was definitely serious. What if there was permanent damage? What then? Dialysis? A kidney transplant? How sick would Brian be in the meantime?

How long would it take him to get over this, even if there wasn’t permanent damage? How long would he have to stay in the hospital? How long would it be until they knew more?

There were so many unanswered questions. So many unknowns. But all there was to do, was wait.

And there was still that niggling thought in the back of Justin’s mind that he was responsible for what had happened to Brian.

Part of being someone’s partner was helping them when they needed help -- stepping in without being asked, just because you saw the need was there. It was knowing your partner inside and out, so that the second something wasn’t quite right, you were aware of it.

Justin was Brian’s partner -- more than that, he was his husband -- but Justin hadn’t done either of those things very well. He felt like he’d missed something huge, and even now, with the benefit of hindsight, he still couldn’t quite figure it out.

Why hadn’t he known the answers to all of the paramedics’ questions as he’d stood in their bedroom, watching them work on Brian? He’d been able to tell by their urgent tone how important his answers were to them -- and to Brian -- but he simply didn’t know the answers to most of them. Then, he’d had to answer many of the same questions when he’d arrived at the hospital, and he still didn’t know the answers. Why didn’t he know these things? He should have known. There was no excuse for not knowing.

At the very least, he should have asked Brian some of these things. He should have taken an interest in knowing more about Brian’s health and what he needed to do to maintain it. Why had he been so self-absorbed, so wrapped up in his own problems, that he hadn’t bothered to try to fill in the holes in his memory that were vital to keeping Brian alive and well? He’d been focusing so much of his energy on doing things for Brian, but he hadn’t done this one simple thing that could have prevented the situation they currently found themselves in.

If he’d known more -- if he’d asked more questions -- maybe there was something he could have done to help.

But he didn’t. And he hadn’t.

Justin felt like he’d failed Brian as a partner.

Now, Brian was lying in a hospital bed, doped up on painkillers and god knows what else, with so much blood in his urine that the bag that hung off his bedside seemed to be getting redder as it slowly filled. He’d been able to tell for several days now that Brian was hurting, even when Brian was making a concerted effort to hide it the way Brian always did, but Justin never could have imagined that Brian’s pain would be from this.

Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the thoughts of guilt and pain and regret and the realization of everything Justin didn’t know and the impact that might have had on Brian swirled in his brain and began to coalesce into an overwhelming anxiety.

Justin was still holding Brian’s hand, but now he was also holding back tears -- trying to keep control over his emotions and not fall apart like some pathetic little faggot. He couldn’t do that in front of Brian. Not here. Not right now.

But the longer he fought with himself, the closer he got to losing the battle entirely and dissolving into the sobbing, gasping, emotional mess he felt like on the inside.

What if his lack of knowledge -- the fact that he hadn’t asked Brian the right questions, hadn’t made him slow down, hadn’t made him take a fucking break -- ended up costing Brian a kidney? Or his independence? Or worse, his life?

Justin could feel his control starting to slip as his heart beat faster and faster, and his breathing sped up along with it. The tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes and threatening to fall. He was trying his best not to squeeze the shit out of Brian’s hand, because he’d already hurt Brian enough, but that was hard to do. He needed something to hold onto. He needed an anchor.

Brian was his anchor. Brian had always been his anchor, for as long as he’d known Brian.

Justin needed to talk to Brian -- to hear his voice telling him everything was going to be okay. He needed to see Brian’s eyes -- always kind and warm whenever he looked at Justin, even if he was trying to act annoyed. Justin needed Brian to be here -- really be here. Present. Conscious.

But he couldn’t do that right now.

Justin would have to pull himself together on his own, but that was a task that felt impossible, particularly as Justin edged closer and closer to an emotional breakdown.

When his grip finally slipped, it felt like a dam had broken, and everything he’d been holding back for the last two hours suddenly burst forth in an unstoppable rush. Like something had snapped inside of Justin, releasing a torrent of tears and fears in the form of a desperate, mournful wail that he tried his best to keep quiet so no one would come in wondering what was going on.

Justin clung to Brian’s hand as he cried, trying his best to keep his touch gentle so he wouldn’t wake Brian up. He vaguely remembered Dr. Gibson telling him she felt Brian would be asleep for the next several hours due to the sedative he’d been given, but Justin still didn’t want to take the chance.

He tried to focus on the warmth of Brian’s hand. The soft rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic beep of the monitor that echoed Brian’s heartbeat. Anything to pull him back to the present moment and out of the downward spiral he was currently trapped in. But it wasn’t working.

The short, shuddering breaths Justin was taking as the tears cascaded down his cheeks were starting to make him feel lightheaded, and he knew he needed to stop, but he didn’t feel like he could. He needed Brian to hold him and tell him he was okay, but he couldn’t have that.

Justin knew he needed to pull himself together for Brian -- stay present for Brian -- but he couldn’t. It was yet another thing he was failing at. Another way in which he was failing Brian, too.

He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to place all of his attention on the movement of his breath in his body, just like Rob had taught him. Filling up his belly with breath, then his chest, slowly, from the bottom to the top. Then letting it out slowly in reverse. Concentrating on how it felt. But every time he tried to take a slow breath, he felt like he was drowning -- like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen -- and his reflexes would take over and force him to gulp in the air instead. He kept trying, but over and over again, the same thing kept happening.

Slowly, Justin started to realize he wasn’t going to be able to do this by himself. Not this time. He needed someone to help him calm down. Normally, that person would be Brian, but that wasn’t an option right now. He could call his mom, but he wasn’t sure that a phone call was going to do him any more good than his own attempts at calming his thoughts were doing. He needed a physical presence -- comforting touch, the soothing pressure of a hug, security in knowing he had someone with him who cared about him. Someone he knew.

With Brian out of commission, Rob was the first person who came to mind.

So he took as deep of a breath as he could manage, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and called Rob. He hated to do it, but he had no other options. If he didn’t call someone, he wasn’t going to be able to put himself back together. The last thing he wanted to be when Brian finally woke up was an emotional mess, completely out of control. But that was exactly where he was headed.

It took Rob several rings to answer, and when he did, he sounded confused and a little bit worried.

“Justin?” he said. “Is everything okay?”

Justin opened his mouth to respond, but words evaded him. It reminded him of his time in the hospital after his accident, when he felt like half of the words he knew were locked away and he couldn’t get to them. His breath was still coming in short, quick gasps, no matter how hard he tried to get control over it.

“Talk to me, Justin. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Rob’s voice was calm and even. Justin wished he could have just one tiny part of that calm.

A few more seconds passed, but Justin still couldn’t manage to speak. He could hear noises now on Rob’s end of the line, like he was moving around, doing something.

“Justin, where’s Brian? Can you get Brian?” Rob said, slightly more urgency beginning to edge into his voice.

“No…” Justin managed to say. He wanted to say more, but the words still wouldn’t come.

“Where are you? Are you at home? Hold on a second, I’m putting you on speaker.”

It took Justin a few more breaths to respond to Rob’s question and eke out the words, “We’re at the hospital.”

“Which hospital?”

“Mount Sinai. On 1st Avenue.”

“Justin, what’s going on? Are you okay? Is Brian okay? What happened?”

Rob was asking too many questions. Justin couldn’t answer them. But he could hear the panic starting to creep into Rob’s voice as well. All Justin could do was keep breathing, trying not to hyperventilate.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Rob said. “Just breathe for me, okay? Remember what I showed you. Focus on your breath.”

“Okay,” Justin whispered, not even sure if Rob would be able to hear him. He also wasn’t sure if he could keep that promise, but he’d try.

“Good,” Rob said encouragingly. “That’s good. You’re okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

Hearing those words did help. Maybe a phone call was more effective than he’d thought it would be. But he still wanted a hug. He needed physical reassurance right now. And he hated to put that on Rob as much as he’d hated to call him at this hour in the first place, but he didn’t have a choice.

“Justin, I have to hang up now so I can get a cab,” Rob said. “But I’ll be there soon.”

The phone beeped three times in Justin’s ear when the call was disconnected. He’d have help soon. He just had to hold on.

Justin’s hands were shaking so hard that he nearly dropped the phone as he took it away from his ear and pushed it back into his pocket. He wanted so badly to stop all of this, but there was nothing he could do. It was like he was aboard a runaway train, speeding through the hills and valleys of frustration and guilt and panic, and he couldn’t even get the window or a door open to jump off and hope for the best.

He laced his fingers through Brian’s again, closed his eyes, and tried to just breathe, but he still couldn’t push the panic down. His chest felt like someone was squeezing it, as he tried to force air in. He was so absorbed in trying to do whatever he could to try to calm himself down that he jumped and nearly fell out of the chair when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

When Justin looked up, he saw two men in scrubs standing beside him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need to ask you to step out while we move Mr. Kinney up to his room,” one of them said.

Justin barely had a chance to get to his feet before he was being gently-but-firmly pushed out of the way, just like he had been earlier that morning by the paramedics. He was standing by the door, watching as they moved around, disconnecting things and starting to prepare Brian to be moved. A nurse came into the room seconds after that, edging Justin the rest of the way out the door and into the hall in the process. She was holding two empty test tubes and told the two men she needed to get a blood draw first.

Once again, Justin felt rooted to the spot where he stood, watching the whirlwind of activity taking place around Brian. Only this time, no one was asking him any questions. They were all just going about their business, and Justin felt like he was being left in the dark.

When the nurse had filled her two tubes with Brian’s blood, she came back out, giving Justin a weak smile.

“You can wait out there,” she said, gesturing back in the direction of the waiting room. “Someone will come down to let you know when he’s settled and you can come up to the room.”

Justin wanted to move, but he couldn’t. He still felt stuck. Like the entire world was rotating around him, spinning out of control. His knees were weak, and he was leaning against the wall to keep from falling, as an unnerving deluge of negative thoughts continued to rush through his head, full of questions and doubts and fears and uncertainty. He didn’t want to be thinking that way at all, but it felt impossible to drag himself out of the downward spiral and back to the light.

Slowly and carefully, keeping a hand on the wall for balance just as he had earlier that morning in the apartment, Justin took one step toward the waiting room, then another. It felt like it took him forever to get there, and he had to keep stopping to catch his breath and make sure he didn’t pass out. People kept rushing past him, but no one seemed to notice him. Or maybe they just didn’t have time to bother. Finally, he made it back to the waiting room, which was now even busier than it had been just an hour before.

Justin practically fell into the first empty chair he came to, unable to force his legs to go any farther. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands once again, feeling like the walls were closing in on him.

He was back in public now. He had to get ahold of himself. As much as he wanted someone to help him, he didn’t want for some well-meaning stranger to try it. Someone who didn’t know him and his history and would probably end up doing more harm than good.

Justin felt like he was falling apart at the seams. He hoped he could keep it together long enough for Rob to get there.

What he really needed, though, was something he knew Rob wouldn’t be able to give him -- the knowledge and certainty that Brian would be okay.

Wake Up Call by TrueIllusion

“Just how long will these days take, waiting for an earthquake...
Seems one already came…”

- “7 Minutes,” Circlesquare

*****

Rob had just wrapped up his morning yoga practice and was lying on the bed, getting dressed for the day, when his cell phone started to buzz. Hurriedly, he finished zipping and buttoning his pants, sat up, and transferred himself quickly to his wheelchair, so he could get to his phone, which was lying on the dresser.

As he made his way across the room, he said a silent prayer that the extended time that the phone had been ringing wouldn’t wake up Esmeralda and Sophia. At the same time, he was wondering who on earth was calling him this early on a Sunday. His mother was a morning person, and knew he was as well, but she was too polite to call anyone before 8 or 9 o’clock -- even someone else she knew would be up.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw it was Justin.

Justin never called him, ever. They were friends, but their interaction was mostly in person. If he was going to get a phone call from the collective unit that was Brian-and-Justin, that call came from Brian. So this was unusual, to say the least.

And it worried him. Particularly given the way Brian had been acting during dinner the night before.

Rob could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he answered the phone.

“Justin?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

All Rob could hear was heavy breathing. Breathing that was unsteady, and too fast. He knew Justin sometimes had panic attacks, but he’d never witnessed one. This sounded like one. And he knew he had to push his own apprehension aside and be a calming, grounding presence.

But he had no idea why Justin would be calling him in the middle of a panic attack. Brian should have been there with him. Shouldn’t he?

Rob had no idea where else Brian would be, but if he wasn’t with Justin, then someone needed to be. So Rob put his shoes on as quickly as he could with the phone cradled between his shoulder and his cheek, then picked up his wallet and his keys and went out into the living room, where he could see Adam in the kitchen, just starting to brew a pot of coffee.

“Justin, where’s Brian?” Rob said, fighting to keep his voice calm. “Can you get Brian?”

Adam turned to face him, his brow furrowed. Rob mouthed, I don’t know, but something’s wrong.

Justin’s only response was a barely audible, very shaky, “No.”

What the hell was going on? Rob needed more information. He also needed to put the phone down so he could put his jacket on.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Are you at home? Hold on a second, I’m putting you on speaker.”

Rob laid the phone on his thigh while he shrugged his jacket on. He’d just gotten it zipped when he heard Justin say, “We’re at the hospital.”

Those three words gave Rob more questions than answers. Why were they at the hospital? For whom? For Justin or for Brian? Where was Brian in all of this?

He got Justin to tell him which hospital, then took the phone back off of speaker and held it to his ear again. He knew he probably shouldn’t overwhelm Justin with questions right now, but he was desperate to know what was happening. So he asked.

“Justin, what’s going on?” he said. “Are you okay? Is Brian okay? What happened?” He could hear the slight note of alarm beginning to rise in his own voice, and he knew he had to keep it under control, or he was only going to make Justin more agitated than he already was.

And, just as he expected might happen, he received no response. All he could hear was Justin breathing. Sounding like he was teetering on the edge of losing control. Shit.

Whatever was happening, he knew Justin needed reassurance. And it was probably going to take him at least 30 minutes to get there by taxi cab, assuming he managed to hail one fairly quickly, which could be a challenge at this hour on a weekend.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said, hoping that his words were comforting. “Just breathe for me, okay? Remember what I showed you. Focus on your breath.”

Rob had no idea if Justin had even been using the breathing exercise he’d taught him, beyond that first time when they’d done it together, but it was all he could think of to try to help Justin ground himself.

Through the phone, he barely heard Justin whisper, “Okay.”

Maybe if he could get Justin focusing on taking deep breaths, he’d be all right until Rob could get there and figure out what the hell was happening.

“Good,” he said, trying to sound encouraging even as his own worry about this unknown but obviously serious situation continued to increase. “That’s good. You’re okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

He hoped he wasn’t wrong there, given that he didn’t know what was going on or what had Justin so upset. And more importantly, why Justin wasn’t with Brian and couldn’t get to Brian right now. But it seemed like it was what Justin might need to hear.

Rob hated to hang up the phone, but he needed to say goodbye to Adam and hail a cab so he could get to the hospital.

“Justin, I have to hang up now so I can get a cab,” he said. “But I’ll be there soon.”

Reluctantly, he took the phone away from his ear and ended the call. By now, Adam was standing next to him, his eyebrows raised and his forehead creased with worry.

“What’s going on?” Adam said softly. “Why are they at the hospital?”

“I don’t know,” Rob said. “But something isn’t right. I need to get over there. I’ll call you when I know more.”

Adam leaned down and kissed him, and Rob went out the door. He had to wait a minute for the elevator to get to their floor, but he was grateful that they didn’t live in a high-rise where it might have taken even longer. When he got out on the sidewalk, he prayed that he’d be able to hail a cab quickly, and his wish was granted when the first one he saw pulled over to pick him up. He gave the driver his destination, and asked him to please get him there as soon as possible.

The cab ride was wild, and Rob was glad he had a seat belt on, because it was reminding him why he didn’t often ride in taxi cabs. He much preferred the predictability of the subway -- not to mention the excellent people-watching. A couple of times, he had to use his hand to hold the pieces of his wheelchair steady alongside him in the back seat of the cab to keep them from sliding over into his side as they went around corners a little too quickly.

As they crossed the Manhattan Bridge, he looked down river toward the iconic Brooklyn Bridge and the lower Manhattan skyline. It was a peaceful view this early on a Sunday morning. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be much longer until he arrived at the hospital, and he could start making some headway toward figuring out what had happened that had Justin in such a state.

Rob would have been lying if he said he wasn’t anxious himself. Brian and Justin were good friends, and he wouldn’t want anything to happen to either one of them. He was having to work very hard to keep from running various scenarios in his head for what could have happened. There was no point in going down that particular rabbit hole. He’d know what was happening soon enough, and he could go from there.

Still, there were a lot of possibilities, and he knew that many of them were not good.

He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and sent Justin a quick text message: Just checking on you. Let me know where I can find you when I get there.

It took a couple of minutes before he received a response, and when he did, it simply said, ER waiting room.

So, based on that, they must have been there for Brian, if Justin was in the waiting room by himself. That took Rob’s list of possibilities in a slightly different turn. He’d known something wasn’t right with Brian during dinner the previous night, but he never would have guessed it to be anything that would have landed Brian in the emergency room.

He’d picked up on the fact that Brian was tired because he hadn’t been getting enough sleep, and it had been obvious that he was in pain, but Rob had assumed that to also be related to working too much. He knew firsthand how that could be. But it hadn’t seemed like an emergency at all -- it just seemed like Brian needed more rest. Apparently there had been much more going on than Brian had been willing to let on. That didn’t particularly surprise Rob, because he knew Brian was the type of person who was going to say he was fine even when he wasn’t. He’d been that way for all nine of the years Rob had known him, and probably long before that. So he hadn’t been surprised when Brian had kept insisting that he was fine, and he’d suspected that much more was happening below the surface than Brian had been willing to admit, but this seemed much more serious than he’d anticipated.

He knew Brian wasn’t religious, and really, neither was he, but he did believe in a higher power. So he took a moment to say a prayer for his friend -- that whatever was happening, it was something Brian would make a full recovery from.

The sidewalks outside the windows of the cab were getting busier in the early morning sunlight. People out walking their dogs, getting their coffee and their newspapers and their bagels and pastries, going about their day. Exactly as Rob and Adam had planned on doing that day as well -- their usual Sunday routine included bagels with a ridiculous amount of cream cheese from the shop around the corner from their apartment building as they drank their coffee and perused the Sunday edition of The New York Times while Esme and Sophia sat in the living room floor and watched cartoons. It was supposed to be warm that afternoon, so they’d promised the girls they’d take them to Coney Island. That obviously wasn’t happening now.

But that was okay. Sometimes plans change when people you care about need you.

Just like his plans had changed over the holidays when he’d found out Justin had been in an accident on his way back home to Pittsburgh. And even then, Brian had tried to insist he was fine, even when it was painfully obvious that he wasn’t, and no one in their right mind ever would have expected him to be.

His husband had been seriously injured in an accident -- if ever there was a time to not be “fine,” that would have been it.

When Rob had arrived in Pittsburgh, he’d seen exactly what he thought he’d see -- Brian plowing through the situation, trying to feel as little as possible. He’d thrown every ounce of his energy into worrying about Justin and trying to take care of Justin’s needs, ignoring his own. And it wasn’t just physical -- it was psychological too.

As much as Brian insisted that he was fine, Rob had been able to clearly see that he wasn’t. Brian tried to hide it, and he was fairly good at that -- a lot of practice, Rob supposed. But Rob prided himself on being a fairly perceptive person, and Brian Kinney didn’t escape that perception, no matter how much he might have wanted to.

Brian had been teetering on the edge of falling apart. Rob had seen it, and he was sure that Brian knew it too, but he never would admit it. It continued through the rest of Justin’s time in the hospital and in rehab, and Rob witnessed every bit of it until he had to go home. In some ways, Rob felt like he’d been waiting for the implosion, but it never came. And when Brian and Justin had come home, what Rob saw was more of the same. Brian focusing most of his energy on Justin, this time with work thrown into the mix as well, with nothing left for himself. Almost like he was grateful for the distraction -- an excuse to move his focus from something that made him feel uncomfortable.

Rob had a strong suspicion that he knew what Brian was wanting to be distracted from, too -- the post-traumatic stress that he and Justin both suffered from as a result of what had happened at Justin’s prom. He knew that Brian wanted to pretend it wasn’t an issue for him, and that it was something that had happened to Justin and not to him, but neither of those things were true. Brian needed to deal with his feelings about it, but instead, he was hiding from them. He’d rather suffer in silence than admit that he needed support.

Rob didn’t really know why Brian was so reluctant to admit when something was wrong. All he could figure was that admitting something was wrong, to Brian, was essentially the same thing as saying, “I need help,” which was a phrase Brian Kinney seemed to avoid at all costs. And sometimes that cost could be very high.

Now was apparently one of those times.

He wished he would have pushed harder when he and Brian had talked after dinner the night before -- that he would have refused to let Brian shut the conversation down the way he always did, and he would have somehow gotten out of him what was actually going on. Maybe this could have all been avoided, for Brian’s sake as well as Justin’s. Although it was probably too late by that point. Whatever this was, the wheels had likely been set in motion a long time ago.

This, Brian had hidden from him -- and maybe from himself as well.

Even with everything that had been going on with Justin, Rob couldn’t imagine Brian purposely ignoring something that he knew to be this serious -- serious enough to land him in the ER.

Rob was jolted out of his thoughts when the cab came to a less-than-graceful stop outside of the emergency room doors. He paid the driver, giving him a generous tip for getting him there in about 20 minutes, which was impressive. Quickly, he put his chair back together and got himself out of the car, thanked the driver again, and turned to go through the automatic sliding glass doors and into the harsh fluorescent light of the room that served as a combination lobby and waiting room for the emergency department.

It looked to be a busy morning, and it took Rob a moment of scanning to spot Justin, curled up in a chair against the far wall, his feet in the seat and his knees pulled up to his chest, like he was protecting himself from something. The closer Rob got, the more he could see that Justin looked exactly as he had on the phone -- like he was on the verge of breaking down, but he was trying really, really hard to hold himself together. He was gulping somewhat-deep, too-quick breaths, and his hand that was wrapped around his shins was trembling. His head was down, and his posture told Rob that if Justin could have sunk into the wall or the floor or anywhere else at that moment, he would have.

Rob’s first instinct when he got to Justin was to reach out and touch him, because he wanted to provide comfort, but the instant Rob’s hand made contact with Justin’s, Justin jerked his away and cried, “Don’t touch me!” His voice was high-pitched and loud enough to get the attention of a few of the other people in the waiting room, who turned to look curiously in their direction. Justin recoiled back even further in the chair, so that he was curled into as small of a space as he could possibly get.

Rob pulled his hand back slowly, startled by Justin’s reaction. He knew about Justin’s anxiety and about the panic attacks it sometimes caused, but he hadn’t thought about it including a fear of being touched, although it made sense, considering that the source of it was the experience of being hit in the head with a baseball bat -- an experience Rob couldn’t even begin to fathom. Rob hated that he’d made things worse, because that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was here to try to make things better, at least to the extent that he could.

“Hey,” Rob said softly, keeping his hands in his lap as he fought the impulse to reach out again. “It’s me. It’s all right. What can I do to help?”

It took Justin a few seconds -- and a few more shallow, panicked breaths -- before he looked up at Rob, then reached out and grabbed his hand, hard. Justin had a death grip on Rob’s hand, to the point where it hurt a little, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. If that was what Justin needed to feel a little bit of comfort and calm, then it was okay. He squeezed it back, and hoped it helped.

Justin’s eyes were filled with unshed tears, and the more he looked at Rob, the more Rob wanted to give him a hug, but he wasn’t sure if that would be okay. Probably not. Rob was quickly realizing that it was really fucking hard to look at someone who was in desperate need of solace and not be able to touch them. Hopefully holding his hand was enough.

“I’m sorry,” Justin whispered, in between heavy breaths. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rob squeezed Justin’s hand more firmly. “That was my mistake. I shouldn’t have startled you. I should have let you know it was me.”

At that moment, Justin’s hand went slack in Rob’s grip as the tears started to fall.

“This is all my fault,” Justin said, so quietly that Rob could hardly hear him. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his right hand and hugged his legs in close again.

“What’s your fault?”

“All of this. I should have seen it.”

Rob didn’t get a chance to ask what Justin meant by that, before Justin had his face buried in his knees, crying harder now.

“It's not your fault,” Rob said, tightening his grip on Justin's now-limp hand, all too aware that he still had no idea what “it” was, but he seriously doubted that any of this was Justin's fault, no matter what it was. It was anxiety that was telling Justin it was. “It's not your fault,” he repeated, keeping his voice soft and hopefully soothing.

He watched Justin for a minute, just holding his hand, saying nothing, still trying to figure out the situation. When it seemed like Justin was starting to catch his breath, Rob laid his other hand over Justin’s, so that he was holding Justin’s left hand in both of his.

“What can I do to help?” he asked again, in a low voice.

Justin looked up at him again, his eyes still glistening with tears. The look in his eyes spoke volumes -- he was petrified, but he didn’t know what to ask for. He reminded Rob of one of his and Adam’s girls in that moment, because he looked like a scared child, rather than a grown man.

“Can I hug you?” Rob asked, hoping and praying that the answer would be yes, because feeling powerless was tearing his heart out right now.

All in one motion, Justin unfolded his legs and practically threw himself into Rob’s arms, clinging to him. The fingers of Justin’s left hand were digging into Rob’s back as his body sagged into Rob’s, his face buried in Rob’s shoulder. Rob held him tighter as Justin let go of everything he’d been holding on to, his chest and shoulders shaking with quiet sobs as he cried.

They sat that way for a long time, with Rob saying nothing, just taking deep, even, slow breaths, and hoping Justin would start to adopt that pattern as well. Eventually, he did. Rob continued holding Justin’s body close as the trembling slowed and stopped. It was as if he could feel Justin’s entire energy shift right there in his arms, from terrified and lost, to having some semblance of control.

“Shit,” Justin said softly as he sat up and wiped his eyes with his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. That’s what I’m here for. I’m here to help you. Whatever you need.”

Rob was just about to ask where Brian was, so he could try to figure out gentle ways to ask what Justin knew about what was going on, when someone came up behind him and addressed Justin by name.

“Justin Taylor?” the woman said. Justin nodded. “Mr. Kinney’s in his room. I’ll take you up now.”

Justin breathed an audible sigh of relief and pushed himself up from the chair, having to pause for a second to steady himself as he stood.

Rob followed both of them down the hallway to the elevators, and then up several floors. Rob had never been in this hospital before, so he had no idea what was what, and the fact that they were going to the seventh floor told him nothing about what was going on with Brian. He’d have to continue to work on figuring that out when they got upstairs. Hopefully -- maybe -- he might be able to ask Brian himself, rather than risk putting Justin through any additional stress.

Rob’s hopes for being able to talk to Brian were dashed, at least for the moment, when they got to the room and Brian was asleep. He looked ill -- in a way he hadn’t looked just 12 hours before when they’d been having dinner together -- and they had him hooked up to all sorts of monitors. But at least he was finally getting some of the rest that he badly needed.

There was a urine collection bag hanging at the end of the bed, and Rob could clearly see that there was blood -- quite a bit of blood, it looked like. So that gave him at least some clue as to what had brought Brian and Justin to the hospital, although it still didn’t give him all of the answers.

He’d been right there before, in Brian’s position, several years ago, thanks to a large kidney stone that he’d ultimately had to have surgery to remove. It had certainly been a scary situation, and an uncomfortable one even with his lack of sensation in that area. He could only imagine, if this was the same sort of thing, what Brian’s experience would have been like. Brian probably had at least some sensation there, even if it was “off.” Rob had never experienced having a kidney stone with sensation, but he’d heard it was excruciating. Hopefully it hadn’t been that way for Brian, if that’s what was happening here.

Rob was still taking in the situation when he heard Justin speak to the nurse, his voice bearing a hint of desperation.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” Justin said. “I want to talk to him.”

“He was given a pretty strong sedative,” the nurse said. “I think he’ll be out for a few more hours yet. And when he comes to, he may not be up for conversation.”

“Oh,” Justin said softly, looking down at the ground. “I just… I need to hear his voice.”

“Give him some time,” she said reassuringly. “My name’s Nancy, and I’ll be here until after dinner tonight. If either of you need anything, just let me know. The call button’s right here.” She reached down and moved it closer to Brian’s hand. “But, like I said, I think you’ve got a few hours yet before he wakes up. Dr. Gibson should be in to talk with you in a couple of minutes. I think I just saw her come out of the elevator.”

Justin thanked her, and she gave him a small smile as she left the room.

The doctor came through the door seconds after that, and Rob took that moment to excuse himself, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hear any of what the doctor had to say since Brian wasn’t conscious to say whether or not it was okay. He wanted to respect Brian’s privacy, and he also needed to call Adam, so he patted Justin’s shoulder and said he’d be outside if Justin needed him. Justin nodded, and Rob could see the fear in his eyes as he took a deep breath. Rob looked up at him and squeezed his hand again.

“You’ve got this,” he said. “You’re doing great. I’ll be right outside.”

Rob left the room and closed the door behind him, then situated himself in the corner of the hallway where he’d be out of the way but still able to see when the doctor left. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Adam, wishing he had more of an update to give, but he didn’t want to leave him hanging.

Adam answered on the first ring.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he said.

“Well, I don’t know a whole lot more than I did when I left. Looks like they’ve admitted Brian to the hospital, and the doctor is talking to Justin right now. I suspect something kidney related, based on what I could see.”

“Oh god. That’s not good.”

“Yeah. I’m hoping I can find out more from Justin in a little bit, but he was pretty freaked out when I got here, so I didn’t want to ask too many questions.”

“I can imagine. I just dropped the girls off with Charlene upstairs -- thankfully, she didn’t have any plans for today and she seemed like she was looking forward to spending some time with them. I told her she was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll make sure she knows how much we appreciate her. I just hope the girls aren’t too disappointed about Coney Island.”

“We’ll make it up to them. I’m getting ready to head your way now. Is there anything I can bring from here?”

“I don’t think so. I’m just hoping I can keep Justin calm. He seems better than he was.”

“Good. I’m glad he’s not by himself anymore.”

“Me too. Hopefully I'll know more by the time you get here. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

No sooner had Rob hung up the phone than the door to Brian’s hospital room opened up again and the doctor walked out. Rob took a breath and started back toward the room, not knowing what state he was about to find Justin in, but hoping he was at least still somewhat calm.

Justin was sitting in the chair under the window, his head in his hands.

“You okay?” Rob said, partially out of concern, and partially because he wanted to let Justin know he was there.

“She said he's lucky we came in today,” Justin said, his voice flat, like he'd already used up his entire emotional quotient for the day. “That if we'd waited any longer, he probably would have ended up with sepsis. And…” Justin let his voice trail off.

Rob knew Justin couldn't finish that sentence, and he didn't want him to. They got there in time, and that was all that mattered.

“Is it a kidney stone?” Rob asked.

Justin took his hands away from his face and shook his head. “An infection. A really bad one. I woke up around 4… Brian was really hot, and we were both wet, and there was a lot of blood.” Justin still wasn't looking at Rob. Instead, he was looking straight down at the floor as he told Rob the story. His voice sounded almost detached. “He was really out of it. I didn't know what to do, so I called an ambulance.”

“Wait, how long have you been here?”

“I got here sometime around 5:00. They left with Brian at 4:30. I had to get here, so I just changed my clothes and left.”

“Why didn't you call me earlier? I could have come and been with you then, too.” Rob hated the idea of Justin having been at the hospital by himself for almost two hours, especially given the state he’d been in when Rob arrived. Had he been like that the entire time? Rob was thankful Justin had at least had the presence of mind to get help quickly.

“I didn't want to call you that early.” Justin shrugged, still looking away.

“Well, you should have. I hope there's not a next time, but if there is…” Rob left the ‘please call’ unspoken. Justin nodded but didn't look up. “Have you eaten anything?” Rob asked. He didn’t figure Justin had, since he’d been up and dealing with this since 4 a.m.

Justin shook his head.

“Why don't we go downstairs and get some coffee and something to eat?” Rob said. “I think it'll make you feel better.” He also thought the momentary distraction might be a good thing.

“But what if he wakes up?”

“Remember what the nurse said -- he's probably not going to for a while yet. And when he does, he'll probably need something else that's going to knock him out again. Trust me, I've been there. It sucks and it's really painful. He would want you to eat. He’d want you to take care of yourself.”

Reluctantly, Justin went with Rob to the cafeteria, only on the condition that they would ask Nancy to call one of them immediately if anything changed with Brian. While Justin was asking her to do that, Rob sent Adam a quick text to let him know where they'd be.

It took Justin a long time to pick out something to eat, which was unusual for him. He normally had the appetite of a teenage boy. But right now, he didn't seem interested in food at all. Ultimately, he settled on an English muffin with egg and cheese, which he picked at as he sipped his coffee.

“I still feel like this is all my fault,” Justin said, as he pulled off a small piece of bread with his fingers but didn't eat it. “If I hadn't --”

“Okay, I'm stopping you right there.” Rob interrupted him. “Look at me.”

It took Justin several seconds to look up, but he eventually did.

“This is absolutely not your fault,” Rob said, looking Justin square in the eye to help prove how much he meant what he was saying. “You did nothing to cause this.”

“But I should have known what to look for. And I didn’t, because I can’t remember. Because of this fucking brain injury.”

“Justin, I don’t think you would have been able to pick up on this, even before. He hid it really, really well. I just saw him last night, and I know what to look for when there’s a problem, and I had no idea it was this bad. If I had, I would have said something. You have to believe me on that.”

“I feel like there’s so much I can’t remember, that isn’t coming back.” Justin looked down at his cup of coffee and played with the stir stick as he spoke. It reminded Rob of Brian, who always had to be fidgeting with something. “Some of it is, but not all of it. And I try to look things up when I can, but I know that everyone’s body is different, and every injury is different. So I’m never quite sure how much of it applies. But I don’t want to ask.”

“And he’s not going to tell you, I know.”

“I just need a point of reference, you know? I can’t know if he’s not doing something, if I didn’t know it was supposed to be happening in the first place.”

“I know, Justin. And trust me, Brian knows that too. Maybe he’s used that to his advantage here, as wrong as that seems to say. I’m not saying he wanted this to happen, but he also might have known that you weren’t going to call him out when he started ignoring his body.”

“But I tried,” Justin said, his frustration clear. “I really tried. It just wasn’t enough.” Right there, his tone shifted to disappointment, and Rob knew he was going to have a serious talk with Brian at some point in the near future, because he couldn’t keep doing this to Justin. Or himself.

“And that’s okay. You did great,” Rob tried to keep his tone upbeat, even though inside he was a little bit angry with Brian for putting all of this on Justin, albeit indirectly. “Brian isn’t your responsibility. He’s responsible for himself. But I understand wanting to know more. And, like I said, I know Brian isn’t going to tell you. So I will.”

Rob had gotten over that shyness a long time ago, and he no longer cared to hide anything he needed to do as a part of his self care, no matter how different it was from what able-bodied people did. He knew Brian’s personality was completely different though -- even though he was brash about a lot of things, there were others about which he was much more private, because he had an image to maintain. He always had, as far as Rob knew, and it sounded like it went back much farther than that. And Rob was sure that the things Justin wanted to know probably fell under the umbrella of things Brian didn’t like to talk about.

So Rob spent some time giving Justin what amounted to paraplegic anatomy 101 -- everything that he felt was probably relevant to the mess Brian had put himself in, and a few other things that he thought Brian might neglect, as much as he hated to think that way. There clearly was something going on with Brian that went much deeper than the physical effects he was currently suffering from, and until Rob found out what that was, he had to assume that there might be other things not happening as regularly as they should be, like skin checks and pressure relief and applying lotion to skin that doesn’t sweat.

Adam came into the cafeteria about midway through Rob’s explanation, giving him a peck on the cheek and a hug as he sat down in the chair next to him.

“He needs to stretch out his muscles and his joints, too,” Rob said. “Every day. It’s important. And I could see that being something he’d probably let drop.”

Justin nodded. “I’ve seen him do it a couple of times,” he said. “But I doubt he’s doing it every day. Definitely not recently. The times I’ve seen him do it, it’s been right before bed, but the last few weeks, he’s been coming to bed really late, because he’s always working.”

Adam took that opportunity to jump in. “I give Rob a full-body massage at least twice a week,” he said. “It’s therapy -- it’s good for his muscles and tendons -- and I just make it a lot more enjoyable.” Adam winked at Justin. Rob could see Adam’s hand creeping suggestively up his thigh as he talked about the therapy that more often than not turned into sex by the end of the night. But Adam wasn’t wrong -- it was beneficial, sure, but they also both really enjoyed the intimacy of it.

“I’m a pretty lucky guy,” Rob said, laying his hand over Adam’s under the table. “Brian is too. But this stuff can be really hard to talk about, even with someone you love. I can remember when Adam and I had only been dating for a few weeks, and I was starting to think, I really like this guy, but it was hard to let him in, because I didn’t want to fuck up a good thing. I had to wonder, is he still going to want to go the distance once he knows all of this? All of the things that are different for me.”

“But I'm not going anywhere,” Justin said. “Brian should know that.”

“I know, and I know Brian does too. But it's still hard. It’s a lot of shit. A lot of work. A lot to think about. You don't want to burden other people with it. And sometimes you just get to the end of your rope, and you don’t want to deal with it anymore either. I think that might be where he's at right now.”

“But he doesn’t have a choice,” Justin said, sounding desperate.

“No, he doesn’t,” Rob said. “That’s where you come in, with the gentle reminder. And I know that you’ll know exactly how to give it in a way that will make him do what he needs to do.”

Justin laughed a little. “Michael and I used to joke about there being a ‘Kinney Operating Manual.’ All of the instructions for getting Brian Kinney to do what you want him to do and what he needs to do without him knowing it.”

Rob laughed too. “Knowing Brian, that’s exactly how you’ll have to do it. But I know you can. And that you want to. You just needed the information. Now, you have it.”

Justin nodded. “Thanks. For telling me. I know it can’t be easy to talk about it with a stranger.”

“Since when are you a stranger? I’ve known you for a decade. We’re way past that.”

“You know what I meant. Those aren’t things we talk about.”

“I can hear your country club upbringing coming through right now.” Rob smiled. “And you’re welcome. Anytime. Seriously. If you don’t want to ask Brian something, you can call me.”

Justin sat back in his chair and laid a napkin over what remained of his half-eaten muffin, apparently declaring himself done with breakfast. Rob wished Justin would have eaten more, but he knew it was hard to have much of an appetite when someone you loved was seriously ill. Justin scrubbed his hands over his cheeks.

“God, I’d give anything to wash my face right now,” he said. “And I wish I would have brought my toothbrush.”

“Why don’t you go home and take a shower, get cleaned up, and then come back?” Rob suggested, knowing it was a long shot but hoping Justin might go for it. “Adam and I can stay with Brian.”

Justin shook his head. “No, I’m not leaving him,” he said vehemently. “I promised I wouldn’t. I’m spending the night.”

Even though Rob had been hoping he’d be able to get Justin to go home for a little while, to take a break and do what he needed to do, he understood Justin’s reluctance. He would have done the same, had it been Adam.

“Why don’t we go get what you need, then?” Rob said. “That way you can stay with Brian.”

That, Justin agreed to.

They sat at the table, making a list of everything that Justin and Brian might need for the next few days, since they still didn’t know how long Brian would be in the hospital. Then, Rob and Adam accompanied Justin back up to the room and got him settled -- as predicted, Brian was still sleeping -- before leaving for Brian and Justin’s apartment.

He and Adam sat together in the back seat of a taxi cab, having stowed his chair in the trunk since Adam could help. He’d learned a long time ago not to ask cabbies to do it if he could help it. Adam reached across the seat and interlaced his fingers through Rob’s -- Adam’s dark skin contrasting with his own. Rob looked up and met his husband’s dark brown eyes, smiling a little. He loved this man more than life, and he really was lucky. Adam hadn’t cared about any of the things that Rob had been afraid to tell him -- even that early in their relationship, they’d just loved each other, and nothing else mattered. Not disability, not skin color, not the differences in their upbringing, nothing. Underneath it all, they were just people. Two people who cared deeply for one another. And they still did.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Adam asked.

“Brian or Justin?”

“Well, both, I guess. But I meant Brian.”

“I hope so. And that goes for both of them. I have a feeling Brian’s going to have a hard time doing what needs to be done to recover from this. He’s too much of a workaholic and a control freak. Justin’s going to have his work cut out for him, for sure.”

They didn’t say much for the rest of the ride back to Chelsea, where the cab driver dropped them off at the front entrance to Brian and Justin’s fancy high-rise apartment building. The doorman had seen them enough that he recognized them and greeted them with a smile and a nod as they entered. Rob assumed he was none-the-wiser about what had taken place early that morning, and he wasn’t going to say anything. Once they got upstairs, Rob picked through his keys until he found the one to Brian and Justin’s apartment, then opened the door and pushed himself inside.

Brian and Justin’s apartment was large and spacious, but minimally decorated. The furniture was fancy but functional, the surfaces clear of clutter save for a couple of magazines and a book on the coffee table, and a few framed pictures on the end tables in the living room. The living room, kitchen, and dining area were essentially one large room, with an island in the middle -- low enough to be usable for himself and Brian -- providing just a small amount of division between the living area and the kitchen. The decor was almost entirely neutrals, with the only color in the room coming from the pillows on the sofa and, of course, Justin’s artwork on the walls.

Nothing looked amiss in the living room, even though it sounded like Justin had left in a hurry. Rob glanced at the list he’d made on his phone and started toward the bedroom so he could get some clothes for both Justin and Brian. Adam followed him into the room.

“Shit,” Adam breathed. Rob looked up at his husband, then followed his gaze to the bed sheets. Their normal, light grey color was marred by a large, red stain. “This reminds me of…”

“I know.” The kidney stone. Neither of them needed to actually say it, to know.

“I thought you were going to die. Hell, I thought you were dying right there beside me, in our bed, and I didn’t know what it was or what to do.”

Rob remembered it as being equally scary. He’d experienced minor episodes of autonomic dysreflexia before -- basically, the odd reaction his nervous system would have to uncomfortable or painful sensations in areas he couldn’t feel, when his blood pressure would go up and he’d start sweating for no reason or getting a terrible, pounding headache, until he found and relieved whatever the cause was. But that time, neither of them had been able to find the cause, and it wasn’t getting any better -- it was only getting worse. By the time Adam called 911, Rob’s vision had started fading in and out, and he’d also started to wish he would pass out, so that at least he wouldn’t have to feel the horrible pain and pressure in his head any longer. Then, his bladder had let go. What came out was tinged with red, and it seemed like it was never going to stop. But not even that had relieved the AD symptoms.

He still didn’t remember the ambulance ride to the hospital or most of the next day. And the following few weeks -- which included stents and surgery and a challenging recovery -- had been a test for their still-young marriage at the time. But they’d gotten through it.

Rob wrapped his arm around Adam’s waist. “Tell me what you're thinking about,” he said.

“That I know exactly how scared Justin must have been,” Adam said, still looking at the bed, almost as if he was a little bit shell-shocked by the memory.

“He did great, though,” Rob said. “Just like you did. Sometimes this shit just happens. It’s scary, but you have to deal with it. You don’t have a choice.” Rob paused for a moment and looked at the bed. “Let’s take care of this for them. So Justin won’t have to.”

Together, they stripped the bed of both the sheets and the mattress protector. Rob also found what he assumed to be Justin’s pajamas in the floor on the other side of the bed. They washed everything, then put the bed back together and left Justin’s pajamas folded neatly at the foot of the bed, so that whenever they returned home, everything would be ready for them. Hopefully that would be sooner rather than later.

Once they’d finished up at the apartment, Rob and Adam headed back to the hospital with the bag they’d packed containing everything they thought Brian or Justin might need -- clothes, toiletries (although they’d had no idea what to pack of Brian’s extensive collection and had ultimately tried to pick a good variety), phone chargers, the book from the coffee table that it looked like Justin was probably reading, and Adam grabbed Justin’s sketchbook and a couple of pencils, just in case. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

When they got back to the hospital room, Brian was awake -- sort of. He looked to be about half conscious, and it was easy to see in his eyes how much pain he was in. And the lack of a sarcastic greeting -- perhaps something along the lines of, “Oh, Justin called in the cavalry, did he?” -- instead replaced with a gravelly, weak, “Hi,” told Rob exactly how terrible Brian was feeling.

“Hey,” Rob said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fucking truck ran over me.”

Rob didn’t get a chance to say anything more before Nancy, Brian’s nurse for the day, came in with a syringe that she injected into Brian’s IV line.

“Let’s see if that helps you some with the pain,” she said. “If it doesn’t, call me. None of this tough guy stuff, okay? Now, let’s get you turned onto your side. We don’t want to add pressure sores to the mix.”

She helped Brian roll over, propping him up with pillows and helping him position his legs and straightening out the blankets and the bedding and the IV tubing and the catheter. He was facing the door now, and it looked like just the effort of turning over had exhausted him.

“Let yourself rest, hon,” she said as she pulled the blanket up and smoothed it out again. “If you need anything, just call.”

With what amounted to permission given, Brian closed his eyes and seemed to settle further into the pillows that surrounded him, as Nancy left the room and dimmed the lights.

“Is there anything else you think you need?” Rob asked Justin, keeping his voice soft and low.

Justin shook his head and took the bag from Adam. “Thank you,” he said.

“It was nothing,” Rob said. “That’s what friends do. If you think you’re okay, we’re going to head back, so you and Brian can both get some rest. But if you think of anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to call me. I don’t care if it’s 2 a.m. I mean that.” He held his arms out to give Justin a hug, which the younger man accepted. It felt so different from the desperate one they’d shared earlier that morning. This one was softer. Warmer. More normal. “Promise me?” he asked as they let go, leaving his hands on Justin’s shoulders.

“I promise,” Justin said.

“Even if it’s 2 a.m.”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Okay, good.” Rob patted Justin’s knee and turned toward the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in, if I don’t hear from you first. Take good care of him. You’re still doing great.”

Adam hugged Justin goodbye, then Rob gave Justin a reassuring smile as he and Adam went out the door.

The next morning, Rob sat in his office, sorting through his email and looking at his calendar for the day, debating whether or not he should call Justin for an update on Brian. He didn’t want to call too early, in case either or both of them were sleeping, because they both needed rest. Justin had his own health to consider too, and Rob hoped he would remain mindful of that and make sure he was getting enough sleep and enough to eat.

He’d just settled on waiting until after 10 a.m. to call, and maybe bringing over some food later, when his cell phone rang. It was Justin.

Shit, he thought. He hoped nothing had gone wrong overnight.

Apprehensively, he slid his thumb across the display to answer the call and put the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he said, trying not to sound too worried. “Everything okay?”

Justin didn’t respond, but Rob could hear Brian in the background saying, “If you don’t go, it’ll take you months to get back in. You’re going.”

“Okay, I get it,” Justin said, obviously to Brian, sounding impatient. “I’ll go. Just let me talk to Rob and see if he can come over.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he heard Brian grumble.

What a difference eighteen hours could make, Rob thought to himself. It certainly seemed that Brian was feeling quite a bit better, and it was a relief to hear his friend’s normal, snarky banter with his husband.

“Okay, sorry Rob,” Justin said. “Are you still there?”

“Yep, I’m here. Sounds like someone is starting to get back to feeling like himself.” Rob chuckled.

“Yeah. His fever broke last night. He’s still in a lot of pain, but his doctor said this morning’s blood tests are looking a lot better. That the antibiotics are working.”

“Good, that’s good,” Rob said. A huge fucking relief was what it was, but he didn’t want to alarm Justin, so he kept his reaction low-key. This could have very easily been a grave situation, and he knew it. Brian was extremely lucky, and Rob hoped he would realize that and make some changes to keep from having to depend on that luck in the future. “So, what was all of that about needing a babysitter?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. I almost forgot why I called. Fucking brain injury.”

It made Rob cringe every time Justin said that, because he could feel the younger man’s frustration.

“I have a neurologist appointment today,” Justin said. “Only a check-in. I’m fine, and I told Brian I could probably skip it, but he’s insisting that I go.”

“And I think Brian’s right, you should go. It’s important. And he’s also right that if you cancel, you probably won’t be able to get another appointment for a while.”

Justin sighed on the other end of the line. “I know. But I don’t want to leave him here by himself.”

“Christ, I’m fine,” Rob heard Brian say. “I’ll probably be asleep anyhow.”

“I’ll come over,” Rob said, so Justin wouldn’t have to actually ask. “What time’s your appointment?”

“Eleven. I probably need to leave around 10:30.”

“I’ll be there,” Rob said, thankful that he didn’t have any meetings until late afternoon, and none of them were anything that couldn’t be pushed back to another day if needed.

Two hours later, he’d sent a nervous Justin on his way and was setting up his laptop in Brian’s hospital room so he could try to get some work done while Brian slept. He killed some time finishing up going through his email and sorting through a few documents concerning new products that were in development and would be ready for primetime soon.

Brian did look quite a bit better -- he had on pajamas instead of the hospital gown, and even in his sleep, Rob could tell he was more comfortable. But Rob was sure he was probably still really tired, from a combination of being so sick and having been so exhausted in the first place. He was just about to send Adam a text with what little update he had, when he heard Brian's voice.

“I told him I didn’t need a fucking babysitter,” Brian grunted as he shifted a little in the bed. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, we can all see how fine you are,” Rob said, closing his laptop and setting it aside. “You really fucked yourself up this time, huh?”

Brian breathed out and let his head fall back to the pillow, then closed his eyes. “Lying in bed with a fever so high you’re either hot or cold and there’s no in between, with a tube coming out of your dick that you’re pissing into involuntarily, and a backache that won’t quit,” he said. “What’s not to love? Thank god the fever’s gone now, but the rest? Still there.”

“Anyhow, I'm not here because I thought you needed a babysitter. I’m here because I was thinking you and I could talk.”

“God, here it comes.”

“I’m not going to lecture you. I just want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me what’s going on. All of it. And don’t just tell me you’re fine. We both know you’re not.”

Brian didn't open his eyes, and didn’t speak. His only acknowledgment of what Rob had said came in the form of a loud exhale.

“Something happened when you were in Pittsburgh. Aside from the obvious, I mean. I know you’ve been dealing with the nightmares and the flashbacks. But it’s not just that, either. It’s something else. You’re not yourself.”

“Who the hell else would I be?” Brian said sarcastically.

Rob knew Brian well enough to know that snark meant he was on the right track -- it was a defense mechanism. One that Brian used often. Rob didn’t take the bait.

“Like I said the other night, you’re burying yourself in work. You’re not taking care of yourself. You’ll barely even talk to me these last few weeks. What’s going on? You know you can talk to me about anything -- you always have. So why won’t you talk to me this time?”

Brian still didn’t say anything.

“You know Justin thinks this is all his fault, right? Because he didn’t know enough to be able to spot the signs that something was wrong. But he shouldn’t have had to. Because none of this should have happened. But it did. Why? Why did you ignore the signs you must have had? You had to feel something. You’re the only one who lives in your body.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Brian, stop. Answer the question.”

“Because I didn’t think it was anything,” Brian huffed. “I knew I was working too much. I just thought it was back pain from that. That I was tired from that. I thought I just needed some sleep, and I had a few days coming up where I’d be able to get it. So I thought I’d be fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“No need to worry Justin, right?”

“Leave him out of it.”

“That’s not possible -- he’s your partner. Your husband. He’s automatically a part of it. He cares about you, and he wants to help you.”

“He shouldn’t worry about me.”

“Again, I repeat, he’s your partner. Do you worry about him? I won’t bother waiting for the answer, because we both know the answer is yes. It’s how you got into this mess. Because you’re too worried about him to focus any attention on yourself. Am I at least half right with that?”

Brian’s silence told Rob he was right.

“And you ended up making him really worried about you. As in, full-on anxiety attack worried. There’s give and take with this on both sides, Brian. You’ll worry about each other, sure, but you can’t focus all of your energy on that. And he wouldn’t expect you to. Just like you wouldn’t expect that from him. You ended up hurting him while you were trying to protect him.”

Brian looked away and pulled his lips into his mouth -- another mannerism of Brian’s that told Rob he was hitting the nail squarely on the head.

“Brian, please. Tell me what’s really going on, so I can help. I want to help.”

Brian blinked a few times, still looking away, then closed his eyes. After several seconds and a few shaky breaths that Rob wasn’t sure were from physical pain or from emotion, Brian spoke.

“Everything fell apart when Justin got hurt,” Brian said quietly. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t make eye contact with Rob. “I felt like I had a good handle on it, you know? Life. We got married, we were happy, business was booming, he was doing his art, you and I were doing our thing in D.C., life was good. As good as it could be. And then it just...wasn’t.”

Brian stopped and took another shaky breath. Rob didn’t say anything.

“He doesn’t remember so much of our life together,” Brian said. “He doesn’t remember our marriage. I had to tell him we’d been married almost ten years.” Brian’s voice was breaking now. “That fucking hurt. It hurt. I know it’s not his fault, but it hurt. And the whole thing, it brought back all of the shit that I thought I’d finally gotten past.”

“Prom?”

Brian nodded. “I thought all of that had finally faded into the background, but then, there it was again. In my fucking dreams. Every goddamn night.”

“It only faded because you ran from it,” Rob said. “You have to stop running from the past. If you’d had as good of a handle on everything as you said, you wouldn’t be having nightmares about the prom. You and Justin would have talked it out a long time ago. But you never would talk about it. You still won’t. Don’t think I don’t know that. I know it’s a painful memory for you -- for both of you -- but now it’s taking over your life. And you just keep running. You’re hiding behind work and taking care of Justin, but at the end of the day, you’re running. You both need to get it out. Let it go. So you can move forward.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to lecture me.”

“Well, you need to hear this. I know that letting it go might be hard to do, because you like control,” he said. “But you’re letting this control you. You can’t control everything. It’s not possible. You have to focus on what you can control. And you can control how you deal with things. What you do from this point forward.”

“I’m just so fucking tired of trying to hold it all together,” Brian said softly, sounding almost tearful now. Rob wondered if it was the drugs that were making Brian more open, but whatever it was, he was thankful that Brian was finally talking to him.

“I get that, Brian. I do. Anybody would be. But until you work through this stuff together, you’re both just going to keep hurting each other while you’re trying to protect each other. That’s no way to live. You’re both suffering. You’re strong people. Look at everything you’ve gotten through together already. There’s been loss -- and that’s life, it happens -- but you haven’t lost each other. You’re both still here. You’re still fighting. Why not fight just as hard to try to get past what’s hurting you both? By dealing with it this time, instead of pushing it aside and hoping it’ll go away. Talk to each other. Be partners. Don’t feel like you have to do it all alone.”

“I know,” Brian said. “I get it. I know what I have to do. It’s just… hard.” Brian paused as his eyes drifted shut again. “God, I’m so fucking tired.”

“You need to rest,” Rob said. “It’s okay. Go to sleep. We can talk more later.”

“‘kay…” Brian let his voice trail off as he pushed himself over onto his right side. He let his eyes close, and it didn’t take long before his breathing evened out and he was sound asleep.

As Rob sat there, watching Brian sleep, he hoped that his friend would take his advice to heart. That he would realize how lucky he was. That he would at least make an attempt at letting go of what was eating him from the inside out, so he could focus on getting his health back, and hopefully feel like everything was coming back together again.

Brian was still asleep when Justin returned from his appointment, and Rob went back to work for a few more hours before going home to his own little family -- Adam, Esmeralda, and Sophia. They ate dinner together, just as they did every night, talking about school and work and what was going on in their lives, before going about their normal evening routine -- a little bit of TV, then baths and bed for the girls, and a little more TV for himself and Adam, before they headed to bed themselves.

Some people might say normal was boring. But to Rob, it was nice. Comforting and grounding and just… content. Happy.

He wanted that for Brian and Justin, too. He knew they’d make it back there eventually. And he knew they’d support each other through the process, just like they always had.

By the time Rob made it out of the shower and to bed, Adam had turned out almost all of the lights and was sitting up in bed, a bottle of lotion lying on the covers by his leg.

“Mmm…” Rob said as he slid his body over from his chair to the bed and pulled his legs up. “I was hoping for that massage tonight, since you brought it up earlier.”

Adam nipped at Rob’s ear and began planting the tiniest, lightest kisses down the side of Rob’s neck as he started to rub Rob’s shoulders and work his way down his back.

“Of course,” Adam said, between kisses. “I have to show you how much I love you somehow.”

“You show me every day.”

There wasn’t a day that went by that Rob wasn’t grateful that he and Adam had found each other, and that Adam had taken the chance on him and stayed, even after he knew that their lives would be unconventional and things wouldn’t always be easy. But whose life was, really?

And as they laid in each other’s arms later that night, both on the verge of sleep, Rob whispered, “I’m glad you’re my partner. I can’t imagine going through this life with anyone else.”

Adam turned and kissed him softly.

“I wouldn’t want anybody but you.”

Fighting to Let Go by TrueIllusion

“But I guess this time I’m just gonna have to tell them that once in a while, we could all use a little help, and… they’re just gonna have to swallow their fucking pride and say… thank you.”

*****

Brian felt like he was floating. It was nothing like how he’d felt earlier in the morning. That had been this morning, right? How long ago had it been? Brian wasn’t sure. He opened his eyes just a little, and immediately felt disoriented, but he also felt too mellow to be startled by it, which was odd. Where was he? He didn’t recognize this place.

It took him a moment to realize it was a hospital room. He looked down at his right hand, where an IV needle was taped down.

Ah, the good stuff, he thought, as his eyes fluttered closed again. That was probably the source of the floaty, mellow feeling -- much more than he’d ever been able to achieve with pot.

Slowly, the memories started coming back to him. Being awakened in the middle of the night by Justin. How hot he felt. How sick. How much his head hurt. His back. The dampness he’d been lying in, and how he’d known exactly what it was. How embarrassing that always was on the rare occasions when it would happen, even though there was nothing he could do about it. How uneasy Justin had sounded, but how Brian hadn’t been able to bring himself to the surface to respond to anything Justin said.

He sort of felt that way now -- like he was underwater -- but in a much more peaceful sense, rather than the unsettling sensation of being held under by some unseen force.

His brain felt foggy, his presence and sense of time blurred by the drugs.

But at least he wasn’t in pain anymore.

Vaguely, he remembered being down in the emergency room. It was noisy. His head had hurt so badly that he’d wanted to scream or cry just from that alone, but with the noise and the bustle it had felt almost unbearable.

Almost.

Unbearable came later, when he was trying to push words out around the pounding pain in his head so he could respond to the questions he was being asked by the people around him. He hadn’t been quite sure who was who. All he knew was he was hot and he was thirsty and he was wet and uncomfortable wasn’t the right word to describe how he’d felt.

Then, someone’s gloved hands touched his stomach, pressing down firmly and strategically while a far away voice asked him if it hurt and he could barely process their question because it hurt like fucking hell. But unbearable happened when they shifted their fingers just a little farther downward and visceral pain blended with nerve pain and produced something the likes of which he had not felt in more than a decade. Not since his first few hours of living with a spinal cord injury.

Brian was fairly sure he’d cursed somewhere in the agonized part-scream-part-moan that came out of his body of its own volition, but whether it had been decipherable or not would remain a mystery. He guessed it didn’t really matter.

Apparently it got him the good drugs, because he didn’t remember much else after that.

He didn’t remember arriving at the hospital, either. The first thing he remembered was someone shining a bright light in his eyes and asking him if he knew where he was. The last thing he’d recalled was being in bed with Justin, so this was new. And it was a little scary.

And where was Justin? He hadn’t been there.

Brian tried to open his eyes to see if Justin was with him now, but his eyelids felt too heavy. It was a strange sensation. He felt like he was sinking lower beneath the surface of the water, but again, it was peaceful, not panicked. Like warmth was cocooning around him, enveloping him, inviting him back down into its depths.

He accepted the invitation to become one with the nothingness for a while longer, although he wasn’t sure he had much choice.

That was how things were for a while -- brief bouts of semi-consciousness, some without pain, some with. He just wanted to sleep, but people kept waking him up to turn him from one side to the other and then onto his back. A couple of times he was awakened by a needle stick as someone filled a vial with blood.

Eventually, he became aware that Justin was there. Holding his hand, usually. Talking to him. Rubbing his arm or his back.

The fog lifted slowly, and, little by little, the water began to feel less deep. The sun was shining brightly through the window by the time Brian managed to bring himself into what felt like full consciousness, albeit tempered by pain. The ache in his back had deepened, and the pain in his head continued to pulse with each beat of his heart. He still felt unbearably hot. He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt. And his mouth was so dry.

“Brian?” came Justin’s voice. He sounded hopeful. Relieved.

“Close the blinds,” Brian grunted out, his tongue feeling like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth as he spoke.

Justin got up and did that, then came back and took his hand again.

“How are you feeling?” Justin asked.

Well, that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?

“Like shit” was the answer.

“I’m sorry,” Justin said.

“Water,” Brian rasped.

“Oh, sorry, here.” Justin let go of Brian’s hand and poured some water from a small styrofoam pitcher into a cup with a straw in it, then held the straw up to Brian’s lips. It was hard not to drink it too fast, because he was so fucking thirsty. He probably did drink it a little too fast, because the next thing he knew he was coughing and Justin was saying, “Careful, not too much.”

The coughing hurt too. Fuck, was there anything that didn’t hurt? Even his legs hurt, although he knew that wasn’t “real.” Well, it was, but it wasn’t.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked, his voice sounding strained. Rough.

“You have a kidney infection,” Justin said as he set the cup back down and took Brian’s hand again. “It’s pretty bad.”

“Fuck. Jesus Christ.” Brian pressed his hands down on the bed and shifted his position a little, but it did absolutely nothing to change the pain in his back.

“Are you okay?” Justin asked. “Do you need to roll over? I think it’s almost time.”

Brian was about to say, “I need this pain to stop,” when a particularly strong wave washed over him. He closed his eyes and tensed his body, feeling his fingers tighten around Justin’s hand. He managed to nod when Justin asked if he was hurting. That wasn’t the word he would have used to describe it, but he supposed it would do, since at the moment, he wasn’t sure he could speak.

“I’m going to call the nurse,” Justin said. She showed up about a minute later, but Justin did all the talking. Brian was thankful for that, because at the moment he felt like he’d lost the ability to speak. The nurse, however, still addressed Brian directly, as if he’d been the one asking for more pain medication.

“I’ll go see if there’s something else I can give you, Mr. Kinney. I’ll be right back.”

She left the room right as the worst of the wave passed, and Brian was able to open his eyes again.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain,” Justin said.

No sooner had Brian said, “Stop apologizing,” than Rob and Adam appeared in the room. Adam was holding an overnight bag, presumably for Justin.

Rob asked him the million dollar question again. This time, Brian answered, “Like a fucking truck ran over me.” Hyperbole, perhaps, but still an accurate description. He hoped they wouldn’t stay long. He was getting tired again, and could barely hold his eyes open.

Fuck, how long had he been sleeping?

The nurse came back in a second later. She had a syringe in her hand, and injected something into his IV line that felt cold. She did promise it would help with the pain, though.

She rolled him over onto his left side, propping him up with pillows behind him and in front of him and cushioning his legs so that his knees and ankles weren't resting on one another. It made him feel like an invalid. He hadn’t felt that way for a long time. Not since the early days of rehab. It wasn’t a feeling he was particularly fond of.

The pull of sleep was strong. He knew he had visitors, but staying awake felt impossible at that moment. When she told him to rest, he stopped fighting it and let himself be pulled under once again.

And so the cycle of sleep and semi-wakefulness and turning and poking and prodding continued, all the way into the night.

He didn't know when Justin had started shaking his arm and urgently whispering his name.

It took Brian a while to fight his way back to the surface, but eventually he got there -- at least, close enough to hear what Justin was saying and open his eyes for a brief moment.

Justin was asking him if he was okay. If he needed more pain medication. No, not really, but he was just far enough underwater that he couldn't tell Justin that.

Somehow, he was even hotter now than he had been all day. Justin's hand on his arm felt oddly cool. He felt Justin's hand brush his forehead, which was damp with sweat. He heard Justin call the night nurse. He kept trying to speak, but nothing he said in his head seemed to be coming out his mouth.

“He’s been really restless,” Justin said. “I think he’s uncomfortable. I’ve read that fevers can climb at night, but… isn’t that really high?”

“It is, but it’s not dangerous,” another voice said. A woman. They both sounded so far away. “It’s his body fighting the infection. It’s a good thing. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

Her words and her tone were obviously intended to reassure Justin, but Justin couldn’t have sounded more unsure when he said, “Okay,” and tightened his grip on Brian’s hand.

Brian flexed his fingers, squeezing Justin’s hand back. He knew his grip was weak, but he could tell from the way Justin moved his own hand that the younger man felt it. Then, he fell back into unconsciousness once again.

When he awoke the next time, he was drenched in sweat. The hospital gown he was wearing was damp and seemed cold against his skin. But he felt quite a bit better. Still not good, per se, but better. Better was relative. And the basis of comparison had been fucking awful. So, only feeling shitty was an improvement.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. There was a small amount of filtered light coming through the slats in the blinds -- it must have been early morning. How long had he been here? A full day, maybe? Hopefully not more than that. Although he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t even know what day it was.

Justin was curled up in the recliner under the window, his knees pulled up to his chest, asleep. He had a small, hospital-issue pillow under his head and was covered by a cotton blanket.

How many times would they be in this same position? Watching one another sleep, with one of them in a hospital bed.

As much as he didn’t want to be here -- and didn’t want Justin to have to be either -- he knew he was lucky. Lucky to have someone who cared enough about him to sleep right there alongside him, without question, no matter how uncomfortable it was. That sort of unconditional love had been difficult to accept and hard to trust for so many years, but now, it felt secure.

They loved each other. Nothing had every really changed that -- not time, not distance, not violin-playing art school students or hurt feelings or mismatched desires. And, at this stage, he knew nothing ever would.

They'd been through so much together, and still, their connection had never wavered. Even when they were apart, it had always been there.

Even before Brian had been willing to admit it to himself, he’d known on some level that he loved Justin. That Justin was different.

Sometimes it had felt like a free fall, but Brian was glad he'd taken the jump.

Although he felt better than he had, Brian still felt exhausted. Like he hadn’t slept in days, which made no sense given that his most recent memories were all mostly of being asleep or almost asleep or falling asleep.

He gripped the side of the mattress and pulled himself over onto his side, then reached down and pulled his legs up a little. Maybe that would save him from being awakened yet again to have someone turn him over, but probably not. He pulled the blanket up to lessen the chill being introduced by his damp clothing, settled back down into the pillows, and let his eyes close once again.

Brian woke up again a couple of hours later. He felt sticky and sweaty -- he didn’t think he’d ever wanted a shower so badly in his life. But they probably wouldn’t let him take one at this point. If he got lucky, maybe he could get a sponge bath from a hot orderly. Although he wasn’t sure he gave a fuck if they were hot or not at this point -- he just wanted to feel clean and wear some of his own clothes again. Hopefully there was something for him in the overnight bag that was sitting in his wheelchair in the corner of the room.

Justin was still sleeping. Good, Brian thought. He probably needed it.

Someone came in to draw more blood, and a few minutes later, the nurse he remembered from the day before came back into the room.

“Looks like your temperature is almost back to normal,” she said quietly, so as not to wake Justin. “That’s great. Hopefully it stays that way. Do you feel up to trying to eat something?”

He hadn’t thought about it, but now that she mentioned it, he was hungry, so he agreed to try. He wasn’t expecting it to be anything to write home about, and it wasn’t, but it satisfied his hunger and it did make him feel a little bit better.

Justin didn’t wake up until a doctor came into the room. Brian had been dozing, but he came back to full consciousness when he sensed someone standing next to the bed. Brian could see Justin out of the corner of his eye, trying to shake off sleep, which always seemed to take him a little while longer now, as this doctor that he didn’t remember but was probably supposed to know introduced herself. She was Dr. Gibson, and she was a urologist. He felt a little bit strange about discussing any of this with a woman, but he apparently didn’t have a choice.

“I see your fever’s down,” she said. “That’s a very good sign. Your blood tests this morning look much better. You’re very lucky. I think you got here just in time. This was a very serious infection. Another day, maybe less, and you would have been dealing with a life-threatening blood infection.”

Shit, Brian thought to himself. He’d known it was bad, but that thought was particularly sobering.

“How have things been going with your bladder management routine? Any problems that you’ve noted? It seems strange for something this severe to pop up out of the blue.”

Brian wasn’t sure how to answer that question, considering that it probably hadn’t popped up out of the blue -- he’d missed it because he’d been so busy that he hadn’t been paying a whole lot of attention. And he knew he hadn’t been keeping as good of track as he normally did of when he’d cathed and how much water he’d had to drink.

“It’s seemed okay,” he said, realizing that wasn’t 100% true. “I probably haven’t been as mindful as usual lately. I’ve had a lot going on at work.” He knew that was just an excuse, but it was true.

“Keeping up with your bladder routine is important, Mr. Kinney,” she said. “Infections like this can cause permanent kidney damage. We still don’t know yet if this one has. Hopefully you’ll get lucky this time, but if there’s a next time, you might not be so lucky.”

He knew all of that. He really didn’t need or want a lecture, much less on one of his least-favorite topics, so he sort of tuned her out and started to let fatigue take over again.

Justin was probably listening to every word, though. He even had a conversation with the doctor that Brian didn’t really pay much attention to.

Brian didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep again until he heard Justin’s phone make a noise. He recognized the notification sound as the one Justin used for his calendar, which had become Justin’s lifeline in a lot of ways after his accident, helping him keep straight all of his appointments and everything else he needed to do, without having to rely on memory.

Brian blinked his eyes open and saw Justin hurriedly dismissing the reminder.

“Sorry,” Justin said. “Go back to sleep.”

“What was it?” Brian asked sleepily, fighting the urge to yawn.

“I forgot I was supposed to have my check-in with my neurologist this morning. It’s okay though, I’ll reschedule it.”

“The hell you will.” Brian tried to sound intimidating, but it didn’t really work. He was still too tired. And he already knew Justin wouldn’t buy it. “What day is it anyway?”

“It’s Monday. And I don’t mind. Really, it’s okay. I’ll go in a few weeks.”

“No, you’ll go today. I’m fine, I promise.” Brian knew he didn’t sound particularly convincing, but no way was Justin skipping this appointment on his account.

“I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

“Justin, I’m fine.” Now he was starting to get agitated. The last thing he wanted was Justin setting his own health aside for his sake.

“Maybe I could call Rob, and he could come sit with you. Yes, I’ll do that.” Justin was already dialing the phone by the time Brian got his next sentence out.

“I don’t need anyone to sit with me.” Brian did at least manage to sound irritated, if nothing else. “And you’re going to your appointment. I’ll be fine. If you don’t go, it’ll take you months to get back in. You’re going.”

“Okay, I get it,” Justin said, still holding the phone. “I’ll go. Just let me talk to Rob and see if he can come over.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

Justin ignored him and started talking to Rob on the phone instead, apparently making plans for Rob to show up before Justin needed to leave for his appointment. Justin reiterated that he didn’t want to leave Brian, and Brian reiterated that he’d be fine and would probably be asleep anyhow. But Justin still wasn’t listening. It was a lost cause by this point.

Brian didn’t necessarily mind the idea of Rob coming over, it was just that he didn’t want his friend to have to upend his entire day unnecessarily. But it looked like that was happening anyway, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Brian’s request for a shower was denied, as predicted, but they did send a nursing assistant in to help him clean up a little bit, and put on some of his own pajamas. It wasn’t as good as a shower would have been, but it did help him feel better. Little by little, he was starting to feel human again.

The pain still wasn’t gone, though, and the painkillers he was on were making him feel slightly high. Still a little bit floaty.

He fell asleep at some point while watching television, and when he woke up, Justin was gone and Rob was there.

It turned out that Rob had an ulterior motive in agreeing to babysit Brian -- he wanted to have a serious talk. One that Brian wasn’t sure he was up to, but he apparently had no choice in the matter.

Rob had a lot to say that Brian didn’t particularly want to hear, and Brian ended up saying some things he didn’t particularly want to say and had never intended to share with anyone. Like the fact that he was tired of trying to hold everything together. That was really the kicker. Some days he’d felt like he was hanging on to his own sanity by a thread, but he’d pushed through anyway, for Justin. Apparently to his own detriment in the end. And maybe even Justin’s as well.

He almost cried. He didn’t want to cry. But this shit that was flowing through his veins and taking away his pain was also making him feel emotional. Vulnerable. He was better than he used to be at dealing with emotions, but he still didn’t like feeling vulnerable. It made him uncomfortable, even with people he trusted.

But in the end, he’d told Rob everything. And he’d known that every word Rob said to him was absolutely right. Even if he didn’t want to admit it.

If Brian hadn’t been sure how sick he was, the level of exhaustion he felt just from having that conversation told him exactly how much. He barely remembered Rob saying they could talk later, but when he woke up, Rob was gone and Justin was back. Brian felt a bit like a spectator in some sort of bizarre game of musical chairs.

“How was your appointment?” Brian asked, reaching for the cup of water that sat on the rolling table by the side of the bed and taking a drink. His mouth still felt dry, and his lips were chapped, and the simple action of picking up the cup and putting it down seemed to consume all of his energy.

“Fine,” Justin said, setting his book aside. “Everything looks normal. Nothing new to report.”

Brian knew that this supposedly-good news wasn’t necessarily good, because nothing new to report also meant that nothing had improved since Justin’s last visit, at least not significantly. And that was disappointing, because he wanted so badly for things to keep getting better for Justin, and he knew Justin wanted that as well.

Brian knew exactly what it was like to have to wrap your brain around the idea that improvement might not come -- that you were already as far as you’d probably ever get. And it wasn’t easy, by any means. He hadn’t wanted Justin to have to encounter that for a long time, but that was water under the bridge at this point. He’d encountered it and was working on muddling his way through it, just as Brian had all those years ago.

Brian didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, really. He just reached his hand out, palm up, for Justin to grasp it. When he did, Brian gave him a reassuring smile and simply said, “I love you.”

Brian spent the rest of the day sleeping off and on. Lunch wasn’t any better than breakfast, and dinner was about the same. People kept coming in to turn him, which was starting to get irritating, even though he knew why they were doing it and why it was important.

In the morning, he finally got his shower, even though it wasn’t quite as private as he would have liked it to be. He needed the help of the nursing assistant pretty much from start to finish, save for the part when he was actually in the shower. And as soon as the guy -- who’d introduced himself as Brent -- started helping him transfer to his wheelchair, Brian realized how weak he felt. He wondered how long that would last. Brent helped him undress and move to the shower chair once they were in the bathroom, and then stood outside to at least give Brian some semblance of privacy, with the promise that if he started feeling lightheaded or unsteady at all, he’d say something immediately. Brian wasn’t willing to risk falling or making any aspect of his recovery take even longer, so he’d agreed without a fight.

It felt so good, though. Just letting the warm water run over his body. He sat in there for so long that Brent knocked on the door to make sure he was okay, so he figured he’d better wrap it up, as much as he didn’t want to.

He also really hated needing help getting dressed. He hadn’t needed that since rehab, but the truth of the matter was that he was too weak to do it himself right now. And that sort of sucked.

But everything else was looking better. The fever hadn’t returned, his kidneys appeared to be working well, the pain was lessening little by little, and the antibiotics were continuing to do their job. If that trend continued, he’d probably be able to go home sometime on Wednesday. But he still had the rest of Tuesday to get through first.

He was starting to get bored, which he knew was a sign that he was feeling better, but that didn’t make it any less maddening. He wanted his laptop, so he could at least do a little work, but he knew better than to ask Justin for that, because he knew what the answer would be. Still, the thought of three or four days worth of work piling up was stressful.

He knew that Justin had sent a message to Ted and Cynthia to let them know he would be unavailable for the next several days and why, but he also knew that he would still have a lot that needed to get done as soon as he was back to work.

He did get Justin to bring him a newspaper, which he read in much more detail than he ordinarily would have, while Justin was taking a nap. Normally, he’d just skim the headlines and only read the things he was truly interested in, but he had a lot of time on his hands. When he was finished with the newspaper, he tried television for a while, but there was nothing interesting there either. He played around with his phone -- resisting the urge to check his work email -- until he started feeling sleepy again himself. All of these naps were another thing he hadn’t done in a long time and had no desire to go back to.

But, there was nothing else to do, so he rolled over and checked out for a little while.

As he came back to consciousness an hour or so later, the first thing he heard was the scratch of a pencil on paper. It was familiar, but he hadn’t heard it in so long that it seemed almost foreign. When he opened his eyes, he saw Justin, head down, sitting in the chair, sketching with his left hand. He was totally absorbed -- tongue pushing into his cheek at one side of his lips as he focused on moving the pencil across the sketchpad he had resting on his thighs, holding it steady with his right hand. He was moving much more slowly than his usual sketching speed, and it seemed to take a lot of his concentration, but he was doing it. Brian couldn’t help but smile.

A second later, Justin looked up from the sketchpad, his face quickly going from total concentration to surprise, coupled with the tiniest hint of embarrassment, like he’d been caught red-handed.

“Haven’t seen you do that in a long time,” Brian said, still smiling.

“Yeah.” Justin put the pencil down and scratched behind his ear like he always did when he was nervous. “I’ve been… experimenting.”

“Can I see?”

Justin looked back down at his work and bit his lip. Brian hated that Justin seemed so unsure -- he used to love showing Brian his work. Why should he be ashamed of it now? After a few seconds of internal debate, Justin turned the sketchpad around so Brian could see it.

It was a sketch of him, sleeping -- his hair messy, the sheet partially pulled down, revealing his arm and shoulder. The strokes were a little unsteady, but the drawing wasn’t bad at all. It was good, in fact. And he wasn’t just saying that because it was Justin and he’d been through a lot -- it really was true. Brian moved his focus from the drawing to Justin, who was looking at him shyly, his cheeks pink as he continued chewing on his lip.

“I was just working on adding some muscle definition in your arm,” Justin said, studying the drawing once again. “I wanted to accentuate that. You’re so strong… It’s really sexy.” Justin’s cheeks flushed a little bit more. “I forgot how easy you make it. When I draw you, it just flows. It always has. I’ve been practicing with drawing small things, but with this, I just wanted to try more. When I draw you, it’s like I quit thinking and it just… happens.”

“It’s great,” Brian said.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No, not at all. Looks like your ambidextrousness is coming back.”

“I guess so. Maybe when you’re forced to, it’s easier.”

“Maybe.”

Justin was quiet for a moment, running his fingers idly over the edge of the sketchpad, before he spoke again, sounding almost wistful. “Do you ever wonder how we make it? I mean, we’ve had so much trauma in our lives. But we just keep making it.”

“I don’t know,” Brian said, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice. Justin wasn’t wrong, but Brian wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this right now. His quota for deep, serious conversations in a 24-hour period had already been filled.

“I think maybe we’re the reason we keep making it. We came into each other’s lives, somehow -- by fate or kismet or whatever -- and we’ve saved each other more than once. I guess we’re just meant to be. We’re lucky.”

“Yeah, Sunshine,” Brian said. “We are.”

Justin was certainly right about that. And Brian was grateful that they did “just keep making it,” even though he really didn’t know how they did it. Maybe it really was just fate. Maybe it didn’t really matter.

Maybe it was just a fact of life.

He scooted himself sideways several inches on the bed and motioned for Justin to come up there with him. Justin carefully climbed in beside him, as if he was afraid Brian would break. Brian chose not to say anything about that. Clearly, he’d put Justin through some trauma in the last few days, and he felt incredibly guilty about that. He didn’t want to put anything else on Justin. He knew they needed to talk, but not right now. Right now, he just wanted to hold Justin. So he did. And it just felt right.

Brian was discharged on Wednesday, with a handful of prescriptions and a whole list of things he was and was not supposed to be doing, the most important of which was that he was to be on strict bed rest for the next several days. As the nurse was saying those words to him, he realized that he wasn’t sure how he was going to do that without going completely insane. He just wasn’t the type of person to spend all day in bed, resting. He wanted to be doing things. Being productive.

Even when he’d had cancer, he’d still gone to work. That was just who he was.

However, Brian’s eagerness to go home and get back to his life was quickly eclipsed by the exhaustion that had settled in before they even made it to the front door of their apartment. Just getting in and out of the car, even with Justin’s help, had taken every ounce of his energy. Normally, he would have hated showing this level of weakness to anybody he did business with, his car service included, but he was too tired to give a shit. He just wanted to go home.

After all of that struggle, bed rest sounded pretty damn good. Assuming he could gather up the energy to get in bed at all.

“Brian?” He felt Justin’s hand on his shoulder and heard Justin’s voice and opened his eyes. Christ, had he nodded off on the elevator? He really had fucked himself up this time. He wasn’t sure he could remember the last time he’d been this physically drained -- probably back when he’d been dealing with the side effects of radiation treatments. Although this was certainly giving that a run for its money.

If he needed any confirmation that he’d just put his body through the wringer, this was it.

Now he had to find the strength to push himself out of the elevator and into the apartment. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure he had it. Justin seemed to pick up on his internal struggle and helped him. Brian normally hated being pushed by other people, because it made him feel off balance -- something about not being in control made it harder to compensate for bumps and turns and sudden movements. But Justin was only assisting -- he wasn’t doing it all -- and he knew not to suggest to Brian that he just relax and let him do it.

The apartment smelled vaguely of garlic, signifying that someone had been here cooking something or had brought food in -- probably Rob or Adam, or both of them.

Justin picked a note up off the counter and read it while Brian fought to keep his eyes open.

“Rob made you his mom’s famous vegetable soup,” Justin said. That answered the question that Brian was too tired to ask. “That was nice of him.”

“I’m not really hungry right now,” Brian said, even surprised himself by how weary his voice sounded. He definitely wasn’t hungry. If anything, he felt a little nauseous, and he was ready to take some of his pain medication and pass out for a few hours.

“Oh, right, let’s get you into bed.”

Justin had to help him even more this time than he had the night that this whole ordeal had started, because he wasn’t just shaky this time. This time, he felt like he had no strength at all. The transfer board was a lifesaver, even if it was something he hated to have to fall back on again. It was a wonder he even still had it, he hadn’t used it in so long.

It was temporary, he reminded himself. He’d be back to normal soon. And he never intended to repeat this chain of events ever again if he could help it.

This was certainly a wake up call. He had to take better care of himself. He had to start keeping better track of things again. He had to stop using his work as an escape.

He had to talk to Justin, too. But when? And could he do it? He didn’t know, but he had to try.

Justin brought him a glass of water and asked if there was anything else he needed, but aside from a time machine so Brian could somehow make all of this not happen, there was nothing. It was nice to be back in his own bed, though.

Brian nodded off so quickly that when he awoke, he realized he didn’t even remember Justin leaving the room. Justin brought him everything he needed and made it so that he hardly had to lift a finger, which for right now, was nice, but he knew it would probably get tiresome quickly as he started feeling more like himself again. God, he hoped that would be soon.

The rest of the night went pretty quickly. Brian ate some of the soup and a sandwich that wasn’t at all the way he would have made it if he’d done it himself, but he ate it anyway. He hadn’t eaten much the last few days, so it would probably be fine. He drank what felt like a gallon of water and probably was somewhere close to that, and increased input meant increased output -- to a level that was irritating and inconvenient when all he wanted to do was sleep. But it had to be done, and he’d have to deal with it. Justin was attentive to that as well, making sure he had enough water and all of the supplies he needed. But mostly, Brian just slept.

It was late when Justin finally joined him in the bed, but the slight dip and bounce of the mattress as Justin climbed in was enough to rouse Brian from sleep.

“Sorry,” Justin said softly. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” Brian reached over and took hold of Justin’s hand. He’d missed this over the last few days that he’d spent sleeping alone.

“I was drawing, and I lost track of time.”

That hadn’t happened in a long time either. Brian was thankful for it. One more piece of the “old” Justin was back -- hopefully for good.

“Oh, Ted called,” Justin said, as he snuggled in closer to Brian. “He wanted to check on you, and told me to tell you that everything is fine at the office and not to worry, even though he knows you’ll probably worry anyway.”

Brian let out a small chuckle. Ted did know him really well. It was funny how, over the years, the man he would have thought he’d be least likely to form a friendship with had become a really good friend. And an excellent right-hand man in business as well.

“He said you got the account,” Justin said. “Mr. Cortez’s assistant called yesterday and gave the green light. They faxed the updated contracts today.”

“Good,” Brian said. “At least this was all worth it.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

Justin rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow so that he was looking at Brian’s face. “What did you say?”

“I said, at least this was all worth it.” Brian wasn’t being 100% serious, but he knew there was still a shred of truth in what he’d said. He’d made a significant sacrifice to get everything right for that presentation -- more than he’d bargained for, in the end.

“Brian, no it wasn’t,” Justin said. His bright blue eyes were pleading in the dim light from the single lamp on his side of the bed. “How could you say that?”

Brian shrugged and said nothing. He really didn’t know how to answer that question.

“You really scared me,” Justin said. “I thought I was going to lose you, and it would be all my fault.”

“What? How would it be your fault? I did this to myself, and I know that. I take full ownership of it.”

“You can’t keep working like that,” Justin said, running his left hand over Brian’s chest. It would have been arousing if he didn’t still sort of feel like shit.

“I know.” And he did know. He’d already spent a lot of time thinking about it during his time in the hospital. It was one account. If they lost it, so what? Kinnetik wasn’t going to fold over one account. He couldn’t sacrifice his health for one account. He knew that now. All too well.

“If you know, then why did you do it?”

There was a new million dollar question. And Brian knew the answer, but he wasn’t ready to share it with Justin. Not yet.

“I’ll do better, Sunshine,” he said, stopping the motion of Justin’s hand by laying his own over top of the younger man’s. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Good, because I don’t want to ever have to go through anything like that again.”

“Me either.” Brian pushed himself up a little so he could kiss Justin on the lips. “Now, let’s go to sleep. I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

They settled into their normal sleeping positions -- limbs tangled, bodies touching. Brian lay there for a while in the dark, feeling Justin’s breathing even out and gradually become deeper as he fell into sleep, before allowing himself to do the same.

Every day, Brian felt just a little bit better than the day before. And every day, Justin seemed to become just a little bit more confident. He was drawing more, and seeming more like his old self. Bed rest -- which had morphed into bed and couch rest as his stamina slowly returned -- was getting annoying to say the least. Brian was itching to do some work, but Cynthia put him in his place with a single phone call after he sent her an email about the Eyeconics account.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” was the first thing she said when he answered the phone.

“Hello to you too,” Brian said, smiling to himself. Cynthia’s no-nonsense attitude was exactly the reason he’d handpicked her to be his assistant when he’d first acquired a need for an assistant during his days at Ryder. And it was the reason that she made a fantastic partner in the company now.

“You’re supposed to be resting. That means not working, in case you needed a translation.”

“I’m going fucking crazy.”

“Well, then you’re going to have to go even crazier, because you’re sure as fuck not working, and if I have to have Justin take your laptop and your phone away to make that happen, I’ll do it. You worry too much. We have it handled. I even averted a crisis in the art department the other day.”

“There’s always a goddamn crisis in the art department. What happened this time?”

“Well, you know, Nate--”

“Christ, he’s fucking useless.”

“Are you going to let me tell you, or not?”

“Sorry, continue.”

“Anyway, Nate was out with the flu.”

“Probably better that way.”

“Brian. As I was saying, Nate was out with the flu, and we were on a tight deadline, and everybody was just passing the buck on the artwork he had half completed before he went home. Nobody wanted to touch it.”

“It probably sucked anyhow. I have to poke him and prod him to get anything I like out of him. I’m not sure why he’s still a lead artist.”

“Because the clients like him, and they like his work.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot.”

“So I go down there, and I see one of the interns, Christina, working on it, by herself. And Brian, it was fantastic. You would’ve loved it. She’s great. I asked her to do a couple more things, same result. She’s quick, she has a great eye, she gets her job done without me having to hold her hand. And the client loved it. No missed deadline, and I’m pretty sure that Nate better watch his back because Christina is after his job. But my point is, we got it done. You know we love you, but we can survive without you. Business goes on. You’re allowed to take some time off when you need it. How long has it been since you took a vacation anyway?”

“Taking a vacation is the last thing I’m thinking about right now. I’d just like to leave the apartment at this point. So when are you going to let me come back to work, since I’m apparently no longer the boss? I have a meeting scheduled for later this week.”

“No, you don’t. I’m flying out there for it. And the one the following day.”

“And you were going to tell me this when, exactly?”

“I didn’t think I had to. I figured you’d be doing what you’re supposed to be doing and taking care of yourself, while we took care of the business. I moved those meetings from your calendar to mine last Tuesday. You should have seen that, at least.”

“So you just thought you’d poach my accounts?” Brian said teasingly.

“I’m not poaching your accounts, Brian.” Brian could practically hear her rolling her eyes, even from 400 miles away. “We’re a team. We’re not competitors. And you have too many accounts in New York now to handle them all on your own.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it an easy thing to admit. He was too used to having a finger in every pot when it came to Kinnetik. It was just what he did. But he also knew that his staff was perfectly capable of running his business smoothly even when he wasn’t there -- they’d proved that ten years ago, and they’d proved it again back in December and January. And Cynthia had proved it again just now.

“Besides, I’m sick of Pittsburgh,” Cynthia said. “I think I’ve exhausted my dating pool of eligible bachelors here in the Pitts. Maybe I’ll have better luck in New York.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that there might be a common denominator here, and it isn’t Pittsburgh?” Brian stuck in his tongue in his cheek and waited for the response he knew was coming.

“Brian!” He knew she would have smacked his arm if they weren’t separated by an entire state. “Anyhow, the point is that it might be time that we opened a branch in New York. Just something small -- a couple of graphic artists, a copywriter, you, me. Some food for thought.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“As opposed to continuing to do almost everything yourself?”

“I’m also thinking your reason for wanting to move to New York has less to do with helping me and more to do with shopping on Fifth Avenue,” Brian teased.

“That’s not a bad perk, no,” Cynthia laughed. “But think about it. We can talk more next week.”

It was a lot to think about, indeed. And it would be a lot of work to set up. But in the end, it could be worth it. It would certainly allow him to delegate more tasks when it came to his New York accounts, because there wouldn’t be the time delay or the physical limitations of sending everything back and forth electronically to Pittsburgh. That was inconvenient, and sometimes it put them in a tough spot, like it had a couple of weeks before.

Maybe he did worry too much.

Maybe it was time to change some things.

Right now, though, the thought of setting up a satellite office felt a little overwhelming. They were set to close on the house in Pittsburgh in less than a week, and he still needed to get contractors lined up to start on the work that would need to be done so he could even get into the house, rather than only viewing it through video calls and pictures like he had so far. He needed to call Ted and have him get started on looking for a construction company that could handle this project and meet his demands without cutting corners, and without argument. Hopefully he could at least make that phone call without Cynthia having his balls.

Brian sighed and leaned forward to set his laptop down on the coffee table. He was worrying again. He leaned back into the pillows and reached behind him to adjust the heating pad that had been bringing with it more relief for his aching back than he’d thought it would. He pulled it upward and checked to be sure it was staying exactly where he needed it to be, remembering the lecture he’d received from nurse Nancy when she’d recommended using it for pain relief: “I don’t want you using it anywhere that you don’t have full sensation -- we don’t want to see you back here in a few days with second degree burns.” He certainly didn’t want that either. He’d seen enough of the inside of hospitals to last a lifetime now.

Brian was stretched out on the chaise lounge at the end of the sofa, alone in the living room while Justin was in the shower. He was supposed to have had an appointment with Rochelle today, but he’d already called to cancel it. He was feeling quite a bit better, but knew that would likely be very short-lived if he tried to do too much, and venturing out right now would probably be too much. He was going stir crazy though -- so much so that he’d rather spend an hour reliving painful memories than spend that hour sitting or lying around, trying to fend off boredom. But, he was stuck at home, so boredom it would be.

He’d at least convinced Justin to go to his own therapy appointment, which had already been rescheduled once because of the crisis Brian had caused for both of them. It had taken a lot of convincing, and Brian could tell he’d created a lot of anxiety in Justin over whether or not he was going to be okay. He knew that was his own fault, and he’d have to live with the consequences of his actions. But he hated that he’d done it at all.

When Justin finally emerged from the shower, he was a lot calmer than Brian expected him to be. He’d been a little bit keyed up over the idea of leaving Brian alone when he’d gone to get in the shower, so Brian was glad to see that he’d let go of some of the worrying. Brian wasn’t sure what to do to assure Justin that he’d be fine; that he really was feeling a lot better.

Justin left less than an hour later, with minimal fussing over Brian, which surprised him. He’d just turned on the television when he heard a knock on the door.

His transfer to his wheelchair still wasn’t back to being as fast as usual, so it took him a moment to get to the door. Whoever was on the other side was apparently patient, though, because they didn’t knock again. When Brian opened the door, he saw why -- it was Rob.

“Ah, now I know why Justin was so calm before he left,” Brian said. “He’s still booking babysitters for me, only this time he had the good sense not to tell me, and to try to make it look like a coincidence.” Brian backed up so Rob could come in.

“Nah, we both know you don’t need a babysitter, but I did figure you could use some lunch.” He set the brown paper bag that had been in his lap on the table and started unloading containers. “I brought your usual.”

“You can’t tell me you two didn’t plan this out.” Brian went into the kitchen to grab some silverware and a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator.

“He texted me a little while ago. I was planning on stopping by later anyway -- I just decided to come over at lunch instead, since I had a couple of hours free. It made Justin feel better. I figured even you would be in support of that. And I haven’t seen you since last week. You look better.”

“I feel better. God, that was awful.”

“I know. I’ve been there. It wasn’t quite the same thing, but the experience was pretty similar. Hopefully you got as lucky as I did and managed to escape without permanent damage.”

Brian wouldn’t know that for a few weeks yet, but he hoped Rob was right and he’d dodged that bullet. He had no intention of putting himself in the position to have to dodge it ever again. He’d been scared straight this time, through one of the most miserable experiences of his life.

“I fucking hate this shit,” Brian said, as he poured dressing over his salad. “Having to depend on other people for things.”

“I get that. Been there too. Spent two months in bed in my 20s with a pressure sore, having my mother wait on me hand and foot because I wasn’t allowed to sit at all. It sucked.”

“I especially don’t want to have to depend on Justin. I want him to be able to live his own life, and not have to spend it taking care of me. He didn’t sign up for that.” Brian liked being independent, and he never wanted to lose that. This little taste of losing quite a bit of it had been sobering, to say the least.

“No, but he’d do it. Just like you’d do it for him. That’s what partners do. ‘In sickness and in health,’ remember? But let’s hope that he won’t have to, because you’re doing everything that’s in your power to keep yourself healthy. Speaking of Justin, have you talked to him yet?”

“About what?”

“You know what.”

He did know. He'd only been stalling.

“I’ve worried him enough,” Brian said. “He texted you because he’s anxious. I caused that and I'm not sure how to fix it, other than with time. The last thing I want to do is make him even more anxious about anything to do with me.”

“That’s not what this is about, and you know it. You have to talk to him. Let him in. Let him help you, so you don’t feel like you’re barely hanging on.”

Christ, this again? Brian wasn’t sure he had the patience or the emotional reserve to deal with this line of questioning today.

“And how the hell do you suggest I bring it up?” Brian said derisively. He was putting his defenses up. “‘Hey, let’s talk about the day some homophobic asshole took a bat to your head?’”

“Probably not like that, no. You also know your powers of sarcasm don’t work on me, so don’t try. You told me last week that you know you need to talk to him. Do it. Give him an opportunity to support you in this. You owe it to him to be honest with him. If you try to keep handling everything by yourself, you’ll be right back where you started before much longer, maybe with worse results.”

“Christ, I’ve got people telling me that from all sides about every fucking thing now.”

“Maybe you should listen to us, then. We might be onto something. At the very least, we all care about you and don’t want to see you wreck yourself again. This could have been a lot worse. You know it and I know it. So let’s keep that from happening. The surest way to unhappiness is to keep living in the past or fearing the future, instead of keeping yourself in the present, which is really the only moment you can do anything about. Don’t do that to yourself.”

“Can we talk about something else? I don’t really need any more yoga wisdom today.” Brian was getting tired -- physically and emotionally. For once, he didn’t mind sounding weary.

But Rob was undeterred.

“You can’t run from this forever, Brian. I know you don’t like to talk about things like this, but sometimes you have to. Or else it’s just going to keep eating at you. This has been eating at you for over a decade. And it’s going to eat you alive if you don’t deal with it. It almost has already.”

Brian knew Rob was right. But Rob also didn’t truly know. He didn’t know what it was like to hold your lover’s lifeless body in your arms with his skull smashed in and more blood than you’d ever seen in your life pooling on the concrete around him -- around both of you. To struggle to dial 9-1-1 because your hands are shaking so hard. To wish like hell that they would just get there, before he fucking dies in your arms. To taste his blood on your lips when you kiss him because you're afraid you might not get another chance.

What it was like to close your eyes and see that blood all over again, even fifteen years later. What it was like to sit in a cold hospital hallway, waiting to find out if he was going to live or die. What it was like to feel like it was all your fault -- that even though he lived, a part of his young life had been stolen, and the blood was on your hands, in more ways than one.

It almost has already.

Rob didn’t understand why it was painful to talk about. To think about. To know that those memories were yours and no one else’s and you could never truly get rid of them.

It almost has already.

Just thinking about it again was making Brian feel sick. All of the emotions he didn’t want to feel -- the ones he’d been pushing down for more than a decade -- were rising up in him, fighting for space with the exhaustion that was already starting to creep up again. He needed to end this conversation, before being tired and upset led him to do something he didn’t want to do or say something he didn’t want to say. He needed to get out of this room before he suffocated.

It almost has already.

“I think I’m going to lie down,” Brian said, trying hard to keep the emotion out of his words. To keep control. He really wasn’t upset at Rob. He was mad at himself. Mad at how weak it made him feel to know that he still couldn’t deal with his feelings and his memories of prom night, even after all these years. Mad that he couldn’t bring himself to just do this one simple thing and talk to his husband. Why did it feel so overwhelming?

It shouldn’t. It was Justin.

Justin, who loved him always, no matter what.

Who loved him even when he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“I’ve been up for too long,” Brian said. He kept his voice flat. Disengaged. “Thanks for lunch.”

He could see Rob out of the corner of his eye, looking at him, trying to read him, as he backed up from the table and left the room without saying another word, still fighting to keep his emotions in check.

Brian closed the bedroom door and sat there for a moment, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, regaining his composure. Several seconds later, he heard Rob’s voice from outside.

“Brian, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” It was a lie, but it was what he needed to say. It was also what he needed to be true. “I think I just overdid it. I’m going to take a nap.”

“Okay.”

Brian could tell from Rob’s tone that he didn’t quite believe him, but he wasn’t going to challenge him either. Good. It was better that way.

“I’m going to clean up a bit, then I’ll head out,” Rob said. His voice was muffled by the door. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

Christ, he was tired of feeling like an invalid. Like no one trusted him to be able to do anything for himself.

As if to prove a point, Brian practically flung his body from his wheelchair to the bed, using the last of his quickly waning energy. Much more slowly, he pulled his legs up, one by one, then leaned back into the pillows, took a deep breath, and let it out gradually.

If only it were that easy to let go of everything Rob was imploring him to let go of.

How could he even begin to think about talking to Justin about any of this, when he couldn’t bear to talk about it with Rob? Couldn’t even stand to have the thoughts in his head?

It almost has already.

Why, after all these years, did this one event still have so much power over him? Why did he feel powerless to stop its pull?

It almost has already.

Why was it eating him alive?

He had to stop it. He had to stop these thoughts.

What he craved was darkness. Nothingness. The peace of a dreamless sleep.

So he closed his eyes, and let himself fall in.

Release by TrueIllusion

“You kissed me? In front of everybody?”

“Yeah. You should’ve been there.”

*****

Justin was nervous about leaving Brian home alone. He knew he’d have to get over that eventually, because Brian was an adult and so was he, and they’d have to eventually get back to their regular lives. But right now, the anxiety he felt at the prospect was overwhelming. Right now, he felt responsible for taking care of Brian, even though he knew that if he ever said that out loud, Brian would do everything in his power to prove that he wasn’t.

He still felt guilty about what had happened to Brian. What would have happened if he’d spoken up earlier, when he’d first had the inkling that he might be able to help Brian with the artwork he needed? If he’d saved Brian a couple of days of stress, would that have made a difference? Could he have prevented this if he’d gotten over his fears and insecurities just a little bit earlier?

The anxiety attack he’d had at the hospital had left him feeling on-edge ever since. Like he’d never completely gotten over it. It had never gone totally away. There was still an undercurrent of anxiousness buzzing in his body, and his brain was continuing to tell him things he knew were unreasonable and just plain not true, but that were still hard as hell to let go of.

Like the idea that he shouldn’t leave Brian home alone.

In the end, the only way to make himself feel like he’d be able to leave the house and make it to his therapy appointment without having a panic attack -- how ironic would that be, on his way to therapy -- was to ask Rob if he could come over. He’d still have to leave Brian alone for a few minutes, because he would need to leave before Rob could be there, but that seemed more manageable than the thought of leaving Brian alone for two hours.

And Brian might be pissed, so it was probably better if Justin was gone when Rob arrived.

He felt like he couldn’t tell Brian how he was feeling either, because Brian was still dealing with his own shit, trying to get back to normal after a major health scare. So he was trying to keep it to himself, but wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hide it. Brian had been there in the early days after the bashing. He’d seen an anxious Justin before. Still, if Justin didn’t say anything, and he tried his best to act like nothing was bothering him, he could at least pretend Brian didn’t know. That it was his little secret.

He knew he needed to go see John today, which was why he hadn’t tried to reschedule his appointment again. He needed to talk some of this out with someone who was completely unattached from what had happened. He needed someone with a balanced, neutral perspective. Someone who could tell him when he was being unreasonable, or when his brain was telling him lies.

It seemed like it was telling him a lot of lies this time around. Even more than after prom. Just getting back to feeling like himself this time had been a struggle -- not only physically, but also mentally. His neurologist had told him that brain injury often affects your brain’s ability to process serotonin, so depression and anxiety were common long-term effects. And it might not ever go away. It might not just be related to the deep sense of loss he’d experienced due to losing most of the use of his right hand -- it might just be his brain’s new chemistry.

He knew there was no shame in that -- and no shame in doing what needed to be done to treat it -- but hearing that hadn’t exactly helped him feel upbeat and hopeful for the future. Slowly, though, he was starting to feel more normal. Maybe not the old normal, but still, some semblance of normal.

Justin glanced at his watch as the subway train’s doors slid shut at yet another stop -- the third of eight stops it would be making before he disembarked and went back above ground to make the trek to John’s office. Rob was probably at the apartment by now, and had likely been there before Justin got to the subway station. Brian hadn’t sent him any snide text messages or called him to chew his ass for not trusting him to be by himself, so Rob must have made up a believable story for why he was there. Good.

He idly traced patterns across his thigh with the index finger of his left hand -- almost like he was sketching, just without pencil and paper. He remembered doing that as a kid, when he wanted to draw but couldn’t because he didn’t have the supplies, or because he was somewhere it would have been frowned upon -- like one of his father’s stodgy country-club dinners or in the middle of some boring science class at school. It had been good practice back then. And he was using it the same way now. It was something he could do anywhere to increase the coordination and dexterity of his left hand.

He’d been surprised thus far at how quickly his comfort level at working with his left hand had gone up. It seemed like once he’d made up his mind that was what he was going to do, his body had just gone along with it. All of the struggle he’d had back in rehab with the few drawings he’d made in the middle of the night on the computer Brian had borrowed for his room seemed to have completely vanished now. He knew he still wasn’t back to where he’d been before, but he was pleased with his progress.

He was eager to try some more painting, but most of his painting supplies were at his studio -- including the most important part, the paint -- and he’d been spending all of his time in the apartment with Brian. He hadn’t even left to buy groceries -- he’d ordered everything on an app and had it delivered. Modern technology was a wonderful thing sometimes. Justin was hoping to have a few minutes today after his appointment to stop by his studio and pick up a few things to bring home. Assuming his anxiety would let him stay away from Brian for that long.

Justin hated feeling this way, because it made him feel like a prisoner. A prisoner to his own irrational thoughts. It was the same thing that had made him petrified to walk down the street in the weeks and months after the bashing, because his brain was continually conjuring up images of people on the sidewalk suddenly turning on him, trying to kill him because he was gay. Now, it was conjuring up images of Brian, ill or hurt, unable to get help, all alone in the apartment.

Justin hated thinking of Brian that way, too. Because it simply wasn’t the Brian he knew. Brian wasn’t helpless. Brian was one of the strongest people he knew. Brian had lived through a serious trauma ten years ago and come through it as strong as ever, probably even stronger. He’d kept living his life. He refused to let people tell him “no.” And god help the person who ever told Brian he couldn’t do something, because that only meant that he was about to prove he could.

The events of the last week had been a temporary blip on the radar -- that’s all. Justin’s rational brain knew this. But his irrational brain kept taking it and building on it and using it to come up with catastrophic scenarios, all of which ultimately involved Justin losing Brian for good.

He kept hearing the doctor’s words echoing in his head, from that first day at the hospital -- you’re lucky you came in when you did. After hearing that, he’d made the mistake of looking up sepsis on his phone while Rob and Adam were gone to the apartment to pick up the things he and Brian needed. He’d known it was serious, but the things he read only served to ratchet up his anxiety. He wished he’d never done that. But he had, and he couldn’t undo it. Nor could he banish the thoughts from his head of all of the things that could have happened to Brian if they’d arrived just a little bit too late.

He wanted to focus on how lucky they were, but his brain kept pulling him back to the what-ifs instead.

What if things had been worse? What if they hadn’t been able to get Brian diagnosed and start treatment quickly?

What if he’d ended up losing Brian, forever?

What would he have done if that happened? How would he go on? Could he even go on at all?

Justin shook his head to try to rid it of those thoughts, but it didn’t really work. Not completely. He knew they’d stay, right there in the back of his mind, ready to pop up at the most inopportune times.

Justin had spent every night since they got home from the hospital with his body touching Brian’s -- holding onto him in some way. Whether that was holding his hand or laying his arm over Brian’s back or having his legs entangled with Brian’s. He just needed to know that Brian was right there with him, at all times.

Finally, the eighth stop arrived and Justin got up from his seat and stepped off the train, walking through the crush of people to the staircase that would take him to the street level. As he emerged onto the sidewalk, he took his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it. Still no messages or calls from Brian. He fought the impulse to send off a message or a call of his own, stuffing the phone back in his pocket before his fingers did that of their own accord.

The three-block walk from the subway station to the building where John’s office was felt like it took much longer than usual. Idly, he wondered if he’d have to go back on some of the medications he’d been taking back in those weeks and months after the bashing -- the ones that had helped him function at least somewhat normally, even if they made him feel kind of numb. It was as if in taking away his anxiety, they also took away his ability to feel much of anything at all. He hadn’t felt this way in such a long time. He didn’t like it then, and he didn’t like it now. Why had it all come crashing back down on him?

He was grateful that he’d called Rob. If he hadn’t, Justin didn't know what state he would have ended up in. Rob probably had no idea how helpful he’d truly been. He’d arrived at exactly the right time, right when Justin was on the edge of losing his grip on reality. Justin had tried so hard to stay calm, but in the end, he’d been overwhelmed by his thoughts and feelings and had no choice but to yield to them. He’d needed someone else with him who was calm, who could remind him what was rational and what wasn’t. What was true and what wasn’t.

On some level, he’d known what had happened to Brian wasn’t really his fault, even before Rob told him that. But it was his irrational brain, telling him lies, that was keeping the guilt turned up. Telling him that it was his fault. If he’d only done a little bit more, been a little more perceptive, asked more questions, he could have kept Brian from having to suffer. And it was still doing that -- running through the various scenarios of how Justin could have changed things. Should have changed things.

Justin had been hoping that those feelings would go away once Brian was out of the woods. Or maybe once they got home from the hospital. But they hadn’t. Instead, he’d been fighting with his anxiety for days, trying to keep it hidden as best he could, with no real end in sight.

He wondered what John would say about the state he’d gotten himself worked into. He supposed he was about to find out.

Justin took a deep breath as he pulled the door open and stepped into the lobby. He tried to look as put-together as he possibly could as he walked to the elevator. He didn’t particularly want to fall apart today, but that was probably what was about to happen. And falling apart here might keep him from falling apart somewhere else, so maybe it was a good thing.

He kept focusing on the feeling of his breath moving in and out of his body as he pressed the “up” button and waited for the elevator to return to the ground floor. He was the only person going upstairs, so he got several seconds of solace on his way up, where no one was watching him. Judging him. That helped.

When he got upstairs, he pulled open the door to the office space that John shared with three other therapists and checked in with the receptionist, who motioned for him to head on back. Apparently he wasn’t going to get a few minutes in the waiting room to try to collect himself. Although he wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to try to do that -- surely John had seen everything. Hell, John had seen a lot just from him. But it had mostly been depression and frustration and anger -- not this overwhelming, take-over-your-life anxiety.

He knew these thoughts weren’t rational. That they didn’t make any sense. But that wasn’t enough to stop them from happening.

They didn’t get more than a minute into his session before everything he’d been keeping bottled up came spilling out. He had a fleeting thought that it was probably going to take more than an hour to even begin to unpack all of this shit. Justin did most of the talking for a long time, doing better than he thought he would not to cry, while John listened attentively -- nodding and looking Justin right in the eye, when Justin could bring himself to look at him. He wasn’t even writing anything down. He was just listening. Justin couldn’t read his face. He’d noticed that was kind of hard lately, and he wasn’t sure yet if that could just be yet another “gift” brain injury had given him. Probably. Seemed it was the gift that kept on giving, whether you wanted it to or not.

“It sounds like you’ve both had a traumatic past week,” John said, when Justin finally reached the end of his almost breathless recounting of everything that had happened and how he felt about it.

“Mostly Brian,” Justin said.

“No, both of you. Just because you weren’t the one who was ill, that doesn’t make your experience any less valid. Nor does it invalidate what you’re feeling. What are you feeling right now?”

“Stupid.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t leave my husband home alone without freaking the fuck out. Because I’m so scared that I’m going to lose him. Like my whole fucking existence is wrapped up in his or something. If I lose him, I’ll lose myself.”

“But he’s recovering now, right?”

“Yes. And I know it’s stupid to keep fearing that I’m going to lose him, when I’ve got all of the evidence right in front of me that tells me he’s getting better, but I can’t stop it.”

“Let’s go back to you feeling like you can’t leave him alone. What are you afraid is going to happen if you do?”

Justin recounted his list of all of the horrible things that could possibly befall Brian while he was home alone, while John listened and nodded some more.

“What’s the likelihood that those things will actually happen?” John asked. “Do you have past evidence to prove that they might?”

“No, I don’t, and I know it’s not likely, but my stupid anxiety brain refuses to listen to the rest of my brain.”

“Maybe you need to prove it to yourself, then. Leave and come back and see for yourself that he’s okay. That nothing happened. Is he home alone now?”

“No.” Justin looked down. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as they flushed with embarrassment. “I called a friend and asked him to come over, and I didn’t tell Brian that I did it or why.”

“Did you tell the friend why?”

“No, but I think he knew.”

“Do you think you’d be able to leave him alone for a few minutes at a time? Just to test out how it feels?”

Justin picked at his jeans with his left hand, still looking down. “Honestly?”

“I always want you to be honest with me. I hope you feel comfortable enough to do that.”

“I don’t know.” Justin hated that he’d just said that. How big of a basket case was he that he couldn’t even commit to leaving Brian alone in the apartment for a few minutes?

“Alright, I know you like coffee. Is there a coffee shop nearby where you live?”

Justin nodded. Of course there was. There was probably a coffee shop on every block in most of Manhattan.

“Okay, how about this as your homework for this week? Go down to the coffee shop three times, on three separate days, by yourself. Do it when Brian will be alone while you’re gone. Get yourself something you really enjoy. Bring it back. Or, if you’re feeling confident, enjoy it there. Either way, the purpose is to prove to yourself -- to your ‘anxiety brain,’ as you called it -- that Brian will be fine. Nothing will happen to him.”

“But what if something does?”

“How likely is that to happen?”

“I know, I know.” God, did he know. But he still couldn’t stop himself. “But what if it does?”

“You tell me.”

Justin was quiet for a moment, just thinking. A little embarrassed that he couldn’t even accept that simple assignment without a fight. “Then, I guess…” he started, then stopped, taking a breath. “I guess it won’t have been too long, and even if something happened, I’ll still be there in time to help.”

“Exactly. But remember, that’s still a cognitive distortion -- catastrophizing. We’ve talked about those before. Keeping things in check by remembering the odds can help with that, even if your mind doesn’t completely believe it. It’s still better than letting it take hold completely. Identify what’s going on, what you feel...validate that it’s okay to feel that way. But also tell yourself that it doesn’t mean you have to keep going down that path. You’re already aware of what’s happening and that it’s not rational, and that’s a huge victory right there. I’m confident that you can do this too. And that Brian will be fine.”

Justin knew this was exactly what the therapist he’d worked with all of those years ago, after the bashing, had told him to do. It was why he’d walked down Liberty Avenue with Brian so many times, clinging to his arm at first like he was holding on for dear life, then finally walking down the street, all by himself, to Brian waiting with open arms. It was the same thing. Testing it out, little by little, to prove to himself that he could do it. That the horrible things his mind was dreaming up weren’t going to happen.

“You mentioned earlier that you felt guilty, or like this was all your fault,” John said, interrupting Justin’s thoughts. “Why is that?”

Justin gave John the whole story there, too. Everything he would have, could have, should have done that might have made things go differently.

“Do you really know, though, whether or not those things would have made a difference?” John asked. He was still looking Justin squarely in the eye, even though Justin was finding it uncomfortable to do the same and kept having to look away. Justin wasn’t sure why he felt so embarrassed about this. Why this one particular feeling was making him feel so ashamed.

“I guess not.”

“You're right. There’s no way to know that. It’s understandable to want to have done things differently, to have saved your loved one some pain. But when you let that guilt take over, you aren’t doing either of you much good. There are a lot of what-ifs in this scenario. And there’s no way to know the truthfulness of any of them, because they aren’t what happened. By the same token, feeling guilty about not putting any of those what-ifs into action, doesn’t change anything either. It’s just another one of those cognitive distortions. What do you think Brian would say if you told him that you felt like what happened to him is your fault?”

“I already mentioned it to him. And he told me that it wasn’t. Actually, I think he was a little bit confused that I even thought it was my fault.”

“Did you talk about it any more? Or was that as far as it went?”

“That was it. I kind of changed the subject.”

“Maybe you need to talk about it again, and this time, resist the impulse to change the subject. I’m sure you both have a lot of feelings about what happened, and they’re all valid. Talking about them with each other can really help.”

Justin sighed. He knew John was right. He also had already kind of known that these were the types of things John was going to tell him. They were the same kinds of things he’d been trying to tell himself for a few days already. But there was just something different about hearing it from someone else. Someone you trusted. Someone who had already helped you quite a bit.

He left with his two homework assignments -- talk to Brian about the guilt he was feeling, and leave the house three times to get coffee at the shop on the ground floor of the building next door to theirs. It sounded simple, but it wasn’t. He knew that. He knew it would be challenging. But that was the point.

As Justin made his way back to the subway station, he had a decision to make -- take the train that would lead him to his studio, or the one that would take him back to the stop closest to their apartment building. On a whim, he made the right turn toward the platform for the train that would take him to his studio. He wondered if he should have called Brian while he was still outside, just to be sure he was okay.

No, Justin told himself. This is part of what you’re supposed to be working on this week. It’ll be good practice. Rob’s probably still there, and Brian is fine.

Justin’s studio was in a modern-looking building on the edge of Greenwich Village. There were nine stops to get there from John’s office. The train wasn’t busy, as it was an awkward hour in the middle of the afternoon when it wasn’t lunch time, but school wasn’t out yet, and people were mostly still at work. Still, the stops seemed to crawl by as Justin fought the urge to pull out his phone and see if he had enough signal to text Brian.

Finally, the train arrived at his stop, and he at least had the distraction of making the trek up to the street level and down the few blocks to the building that housed his studio. He shifted his mostly-empty messenger bag on his shoulder, letting his mind wander to thoughts of what supplies he wanted to bring home. Not too much, because he didn’t want Brian to freak out on him, thinking he was never going back to his studio again. He was, just not right now. Not while Brian needed him.

Justin was fully aware that, even at this point, that thought was ridiculous. Brian was able to get up and move around now, didn’t need any more help with transfers, and seemed to be feeling a lot better. It probably wouldn’t be long before he was back to work. Brian didn’t need Justin now the way he had several days ago. Yet, here Justin was, still paranoid to leave Brian alone -- just in case Brian did need him. He didn’t want to think about Brian needing him, and him not being there.

As he rode the elevator up to the floor where his studio was, Justin could feel his anxiety rising. He tried to focus on taking deep breaths and pushing the paranoid thoughts out of his head. He could do this. He was already here, might as well take a few minutes to get some paints and brushes and a couple of canvases. Then, he could go home to Brian and stay there.

Justin had already set aside the brushes and the canvases and was picking through his vast collection of paint, trying to choose a good variety of colors since at this point he didn’t know what he wanted to work on, when he heard his phone emit the sound that indicated he had a new text message. He hoped it wasn’t a text from Brian, angry with him for setting him up and sending Rob over without him knowing about it. He didn’t think he’d be able to deal with Brian being mad at him right now.

Instead, it was a text from Rob.

Brian wasn’t feeling well, so he decided to lie down and take a nap. He was asleep when I left. I brought you that club sandwich you like so much. It’s in the fridge. Hope your appointment went well.

Immediately, Justin’s anxiety brain took off down the rabbit hole of negative thoughts, entertaining several of the possibilities he’d listed off for John earlier. Why wasn’t Brian feeling well? What could possibly be wrong? Had something happened after he left?

No, Justin told himself. Rob’s message didn’t seem worried or panicked. It was just a heads up. That’s all it was. Nothing more. If it was something urgent, he would have called. And he wouldn’t have been talking about lunch or therapy appointments.

Still, Justin wanted to get home and get to Brian as quickly as possible, even if only to prove to himself that his worries were unfounded and Brian was fine. So Justin hurriedly stuffed several tubes of paint into his bag along with his case of brushes, threw the messenger bag over his shoulder, and picked up the carrying case that he’d already loaded two blank canvases into. He hailed a taxi because he thought it would be faster than the subway, and gave the driver their home address.

He tried his best not to look agitated when he greeted the doorman, and also tried to be patient as he waited for one of the two elevators in their building to return to the ground floor to pick him up. Finally, it did, and he stepped inside before the doors were even fully open, punching the button for their floor, followed by the button that would cause the doors to close again.

He tried not to make too much noise digging his keys out and finding the right one to open the door to their apartment -- if Brian was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him up. As quietly as possible, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, setting his load of supplies down just inside the door. Carefully and softly, he walked back to their bedroom, turned the knob slowly, and pushed the door open.

Brian was asleep in their bed, on top of the covers, a stack of pillows behind him. He looked peaceful. He was fine.

See, Justin told himself. You were worried for nothing. He’s fine. He’s just tired, but that’ll be gone soon.

John was right -- Justin had absolutely no evidence to support the notion that something awful would happen to Brian if he was left home alone. But that didn’t make those thoughts any easier to let go of.

Softly, Justin closed the bedroom door again and went back into the living room to get the supplies he’d brought with him from his studio. He carried them back down the hallway and into the home office that they’d once both shared, that was now primarily Brian’s office. Justin still had an easel in there, though, behind his desk in the corner. He opened the case that he’d stowed the blank canvases in and set one of them on the easel, then dumped all of the paints out of his bag and onto the surface of his desk. He knew Brian would have a coronary if he left them in a haphazard pile, so he started straightening them out, putting them into some semblance of order, as he let his brain wander to what he thought he might want to create.

He’d separated out about half of the paints, grouping them by color family, when he thought he heard Brian’s voice coming from their bedroom. Maybe he’d woken up and he needed something. Justin hadn’t noticed anything amiss, and his wheelchair had been right there, practically up against the bed, so he wasn’t sure what it would be, but whatever it was, he’d take care of it. Maybe Brian did still need him.

When Justin pushed the door to the bedroom open again, Brian appeared to still be asleep, although not as peacefully as he had been only a few minutes before. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He was moving around -- tossing his head from side to side, picking up one hand and letting it fall back to the bed, over and over. Then, he spoke again.

“No… no…” It started off as a mumble. Brian’s voice low and pleading. “No… no…” Slowly, it got more urgent. More panicked. “No! Goddamn it!”

Justin stood frozen in the doorway. He’d thought this was getting better. He couldn’t remember now the last time Brian had a nightmare, but he was pretty sure it had been months ago. Why was it happening again now?

Brian punctuated his urgent plea by smacking his hand down on the mattress, hard. The next time he spoke, his voice was quiet again, although no less desperate.

“Please,” Brian said. “Don’t take him from me now. I know I don’t… I’m not…” He paused, his breathing unsteady and shaky. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as a tear fell from the corner of one of them. “I was going to tell him,” he said. “I was going to tell him.”

Justin’s feet felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as he hesitantly approached the bed, climbing in carefully alongside his husband, still not sure whether to touch Brian or not. The older man continued writhing and flailing next to him, whimpering and mumbling phrases Justin couldn’t understand.

Suddenly, Brian’s voice rose again. And with it, came clarity.

“Shut the fuck up, Hobbs! Why the fuck did you do this?” His voice sounded broken as he repeated, “Why? Why?”

Justin had already suspected what this dream was about, but now he knew for sure. He started trying to wake Brian up, first with a gentle touch that Brian jerked away from so hard that Justin was afraid he was going to fall off the bed, then with soothing words, repeating Brian’s name, over and over. That had worked in the past -- hopefully it would work now.

But Brian kept thrashing and mumbling and pleading. And Justin kept trying to wake him up -- saying his name, quietly at first, then louder. Eventually, he was able to add soft touches without Brian pulling away, although it still took Justin a few more minutes that felt like an eternity to get Brian fully out of the clutches of the nightmare.

Brian took a few more deep, trembling breaths, his eyes still closed. When he blinked them open, they were shining with tears. They were dark, and tinged with fear. He looked at Justin and blinked back the wetness. He looked as if some part of him might have still been back in his dream -- like he was struggling to believe that Justin was right there in front of him.

Then, Brian rolled over and reached his arm out, wrapping it around Justin and pulling him in tightly to his body. Holding onto him as if his very life depended on it. Like if he let go, Justin would simply fade away and be gone forever.

“What was it?” Justin whispered, trying to look at Brian’s face but not really able to because Brian was holding him so close.

Brian shook his head. “Just be here,” he whispered as he buried his face in the space between Justin’s neck and his shoulder. “Please, just be here.”

“Okay,” Justin said softly. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m still here.”

He could feel the dampness of Brian’s tears on his shoulder, and feel the hitches in his breath as they held each other.

If Justin wasn’t sure how much Brian had changed in the sixteen years he’d known him, the scene he found himself in now told him exactly how much. Brian trusted him enough to cry on his shoulder. To let him provide comfort, just as Brian had done for him so many times.

And if he wasn’t sure how much Brian loved him, the way his husband was clinging to him now told him exactly how vital his existence -- his presence -- was to Brian’s very existence.

Brian had always spoken louder with his actions than his words.

Justin had no idea that these dreams were still haunting Brian. He hadn’t witnessed any since the days just after they’d returned home from Pittsburgh. Brian had told him then that he’d been having them while they were in Pittsburgh, too, but he’d also said that he was talking to Rochelle about it, and they were working on it. Brian never talked to him about it after that, and he never brought up anything he discussed with Rochelle, but Justin had assumed that things must have been getting better for Brian. They seemed to be.

Apparently it had only been hidden beneath the surface -- behind Brian’s walls. The walls that Justin had thought he was fully inside of.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Justin said softly, remembering how Brian had blamed himself for the bashing from the beginning -- how he’d said over and over again that if he hadn’t gone to the prom, none of this would have happened. That wasn’t true, but how could he get Brian to believe it? Justin had told him over and over again that it wasn’t his fault -- it couldn’t be. Hobbs was the one who swung the bat, not Brian.

Maybe, eventually, if he said it enough times, he could convince Brian of it too. He had to, because this guilt was destroying Brian, and it probably had been for a long time.

They laid there together for a long time, holding each other, Justin occasionally whispering affirmations in Brian’s ear -- that he was okay, that he was still here, that it wasn’t Brian’s fault. Justin kept his arms tightly wrapped around his partner’s body until he could feel Brian’s breathing begin to smooth out and slow down.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself,” Justin said, once he felt Brian was calm enough to hear it.

“I know.” Brian pulled back enough to be able to look Justin in the eye. “I’m trying, Sunshine. I’m trying to believe that. I’ve tried every way that I know, and I just can’t stop. Nothing is working, nothing is helping… I don’t know why. All I can do is just medicate. Numb out. That’s the only time it’s gone.”

“Has it been this way the whole time?” Justin was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. Had this all-consuming, unrelenting guilt been in the back of Brian’s mind for the past 16 years, through everything? Not just during his recovery, but through his affair with Ethan, the Stockwell debacle and him dropping out of school, the cancer, his failed venture to Hollywood, their almost-marriage, and his big move to New York to chase his dreams? Through Brian’s accident, their reunion, their actual marriage, and everything else that Justin wasn’t quite sure he could remember? Had it been there all of this time, and he just didn’t remember it? Hadn’t noticed it? Or had Brian hidden it?

Brian shook his head and pulled his lips into his mouth. “No, I don’t…” he started, then stopped. “I guess I don’t know. Maybe, somewhere.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Justin interlaced the fingers of his left hand through Brian’s right, as they lay on their sides, facing each other.

“How could I? What right did I have to lay anything on you when you were the one who…” Brian stopped again, like he couldn’t finish that sentence. Justin didn’t need him to.

The words John had spoken to him earlier kept echoing in Justin’s head -- that just because Brian was the one who was ill didn’t mean Justin didn’t have a right to feel something. Didn’t the same thing apply here? Even though the situations were different, in the end, the result was the same. Justin had been stuck in a spiral of guilt ever since Brian got sick, and Brian had apparently been stuck in one for the past 16 years.

“You still get to have feelings about it,” Justin said. “I want to know. I want to know how you felt. How you feel.”

It took Brian several seconds -- and several breaths -- to answer.

“Like I had stolen your life. Like I had no right to be with you anymore, but I couldn’t let you go either. I guess you wouldn’t let me. I kept feeling like you’d be better off without me.” Brian looked away and closed his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be, though.” Justin hated that Brian thought so little of himself that he always seemed to think that everyone would be better off if he wasn’t in their lives -- him, Michael, Gus...the list seemed endless. “I wouldn’t be me, without you. I wouldn’t be the person I am today, without you.”

“I tried to let you go. Twice...three times. I kept letting you go. It was all there was for me to do. I couldn’t hold you back. Saddle you with all my shit. I’d already done enough.”

“Brian, listen to me. Are you listening?” Justin put his hand on the side of Brian’s face and gently turned it back toward him, waiting for Brian to open his eyes before he continued. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“Chris Hobbs is the one who is responsible for what he did. Not you, not me, not anybody else. He brought a bat to prom. Who does that, unless you’re already planning something? He couldn’t have possibly known that you’d show up. He swung the bat. You didn’t. And you blaming yourself isn’t going to fix it.” Justin paused and took a breath. He had an idea. He just hoped it worked. “Was your accident my fault?” Justin asked, his gaze fixed on Brian’s.

“What?” Brian looked confused. “No. You weren’t even there. If it was anybody’s fault, it was mine. I was the one who was driving too fast on a wet road with old tires. Why would it be your fault?”

“If I had been there, though, would it have happened? What if I hadn’t left and moved to New York? What if I had come back to visit more often, and we were still using the house for that? What if I hadn’t asked for a country manor at all? Would it have happened if any of those things had been true? Maybe not. But does that make your accident my fault?”

“That’s fucking ridiculous, Justin. No, of course not.”

“But it’s the same. It’s exactly the same. It’s a bunch of what-ifs and things that we don’t know would be true because they didn’t happen.” Justin realized just how much he sounded like John right now, and how ironic that was. But maybe this was what he needed to start moving past some of his own guilt and fear. “The bashing was no more your fault than your accident was mine. They’re both just things that happened. They had serious consequences and altered our lives significantly, but they are what they are. Nothing is going to change that. There’s no point in assigning blame. We lived. Blame is nothing but wasted energy.”

“I know, but I can’t stop how I feel. I don’t know how to let it go. I’m trying. I know it doesn’t sound like I am, but I am. It’s just this endless cycle. I can’t get out of it.”

“So you medicate. You always have. Whether it was alcohol or drugs you bought at Babylon or anonymous sex in the back room...you numb out. Now, you do it differently...but it’s the same. Nothing gets resolved. You don’t feel it anymore, but nothing gets resolved. You have to put it out there. Stop holding it in or shoving it behind some imaginary wall like it didn’t really happen, because it did. It fucking happened. It’s with me all the time -- the scar, my gimp hand, my lack of trust. I can’t push it aside because it’s always there. And it’s always there with you, too.”

“Not like that, though. I was just the bystander. The witness.”

“You saved my life, Brian. You saw the whole thing. Yes, you were the witness. But you were a victim of a hate crime that night too. Maybe not in the most literal sense of the word, but something happened to you too. Just because you weren’t the one bleeding doesn’t mean you didn’t get hurt. You have to let go of the guilt. That’s what’s hurting you. And I don’t want it to hurt you anymore. So stop sidestepping it, stop changing the subject, stop trying to push it aside and pretend it didn’t happen or that it doesn’t affect you. Because it does. I lived. I’m okay. And I want you to be able to live too. Without the nightmares, without the guilt. Let it go.”

“I don’t know how.” Brian’s voice was so soft that Justin barely heard him. “I’ve held onto it for so long… I don’t know how to let it go.”

“You know what helps me sometimes? To let myself get really pissed off about it. To let myself scream and cry. The day I destroyed my bedroom because my mom wouldn’t let you see me anymore, all of that made me feel better. If I try to hold it back or hold it in, that’s what ends up happening -- it bubbles over and comes out some other way, but a whole lot worse. Like the day I destroyed my studio. The only difference here is, you’re destroying yourself. So let yourself get angry instead. Get pissed off. Fucking feel it -- it’s okay, you have a right to feel it.” Justin reached behind him and picked up the book he’d been reading off his nightstand and pushed it into Brian’s hand. “Here. Throw this.”

“I don’t want to throw your book.”

“It’ll be fine. Just throw it. Get mad. Feel what you feel. Make the book feel it too. Do it. You’ve held this back for 16 years. Let it go.”

Brian sat up a little and halfheartedly tossed the book toward the foot of the bed and flopped down onto his back, letting his head fall back down onto the pillow.

“You can do better than that,” Justin said, sitting up and reaching for the book. “That wasn’t 16 years worth of being mad.”

“I’m not mad.” Brian was staring up the ceiling now.

“Okay, then tell me what you feel.” Justin reached out and ran his fingers over Brian’s arm. Asking Brian Kinney -- even this Brian Kinney -- to talk about feelings was a little bit like poking a bear, but Justin had to do it. Otherwise, he was never going to get Brian to let his walls down and finally let him in, completely and totally, one-hundred percent.

“I don’t know what I feel,” Brian said. His inflection was strange -- almost detached. Like he was still trying to separate himself from this awful memory from his past. Or maybe he knew what he felt and he simply didn’t want to feel it. “But I’m not mad. I don’t need to throw things.”

Justin let out a quiet sigh. They sat there together for several moments, in silence, before Justin spoke again.

“Will it help you if you tell me?” he asked gently. “Everything. All of it. So you don’t have to hold onto it all alone.” Justin was sitting up next to Brian in the bed now, studying his face. Trying to read the man he’d once been able to read so well. Hating that it was a struggle now.

“I’m not sure I can.” Brian turned his face away. Justin reached over and gently turned it back to face him.

“I want you to tell me. Tell me everything.”

“Justin…”

“Please. It happened to me. I have a right to know.” He felt bad using that against Brian, but it was true. And if it got Brian to open up, then it was worth it. “I want you to tell me.”

“I can't--”

“Please. Do it for me. We danced, and we were amazing, and you kissed me, and then…what? I want to hear it all from you.”

“Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know the rest. The parts you don’t remember.” Brian closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and looked at Justin. “There’s a reason you don’t remember them.”

“I don’t think it’s better. Not if it means that you have to carry it all alone. Don’t make the decision for both of us. Let me decide. I want you to tell me.”

Brian was quiet for several moments, just staring up at the ceiling, breathing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was trying to summon the courage to do this. Then he started talking.

“I knew it, back then,” he said. His voice was soft, and he sounded like he was lost somewhere inside a dream. “When we were dancing, and I put the scarf around your neck, I knew I loved you.” When he opened his eyes, they were glistening with tears. “Then you took off my jacket and put the scarf back around my neck and pulled me to you. I’ll never forget how that felt. And when we kissed...it was like we were the only people in the room. It was just you and me, and I’d never felt anything like that before in my life. It was exhilarating...and a little bit scary. But god, I loved you.” A single tear fell from the corner of Brian’s eye and slid down his cheek, landing on the pillow. “I wanted to tell you, but not there. I was going to do it later. Back at the loft. I didn’t know how I was going to, but I wanted to.”

Brian closed his eyes again and inhaled a shaky breath. Justin curled up next to him, laying his head on Brian’s shoulder, holding Brian’s hand tightly in his. Supporting him. Silently urging him to go on.

“I could have told you in the garage. I almost did. Even with all the times we’d kissed and we’d fucked, when I kissed you there, leaning against the Jeep, and I looked into your eyes, it felt...different, somehow. Like I’d already made up my mind -- I was doing this. It might be new, and it might be scary, but what the hell -- I was doing it. And that was when everything changed. We said, ‘Later.’ I got back in the Jeep… I remember smiling to myself as I watched you walk away in the mirror… Then, I saw him. With the bat. You know this part.”

“Tell me again,” Justin said softly as he pulled Brian’s hand in close to his chest and held it there.

“I wanted to warn you. I wanted to get to him before he got to you. But it was like my feet wouldn’t move fast enough. I remember pushing off the car next to me, trying to get just a little more momentum, and running as fast as I could, but I couldn’t get there in time to stop him. My voice didn’t get there in time either. All I did was make you turn around, so I had a perfect view of your face and that smile -- your smile -- when he swung that damn bat.”

Justin had always wondered if maybe that was what saved him -- Brian shouting his name and him turning around, changing the trajectory and the position of the hit. But that was another what-if.

“I’ll never forget that sound as long as I live,” Brian said. His voice sounded haunted. Distant. “The sound of wood on bone. It was sickening. I can’t get it out of my head. When I dream about it, sometimes I hear it over and over and over again, like we’re shooting some sort of horrible movie and the director always wants ‘one more take.’” Brian paused for a breath. “When he hit you, you fell to the ground, and that’s when I finally fucking got there. I pushed him down and hit him with the bat, just because I wanted to keep him from coming after you again. And there you were, lying on the cold cement...the life bleeding out of you onto the concrete. I felt like my life was bleeding out too.”

Justin stroked the back of Brian’s hand with his thumb, but said nothing. No, Brian wasn’t angry. He was devastated.

“I know I called 9-1-1, but I don’t remember doing it. I think I was in shock. I don’t know how long it took them to get there, but it felt like an eternity. I remember hanging up the phone and leaning down and putting my cheek next to your lips to see if you were still breathing. You were, but it was shallow. I kissed you again. Because I was afraid I wasn’t going to get another chance.” Brian swallowed and blinked back more tears. All of this was hard for Justin to hear, but not nearly as hard as it seemed to be for Brian to tell it. “Daphne came out to see where you were, and she found us. God, I wish she wouldn’t have had to see that.” Brian shook his head. “She shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“You shouldn’t have either,” Justin said softly. Nobody should have. Hobbs shouldn’t have done what he did. It had nothing to do with you.”

“I just kept holding you.” Brian sounded almost dazed as he continued, as if Justin hadn't spoken at all. Brian was elsewhere, lost in the memory. “I didn’t know what else to do. There were kids starting to gather around us, and I wanted to scream at them to go away, to give you your privacy, your dignity… Couldn’t they see you were dying?” Brian choked back a sob. “Then the ambulance finally got there, and they made me let go of you. The police kept asking me questions… I don’t even know what I said. But I guess it was enough. I told the paramedics I was your partner so they’d let me ride with you in the ambulance, because I didn’t want to leave you alone. I didn’t want you to die alone. I wanted you to have someone there who…” Brian paused and bit his lip. Another tear fell. “Someone who loved you. I held your hand until they made me let go, when they took you away from me at the hospital.”

Justin was fighting back tears now. He never knew Brian had been with him the whole time, holding his hand. No one had ever told him that. He guessed no one else had been there to tell him. No one except Brian.

“It was three days before we knew if you were going to live or die. I wouldn’t leave before then. I couldn’t. Not when I knew I had done this. That all of it was my fault. Once I found out you were going to live, I suddenly had to get out there. It was like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look at you. I couldn’t look into your eyes and know what I’d taken away from you that night. Your life. Your whole future. I know I should have visited you when you were awake instead of sneaking around at night like some sort of coward, but I... I just couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t think about it. But I couldn’t let it go either. I just...kept it. Locked it away. It was my burden to carry. And then when I found out you didn’t remember any of the good things that happened that night...that hurt. I had put myself out there… I was doing something I’d never done before. And then it all just slipped away, and it was gone. Like it never even happened. I got what I’d always deserved. What I’d always gotten any time I thought I might let myself feel something for someone.”

“But it’s not what you deserve.” Justin squeezed Brian’s hand. “You deserve so much better. Those good things did happen. You did those things for me. I loved it then, and I love it now. And even if it took me a long time to remember it, I’m glad I did. It’s still my favorite memory, even though it had an ugly ending that changed my life forever. I danced at my prom with the man I loved. Who’s to say that my life would really be better had it not happened? To change that one thing, we’d have to take back everything that happened after it. All of those things, they’re a part of us. Even the painful parts.”

“I know. And I don’t want to give any of that up. I love the life we’ve had together. That we have. I felt like I was okay. Like I’d moved on. My life was completely different than how I’d ever imagined it would be, but it was all so good. And then your accident happened and it was like everything just came flooding back. Like it was happening all over again. All of the things I wanted to forget. The blood and the brain injury and the not knowing… And the fear. I was so scared. I finally had you and everything was so good, and then I thought I was going to lose you again. Everything good that happens to me always gets taken away. And somehow, some way, it would be my fault. I should have been in the car with you, we should have come on a different day...things should have been different. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did. And it wasn’t your fault. It was just a freak accident. I’m still here.”

“I know, Sunshine… I know.”

“Sometimes I wonder what life would be like right now if I hadn’t forgotten most of the last ten years. But that’s what we have to stop. No more what-ifs. No more keeping things from each other. No more not saying what’s important. No more letting fear get in the way. We’re both so scared we’re going to lose each other, that we’re forgetting to live our lives. I’m scared, and I know you are too, but we can’t let that be all there is. I know that now. We have to be honest with each other. Hold on to what we have, because we’re lucky. We’re so damn lucky. We have each other. That’s all we need.”

They stayed there in bed, just talking -- saying the words that needed to be said -- for hours, until darkness fell outside their bedroom window and they both eventually drifted off to sleep.

Justin felt like a weight had been lifted. He hoped that Brian did too.

Just the same, Justin knew that he needed to hear his words as much as Brian did. He needed to take them to heart. He needed to take on his fears -- the fear of losing Brian, the fear of the unknown when it came to his future in the art world, and the fear of what it would mean to fully accept what had happened to him and how his life had changed as a result.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy, and he would still struggle to get back to normal, just like he had all those years ago, but he felt like he’d at least made the decision -- that this was what he was going to do, and he wasn’t going to let anything get in his way. Not anxiety, not guilt -- nothing.

The next morning, Justin found out he was right -- it wouldn't be easy to let go. He wanted to, and he was committed to doing it, but it wasn't like flipping a switch. It was a process. And he knew from past experience that it could be a long one.

Justin woke up alone in the bed, at first surprised that Brian was up so early, then remembering that they’d probably fallen asleep around dinner time. So it made sense that Brian would be up, since he probably had things that needed to be taken care of and couldn’t be neglected. Justin had been trying to be more observant of those things, in light of the fact that he had a little more background knowledge now, thanks to Rob.

He found Brian in the living room, on the sofa with his laptop.

“I’m not working, I swear,” Brian said, looking up at Justin as he came into the room. “Just in case Cynthia has given you any orders.”

“She hasn’t, but I’m glad to know she’s on my side,” Justin laughed. “I could use some help keeping you in line.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Brian rolled his eyes.

Justin walked into the kitchen and started to reach for the coffeemaker, then suddenly remembered his “homework” from John. Maybe today would be a good day to start. Might as well. Putting it off would probably hurt more than it helped.

“I think I’ll do something different today,” Justin said, trying to keep his tone bright. Nonchalant. “Maybe I’ll go get us something from that coffee shop in the building next door.”

Brian looked at Justin and raised his eyebrow. “Okay…” he said slowly, drawing out the vowels.

“Be thinking about what you want.” Justin ignored Brian’s obvious confusion, which had seemed, oddly, to be mixed with suspicion. He walked back down the hallway toward their bedroom so he could get dressed, already starting to go over in his mind what the steps would be to getting this done without freaking out. But the problem with thinking about that was that it was already causing his anxiety to rise.

He looked up at the ceiling and took a few deep breaths, trying to psych himself up. Telling himself that it would only take a few minutes. And Brian seemed to be feeling really good. He could do this. Everything would be fine.

He pushed aside the thoughts that were trying to creep into his mind, telling him how quickly things could change. After all, they’d changed pretty quickly yesterday, when Brian went from sleeping peacefully to having a violent nightmare. But no, he couldn’t go down that road. Mentally, it helped him to address the thoughts as if they were a person and say to himself (and his thoughts), I see you, and I hear you, but I’m not going there right now.

Justin continued to fight that mental battle as he pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt -- still his daily uniform, no matter how much Brian tried to get him to care about fashion as much as he did. Justin liked to be comfortable. And he knew his pants were too long -- he didn’t care.

By the time Justin got back into the living room to ask Brian what he wanted, he was already feeling nervous. He just hoped it wouldn’t show.

He sat down in the chair on the other side of the room, facing Brian. Stalling. Because he really didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to say, I’ll do it tomorrow. But then, he’d just keep saying that until he ran out of tomorrows, and he knew that.

Brian looked at him curiously over the top of the computer screen.

“Well, are you going or not?” he said, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Probably wondering why Justin had been so gung-ho about this a few minutes ago, and had merely come back into the living room to sit down and do absolutely fucking nothing. Justin was fully aware that what he was doing made no sense; he really didn’t need Brian to remind him. “I probably should pass, since one of the things on my list of ‘don’ts’ was coffee.”

Justin was only sort-of hearing Brian’s words. He was too far up in his own head to actually comprehend them. He was still going over the steps in his mind of what he needed to do -- get up from this chair, stop being a pussy, ride the elevator down to the lobby, go outside, walk however many feet it was to get to the building next door, go into the coffee shop, remind himself to stop being a pussy, order his coffee, wait for it, and go back home, calmly. Without running to try to get back upstairs as soon as possible. And without freaking out during any part of the process. That was probably going to be the tall order, because he could already feel his brain on high alert.

“Justin?” Brian said. “Did you hear what I said?”

Justin shook his head, in a desperate effort to break up the cacophony of thoughts that were currently racing through his mind.

“Justin, what’s wrong?” Brian was definitely concerned now. He folded up the laptop and set it aside, then scooted himself down to where his wheelchair sat and slid his body over to it. He was over at Justin’s side seconds later, taking his hand. He knew Brian would be able to feel his nervous energy -- he always had. That was one thing Justin remembered.

“Nothing,” Justin said, knowing full-well that Brian wouldn’t believe him. And he was right.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Brian said, in that gentle, patient tone he used when he knew Justin was upset about something. “If you don’t want to go, then you don’t have to go.”

“I have to go,” Justin said, more to the floor than to Brian. He immediately regretted saying that, but he wasn’t sure what else he could have said. He did have to go. He didn’t have a choice.

“Why? Why do you have to go?”

Justin didn’t say anything, and he didn’t make eye contact with Brian.

“Justin, what? Why do you have to go?”

There was no getting out of this now, and Justin knew it. “Remember when we had to walk down the street all those times, with me hanging onto your arm, to prove to me that no one was going to jump out at me with a baseball bat? That no one was going to hurt me?” Justin looked up at Brian. He didn’t want to, but he did anyway.

“Yes…” Brian was wary now. And concerned. And still confused. Justin could clearly see that in his eyes, even through the weird curtain of misunderstanding that it sometimes felt like brain injury had pulled over him. Brian always said so much with his eyes. Thank god Justin hadn’t lost his ability to read them.

“It’s the same thing.”

“If you got mugged and you haven’t told me…”

“No, it’s not that. It’s…” Justin took a deep breath and blew it out with a sigh. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not at all.

“It’s what? Remember what you said last night about not keeping things from each other? If something has you this upset, I’m pretty sure it fucking qualifies.”

“I, um…” Fuck, how could he say this? What should he say? He had no fucking clue where to start.

Brian didn’t say anything, but his eyes were worried.

“I’m kind of struggling right now,” Justin said softly. He looked away again, not wanting to see Brian’s worry deepen and know that he’d caused it. “With anxiety.” He figured he’d save Brian the trouble of asking the question. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “My brain chemistry’s all fucked up. Actually my whole brain feels fucked up.”

Brian reached out for Justin’s chin and tilted it up to face him. He was really, really worried now. Shit. “I thought that was getting better,” Brian said. “You told me things were better. That you felt better. That talking to John was helping.”

“It was.”

“And it’s not anymore?”

“I kind of had a setback. When you got sick.”

“Justin, I’m fine. I’m okay now.”

“I know you are. But I can’t seem to tell my anxiety brain that and have it actually believe me. I, um…” Why the fuck couldn’t he just be honest with Brian? Why was this so hard? “I had a panic attack when you were at the hospital.” The words came out carefully. Measured. As if he wasn’t sure how Brian would react. “It was a pretty bad one.”

“Why don’t I remember that?” Brian’s worry had melted into confusion again.

“Because you were unconscious. It was while you were still in the emergency room. They made me leave so they could take you up to your room, and by that point I’d already been fighting it for over an hour, and I just lost it. I lost my shit in front of everybody in the ER waiting room. Thank god nobody touched me. I think maybe they all thought I was crazy. They were afraid of me. That’s how Rob ended up coming to the hospital -- I called him, because I knew I needed someone there, in case…” He and Brian both knew the end to that sentence. In case it got bad enough that he passed out. He needed someone to think for him when he couldn’t think straight. “But, it doesn’t matter. No guilt, right?”

“Right…” Brian let his voice trail off, like he was waiting for Justin to continue.

Might as well just say it.

“So, I’m afraid to leave you alone. I’m afraid something’s going to happen. That you’ll get sick again, or you’ll need help with something, and I won’t be here, and you’ll get hurt...” Justin felt so stupid saying all of that out loud, especially to Brian. It sounded like he didn’t trust Brian, or like he didn’t think he was an adult who could take care of himself. “My therapy homework is to go to the coffee shop next door three times this week. Just like when we walked down the street. Only this time, you can’t help me. I have to do this by myself. I know you want to fix it for me, but you can’t. You can’t fix this. I’m the only one who can. And I can’t manage to get the fuck out of my own way.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Brian said. “You can do this. You did it before, and you can do it again. And I can help you. By staying right here, and being just fine when you get back. You go and get your coffee, and I’ll be right here. I promise I won’t leave this room.”

Brian made a couple of jokes about planting roots and seriously not moving a single muscle, trying to make Justin laugh. It took a minute, but it worked. Brian still had to gently prod Justin out the door, but he went.

A few minutes later, he was out the door, down the elevator, into the lobby, out onto the sidewalk, into the coffee shop, and ordering his “candy bar in a cup” as Brian called it. As if his white mocha from the shop by Justin’s studio wasn’t the same thing.

In the elevator on the way down, he’d been thinking about what he was going to get, wondering if Brian would eat a scone if he brought him one. But once he got to the coffee shop, all he wanted to do was complete the task at hand as quickly as possible and then run back to the apartment. He felt like he probably wasn’t supposed to run, but he wanted to.

He tried his best to not look like a tweaked-out crystal queen while he was ordering, but he was so damn worked up that it was impossible. He ordered the drink and practically threw the cash down on the counter.

Now, he had to wait. He was standing at the other end of the counter now, with at least five other people who were also waiting on their drinks. Apparently it was going to be a while.

As Justin stood and tried to wait patiently, his mind was racing, and he could feel his heartbeat picking up the pace to match. All he could think about were his what-ifs. What if Brian needed to go to the bathroom and missed the transfer and fell out of his chair? What if he needed to lie down but he was too weak to get up to their bed? The list of possibilities was endless, and even though Brian had promised he would stay in the living room, there were plenty of situations that could unexpectedly come up that would mean going elsewhere. Doing something. Taking risks.

Thinking of it that way made Justin feel even dumber than he already did. His brain was making it sound like Brian was skydiving or something. Not just sitting in the living room on his laptop, probably chatting with Michael about something only Michael found interesting.

Two other people got their drinks. So he was getting closer. But he was also starting to feel like the walls were closing in. He was fighting to keep the pace of his breath normal. Trying to tell himself that this was stupid -- standing in a coffee shop about to have an anxiety attack over your 45-year-old husband being at home by himself.

Why was it so easy to talk about letting go of worry, but so hard to actually do it?

He knew this wasn’t his fault -- it was his fucked up brain blowing everything out of proportion -- but that did nothing to make him feel like less of an idiot. Right now, he just needed to not lose his shit in public. Particularly not when there would be no one to rescue him.

One more person got their coffee, and it wasn’t Justin.

What if he did lose it? Would Brian come looking for him after a while? How long would it be before Brian started doubting whether or not everything was okay? How long would Justin have to fight off well-meaning strangers until Brian got there and made him feel safe again?

Those thoughts weren’t comforting either.

Those thoughts made him want to curl up in the corner and hide from the world.

He had to fucking stop this. He had to.

This was why he was doing this. Because he had to get past this. He had to push these irrational thoughts out of his mind.

The last person who’d been there before Justin got their drink and their warmed muffin. Finally. Justin was up next.

Anticipation almost made things worse, though, because now he knew he’d be going home soon, and it made him want to run back even more. But he couldn’t come back without his drink. Shit, he thought to himself. He forgot to order Brian’s scone.

Oh well. Too late now. He wasn’t getting back in line and starting this process all over again. Not when he was probably less than a minute from being able to go home and get some semblance of relief from these intrusive thoughts. Labeling them didn’t help -- catastrophizing, black-and-white thinking, overgeneralization… He knew they were stupid. Knowing just how stupid they were and why only made him feel worse.

Justin was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the barista call out his name. Come to think of it, he didn’t even remember giving the cashier his name. But he must have.

Christ, he was a mess.

When he realized that he was free to go, he grabbed his drink up off the counter so quickly that he nearly knocked it over, and practically ran out the door. He fought to keep his pace at a brisk walk as he traversed the distance of the sidewalk between the door to the coffee shop and the door to their apartment building. He hoped that one of the elevators would be waiting on the ground floor, but no such luck. He had to wait what seemed like for-fucking-ever for one of them to come down and pick him up. He almost gave up and took the stairs, but he wasn’t sure he trusted his balance -- another thing about him that still wasn’t quite right but wasn’t “off” enough to feel worth mentioning most of the time.

After the slowest elevator ride in the history of the world, Justin practically burst through the door of their apartment, incredibly relieved to see Brian still sitting in the living room, moving his wheels back and forth just slightly in that fidgety way he did sometimes, when he was nervous or when he was thinking about something. Their eyes met, and Justin could see the distress in his eyes. The tension in the way his hands gripped the wheels. Brian had been anxious too.

But Justin had made it. He’d even been gone longer than he’d anticipated. And Brian was fine.

The same was true the next day. The trip wasn’t quite as long, but it also wasn’t quite as nerve wracking.

The third day, Brian wasn’t in the living room when Justin came home. Justin fought back the momentary panic and instead walked as calmly as he could down the hallway, pushing back the what-ifs. The bathroom door was shut and Justin could hear movement from inside. Nothing unusual sounding -- just the normal things he was used to hearing. He made himself go back in the living room and wait patiently, telling himself that there was absolutely nothing out-of-the-ordinary going on and he had no reason to hover outside the door like some sort of worried wife. A few minutes later, Justin had his visual confirmation that Brian was still just fine. And he’d managed not to panic in the meantime.

Maybe he could do this after all.

By the end of the week, Justin had been to the coffee shop almost every day, and nothing had happened to Brian. He’d even ventured a couple of blocks away to buy them lunch once, too -- a bonus trip, leaving the house twice in the same day. And, best of all, Brian was starting to get back to normal. He was still really tired and sleeping a lot, but his strength was coming back, and that helped lessen Justin’s worries too.

Justin had been painting a little bit with the supplies he’d brought home from his studio, but having only brought two canvases home with him was posing a bit of a problem. He knew what he needed to do, but could he do it? Was he ready to jump from staying gone for a few minutes at a time to get a latte or to pick up soup and sandwiches, to staying gone for almost an hour? Or longer, if he just stayed at the studio to work instead?

Brian sensed Justin’s apprehension as they sat together at the table, eating breakfast. Brian had just sent off a text message to Cynthia, who was conducting Brian’s client meetings for him this week -- still very much against his will. Brian looked up right as Justin was scratching behind his ear, debating with himself about whether or not such a long time away was feasible. He tried to avoid questioning whether or not it was safe. But the ear scratch was all Brian needed. Given that, he might as well have been able to read Justin’s thoughts directly.

Damn nervous habits. And damn his husband who pays attention to every little thing, even when he acts like he doesn’t.

It took a lot of bargaining, and a lot of convincing, but ultimately, Brian got Justin to go to his studio -- at least to pick up some more supplies so he could keep painting and creating from home. And again, when he got back, Brian was fine. Actually, Cynthia was there too, promising Justin that she would have kicked Brian’s ass personally with her stiletto heels if he tried anything funny.

Just like with the coffee shop, Justin kept going, day after day -- proving to himself that none of the horrible things his mind was conjuring up were coming true. And the more times he saw that, the easier it got to believe. Just like when Brian had held his hand as they walked together down Liberty Avenue.

By the time Cynthia went back to Pittsburgh, all of Justin’s art supplies had migrated back to their rightful home -- in his studio. And Justin was back in there working. Experimenting. Continuing to build his confidence, in more ways than one.

He could do this.

It might not always be easy, but he could do it. One day at a time.

And Brian would be okay.

They both would.

Because they had each other, and that was really all they needed.

Rebirth by TrueIllusion

“It’s just four walls and a floor. And top of the line appliances, and stainless steel countertops, and imported Italian fixtures--”

“It’s more than that. It’s where we made love for the first time.”

“That wasn’t love. I just gave you a rim job and fucked your brains out.”

“It was love to me.”

*****

The first day that Cynthia was in New York was a bad anxiety day for Justin.

He’d been doing great -- going to the coffee shop almost every day -- and Brian was proud of him. He was overcoming something that was very, very hard, and Brian knew that. He remembered how hard it had been for Justin to trust the fact that not everyone on the sidewalk wanted to kill him. How hard it had been for him to be alone in the loft for an extended time. How hard it had been for him to trust other people. How hard that still was.

The day Cynthia was due to arrive -- just in time for the meeting Brian had planned with Picture Perfect Optics, a company that sold high-end cameras, lenses, and other photography equipment -- Brian sat with Justin at the table over breakfast and worked very hard at convincing him to go to his studio and get what he needed so he could keep painting. Brian was feeling fine -- really good, actually, for the first time in a very long time -- and he knew he’d be fine for the hour or so that Justin would be gone, or even longer if Justin chose to stay at the studio for a while. But convincing Justin of that was a tall order.

Brian Kinney, however, was very good at selling things.

He never thought he’d be using his marketing skills to “sell” Justin on going to his studio, but if it worked, it worked. And ultimately it did.

Thankfully, it worked better than his earlier attempt at selling Cynthia on letting him come to the meeting. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to continue following his doctor’s orders and staying home, and he knew better than to piss her off, so he’d agreed, with the promise that she’d come by the apartment when she was done and catch him up on what happened, because he refused to be totally out of the loop.

Justin procrastinated until early afternoon, puttering around the house, obviously putting off going to his studio, until Brian gently prodded him out the door with a hug and a kiss and promise that there would be more where that came from later.

He hadn’t been gone for more than ten minutes when Cynthia arrived, dressed to the nines in her power suit -- the one Brian knew she wore when she wanted people to know she was not to be fucked around with.

“You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you in sweatpants,” Cynthia said, as she stood after giving Brian a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, well, I’m on house arrest, so… no point in getting dressed up. Besides, no one will let me work.”

“Only because we love you.” Cynthia smiled, slipping her stiletto heels off as she took a seat on the sofa and spread the contents of her briefcase across the adjacent cushion. “Since you’re so keen on working… I wanted to ask you about the campaign for this adaptive robotics company, GoodLife Connection.” She shuffled through the papers until she found the one she was looking for. “I was looking at what you have planned, and this is way outside of their budget.”

“I know.” This was why he’d intended on taking care of this account personally.

“Okay… You know they’ll have to say no to you then, right? Or did that kidney infection affect your brain too?”

“My brain is fine. And it’ll be right within their budget, because I’m covering the rest of it.”

GoodLife was a small startup designing specialized custom robotics and prosthetics. Their mission was to help people live their best lives and still do what they love, regardless of their physical limitations. They were coming up with some truly creative solutions, and they’d been sent his way by Alison, the triple amputee who’d helped him launch his disability justice campaign years ago when he’d first moved to New York. Their mission was near and dear to his heart, so it was a no-brainer that he’d help them get the most for their advertising dollar, even if some of those dollars came from his own pocket. He wanted to see them succeed, and he knew they were a small fish in a big, big pond. Once he explained all of that to Cynthia, she was on board as well.

Brian did manage to convince Cynthia -- and Justin -- to let him go to the meeting with GoodLife, in light of the fact that he was going to be doing something over-and-above their normal course of business, and he really wanted to be there.

Not to mention the fact that they’d been working on this really cool robotic exoskeleton setup that, if he played his cards right, he hoped he might get to try out someday. At this stage in the game, he hadn’t walked in so long that he wasn’t quite sure he even remembered how it felt. But it was definitely something he wanted to experience again.

He met Cynthia at her hotel at 9 a.m. the next morning, after promising Justin that they were just going to the meeting and then he’d be right back home. Brian hoped that Justin would find something to do to distract himself, so he wouldn’t be sitting at home worrying about Brian the whole morning. He’d tried to encourage Justin to go to his studio, but Justin seemed very, very reluctant, and Brian wasn’t sure why.

The meeting went very well, with he and Cynthia tag-teaming. While they were surprised at the large “discount” they were going to be receiving on their advertising campaign, they were grateful for the exposure they’d be getting. Brian just hoped it would do the trick.

Cynthia also got to meet Alison, whom she had only seen in photos from his campaign all those years ago. Alison was now married and had three kids, and it was hard to believe how much time had passed since she’d first agreed to take a chance on Brian and join him in his quest to bring awareness to the inherent ableism in society and the fact that people who are disabled are still just people, who deserve the same privileges and have the same rights as everybody else. Now, he was paying her back by taking a chance on something she believed in.

They went back to the apartment immediately afterward, just as had been promised, only to find that Justin wasn’t there. Instead, there was a note on the counter, in Justin’s “new” handwriting that Brian was now beginning to be able to recognize.

Went to the studio. Might work there for an hour or two. Call if you need me. - J

Brian was glad he’d decided to go, and hoped he’d end up staying all day -- not because he didn’t want to see Justin, but because he wanted Justin to see that he could live his life and didn’t need to worry about him.

Brian got the wine Justin had ordered with the groceries out of the refrigerator, figuring, what the heck, it’s Friday and they were basically done for the day, so why not relax and unwind a little? He poured a glass for himself and another for Cynthia, handing it to her before wedging his own between his thighs and making his way over the sofa.

Brian was working on taking off his jacket and getting himself onto the chaise lounge when he heard Cynthia say, “So, have you given any more thought to what I said about opening a New York office?”

“I guess that means you really are serious about a move, then.”

“Of course I was serious. The men in the Pitts really are the pits.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the heteros, but I found the pool of homos to be more than satisfactory.”

“That’s because all the good ones are gay. But that’s really not my reason for wanting to move. I’m ready for a change. And you’ve been getting so many new accounts out here that there’s just no way you can keep doing this by yourself.”

She was right about that. He hated to admit it, but she was.

“I’ve got a lead on a possible sublease in a month or two. A friend of mine who lives here in the city is going to Europe for six months for a work-study and is looking for someone to sublet her apartment. That would let us get a feel for things, see how it would work with both of us here in the city. I’ll keep my place in Pittsburgh until we’re sure we won’t kill each other.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Brian said, chuckling. “I’m sure Justin will be happy about this arrangement too. He was already telling me I was working too much before any of this happened.”

“So he’s back working in his studio now?”

“Yeah. Has been for a couple of weeks now, with a minor hiccup because I fucked up.” He chose not to mention the reason why the minor hiccup was really more of a major one for Justin -- those were his private details to share. “I’ve been trying to get him to tell me what he’s working on, but he just keeps saying he’s ‘experimenting.’ I keep hoping he’ll want me to come down there and see something, like he used to, but nothing yet.”

“Maybe you should just go. Surprise him.”

“I don’t want to intrude on his space… Especially not when he’s already feeling insecure about things. I don’t want him to feel any pressure from me. He’ll show me when he’s ready. I just have to wait. Now, that’s fucking hard, but it’s what I have to do.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been married for almost ten years,” Cynthia said as she shed her jacket and pulled her stocking-clad feet up onto the sofa cushion next to her hip. “And you’re married to the kid whose mom showed up at the office one day with a duffel bag full of his underwear and his allergy medication and his favorite movie.”

“You and me both. And he’s not a kid anymore.” Hasn’t been since the night of his prom, Brian thought to himself.

“I guess I thought you’d just be continuing your gay sex-god lifestyle forever.”

“Gay sex-god?” Brian laughed. “This wine must be stronger than I thought. I’ll have to tell Justin he did a good job picking it out.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do, and so did I, kind of. I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s hard to know what the future would have held, had this not happened.” Brian flicked his thigh with his thumb and forefinger, then pushed his hands down on the sofa cushion and shifted his weight a little, part pressure relief, part gesture of what exactly “this” meant. He reached for his own glass on the end table and took a sip.

“You seem happy, though.”

“I am. I’m fucking lucky. Luckier than I ever thought I’d be. I’ve got more than I deserve, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve always felt like you deserved more than you got. At least, before.”

Brian nodded and took another sip of his wine. Cynthia had seen a lot, especially in those first few years at Ryder, when Claire would march into his office demanding to be seen so she could whine about having to take care of their drunken parents all by her lonesome, and Cynthia would end up being privy to a conversation about how he didn’t give a shit about their good-for-nothing parents because all they’d ever given him was bruises and low self-esteem. That she was the “wanted child,” and she could deal with them, because he didn’t want anything to do with them anymore.

Of course, as much as he wanted to, he’d never been able to completely sever the tie. The marks of his father’s physical abuse had long ago faded, many of them tended to personally by Debbie Novotny, but the effects of the emotional abuse inflicted by their mother still remained to this day, no matter how many years had passed and no matter how many times Justin or anyone else contradicted her words. There was a certain essence that was Brian Kinney -- the seemingly unshakable confidence, the bravado, and the devil-may-care attitude -- but underneath all of that, the scared kid who wondered why his parents didn’t love him was still there, and probably always would be.

“You’re a lot different now than you were all those years ago, before Justin came back,” Cynthia said. “Before you moved here. You came out of that accident a different person than you were before, because you had to...but you just… You weren’t you. Something was wrong. And who could blame you, really? But I think we were all a little scared. No one knew what you were going to do, and no one wanted to ask or say too much.”

“I couldn’t be that person anymore. I remember I had no idea who I was going to be then, either. I was lost. Justin found me.”

“The only one who ever could.” Cynthia smiled, her eyes soft. “So do you have big plans for your tenth anniversary?”

“What, is buying him a house not enough?”

“I thought you said that was just an investment property.” The look in Cynthia’s eyes and her single raised eyebrow told Brian that she knew it had never really been just an investment property.

“He misses his mom. What else was I going to do?” Brian was trying to sound defensive, but it wasn’t really working. Not that Cynthia was going to buy it anyhow.

“He has you wrapped around his little finger, doesn’t he? So it is a gift then.”

“I don’t know about his little finger, but that ass will get him anything he damn well wants. By the time I get all the renovations done, it probably will be an anniversary gift. I do have something else I’ve been thinking about, though… But it’s a surprise, so if you tell him, I’ll fucking fire your ass.”

“I think it’s pretty hard to fire a partner.”

“Didn’t stop Gardner.”

“Point taken. Anyhow, I won’t tell him. What’s your big secret plan?”

He told Cynthia everything he’d been kicking around for the past several days, since the night he and Justin had spent hours talking, just being honest with each other. The night they’d laid all their cards on the table, face up. The night Brian had finally talked about all of his memories of the night Justin was bashed, for the first time in their entirety. Justin had mentioned again how much he wished he could remember their wedding, because it was the moment when he’d finally gotten everything he’d wanted since he was 17 years old. Brian hated that the lost memory of their wedding day was still weighing so heavily on Justin’s mind. He wanted to give Justin back that memory, even if the original was lost forever.

The grin on Cynthia’s face got bigger and bigger the more Brian talked. By the time he was done, her smile was wide and she was shaking her head, looking down at her nearly-empty glass of wine.

“Brian Kinney, I always knew you were a closet romantic,” she teased.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make sure your office here doesn’t have any windows.” He leaned over and gave her a playful shove.

“Need I remind you that our current office is in a former bathhouse? Not many windows there either.” She turned her head up and finished her wine. “But you don’t scare me anyhow. I know all of your secrets.”

“Not all of them.”

“Maybe not, but I know you well enough to know that the tiger is really a pussycat.” She winked. “I’m happy for you though. I know he’s going to love it.”

By the time Justin came back home, Cynthia and Brian had consumed most of the bottle of wine, although Cynthia was a good bit tipsier than Brian was. They’d ordered Thai food and had it delivered, and it sort of reminded Brian of old times. Late nights at the office, working on something that simply wouldn’t leave him alone until he got it done and got it out of his head. How they’d often end up talking about more than just business. Those were the nights that made them more than coworkers. The nights that made them friends. Maybe even family.

Cynthia stayed in town for a few more days, while Brian eased his way back into work. Justin seemed to be doing the same, going to his studio for longer and longer. Brian noticed that the art supplies in their home office were dwindling. On the day that Cynthia left to return to Pittsburgh, the only thing that was left was the easel, and Justin spent the entire day in his studio.

For the first time in months, things were starting to feel more normal. It felt like it had been a long time coming.

Too long.

The next week, Brian had a doctor’s appointment. This one involved a whole lot of lectures. A lot of telling Brian things he already knew.

He was well aware that he’d been neglecting his health, in a lot of ways. Small ways, things that didn’t really seem to matter that much at the time. Some of which had already added up to something big. The rest of which he was hoping he’d caught in time.

He’d fucked up and he knew it. He’d done things he couldn’t afford to do. Lived above his means, so to speak, for too long where his health was concerned. All he could do at this point was hope that he hadn’t done anything that couldn’t be fixed.

And this wasn’t even the appointment that would truly answer that question. That would come the following week. This was just his regular annual checkup with his spinal cord injury specialist -- the one whose job it was to manage his overall care and tie together the efforts of the handful of other doctors Brian saw for the plethora of effects that came with spinal cord injury. The one injury that set off a domino effect of secondary health risks that he’d have to manage for the rest of his life, whether or wanted to think about them or not.

He didn’t have a choice. He’d been trying to pretend that he did, but his body had proven to him exactly who was in charge, and this time, Brian was inclined to listen.

He was tired of feeling like shit.

He wanted to feel good again.

Wanted for his life to feel good again.

So instead of pretending that nothing was going on, and that he was fine, he chose to be honest. To talk about the back pain and the nerve pain and the weird spasms and all of the things he felt weren’t quite right. Of course, that also meant that he had to be honest when he was asked questions about things he knew he was supposed to be doing -- like whether or not he’d been keeping up with his standing therapy. The answer to that was no, because his only means of doing that at home had been walking around with his braces and crutches, and that hurt his back. It had been painful for a long time. He’d often done it anyway, because having a different way to move was kind of nice, but he had gotten out of the habit during their unplanned month-and-a-half in Pittsburgh, since he didn’t have the necessary equipment. And once he was out of the habit, it simply hadn’t been something he’d wanted to get back into when he got home. He’d been in enough pain; he didn’t need more. He could have ordered himself a standing frame, sure, but he hadn’t. Why, he didn’t know. He already had too much to think about, he supposed. He hadn’t wanted to add one more thing.

That admission brought with it the longest lecture of the entire visit. A long list of all of the benefits of standing therapy -- keeping his bones strong, his muscles healthy, reducing spasticity, helping to prevent urinary tract infections…and those were just some of the physical benefits. He knew exactly what the mental benefits were too, and he clearly remembered how great it had felt to stand at his full height for the first time after his accident, all those years ago with Jamie, his physical therapist. Essentially, standing therapy probably would prevent or help a lot of the things Brian was struggling with right now. As if he needed a reminder that he had brought all of this on himself.

There were certainly other options for standing, and he knew that. Rob had a standing frame that he used every day. Of course, Rob also had a solid self care routine that nothing ever got in the way of. Brian knew it hadn’t always been that way, though, and he knew that Rob could empathize with the struggle he’d been having to try to keep everything in balance when it felt like his entire world was crashing down around him. Brian needed to get back on track with his own self care. He knew that too. Hearing all of it from another person really wasn’t necessary. But, here he was.

Push had come to shove, and it was time to start changing some things.

The doctor sent him for a seating evaluation a couple of days later to try to find a solution for his back pain, which apparently was owed at least in part to the ways in which his body had changed after nearly eleven years of not using his legs at all. This was one of the times when Brian really hated this shit. His body had been such a huge part of who he was for so long, that it was still difficult to look at all the ways in which it had changed, and would probably continue to change, and accept them with open arms. But he didn’t have a choice here, either. He tried out a lot of new things that were supposed to improve his posture -- which was currently for-shit, he was told, although those weren’t the exact words used -- and in the end, ordered himself a new chair that would hopefully be more comfortable for his ever-changing body. And he ordered the standing frame too. Because the human body simply wasn’t designed to sit all the time.

But, like all the lessons Brian Kinney had ever learned in his life, that was yet another one that he’d apparently needed to learn the hard way.

Later, he called Rob to commiserate with someone else who would understand.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s fucking stupid that you have to have a prescription and fill out a shit ton of paperwork to order a wheelchair when your goddamn legs don’t work?” Those were the first words out of Brian’s mouth when Rob answered the phone.

“If you want your insurance to cover it, you do. You know this.” Rob’s voice was calm, like always. It didn’t seem to matter what Brian said to him, Rob was a difficult person to agitate. He always went with the flow. Sometimes Brian was jealous of his ability to just take things as they came without getting too caught up in them.

“Well it’s fucking stupid. What the hell else am I going to do?”

“Stay in bed, I guess. I’m pretty sure that’s what people did back in the day before there were wheelchairs. It’s why most people died from spinal cord injury back then. Bedsores and infections. I, for one, am glad that was not my fate, and I know you are too.”

“It just seems like it’s a no-brainer. Like they should be able to look at you and tell that you need it. No prescription necessary.”

“Alright, Brian. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“So you just called me out of the blue to rant about medical bureaucracy?”

“Had my physical today.”

“Ah. The truth comes out. Didn’t go well, I assume?”

Brian recounted the whole story to Rob, down to what had gotten him thinking about the absurdity of wheelchair prescriptions for the last hour, before he finally picked up the phone and called Rob just so he could get it out of his head. Rob listened patiently on the other end of the line, hmming and mm-hmming at all the right times, until Brian was finished.

“Hey, you remember that standing chair that guy from Ohio had last year in D.C.?” Rob said. Brian didn’t really remember, but there had been so much going on and so many people to meet and talk to that he’d been a little overwhelmed with it all, being his first time to go to something like that. “Anyway, it’s pretty cool,” Rob continued. “I would love to have one, but my insurance won’t cover it and I can’t afford it right now. You could, though.”

They talked about how handy it would be for business meetings and all of those other times when it really just sucked to not be on eye-level with other people -- again, Brian was so grateful to have Rob to talk to about things like this, because he absolutely got it -- and it also got Brian thinking about how he could use something like that to help him carry out his plans for his and Justin’s anniversary. He knew he’d called Rob for a reason. He might not have known the reason at the time when he’d dialed the phone, but they’d gotten there eventually.

By the time he hung up the phone, the wheels were already turning in Brian’s head, and he was soon doing the research.

By the end of the week, he’d decided to go for it and placed the order. He already couldn’t wait to try it out. It wouldn’t be practical for everyday use because it would be much heavier and clunkier than his regular chair, and Brian liked to move easily -- it was why he’d chosen a titanium chair and kept his accessories to an absolute minimum, to keep weight down and to keep things from getting in his way. But there were certainly plenty of situations in Brian’s life when it would be good to be six-foot-two again. Soon, he’d be able to do that.

Then came the closing on the house. Thankfully, with Ted acting as his agent, Brian didn’t have to be there, because he knew that a business trip right now would probably be pushing Justin past his limit, not to mention pushing himself past his own temporary physical limits that he still needed to be mindful of, even when he didn’t want to.

The day of the closing, Brian had barely given Ted time to get back to the office before he was calling to talk next steps. There was so much that needed to be done -- the first task of which would be choosing contractors. Brian had already made the decision to put Ted in charge of the project, even giving him the freedom to hire someone temporarily to manage it. Ted sounded surprised at that -- nervously asking Brian if he was feeling alright, if there was something he, as Brian’s financial adviser, needed to know about -- but once he was assured that Brian was fine, he rolled with it pretty well.

Hell, Brian was surprised too, because he liked controlling things. He knew that better than anybody. So much of his life up until this point had been all about finding ways to control everything he possibly could. But he was starting to learn that Rob was right -- he couldn’t control everything. It just wasn’t possible. There were just some things that he had to let go of, and this project was going to be one of them. So he authorized Ted to start looking for someone who would be familiar with Brian’s desires when it came to making the house ADA compliant, and who would be able to keep whatever contractor they went with on-task, on-budget, and on-time, without Brian having to worry too much about it.

Brian’s first week of owning a house in the suburbs was a week filled with video calls, phone interviews, and a whole lot of not being sure exactly where to start, while at the same time being limited to only being able to complete those tasks while Justin was at his studio. Thankfully, he was spending quite a bit of time there again. Brian was still wondering what Justin was working on, but he was busy enough with his own work that he didn’t have much time to worry about it.

Ted found a project manager, and Brian vetted him, then resolved to let go of the process and trust that what needed to be done would be done without him hovering or micromanaging. It would be hard, but he would do it. He had to, for his own health and sanity.

But even all of this positive action, working toward taking better care of himself, couldn’t stem down the apprehension Brian felt on his way to his appointment with his urologist. Brian hadn’t seen him in months, and he didn’t have privileges at the hospital they’d taken Brian to when he was sick, so he hadn’t been involved in Brian’s care at all. They’d be playing catch-up. And Brian was really, really hoping that the blood tests he knew he’d be taking would show that his kidneys were still functioning properly. That he hadn’t fucked anything up permanently with his little adventure in ignoring his body and the warning signs it had tried to give him.

Looking back now, he saw them all -- the headaches, the backache, the odd weakness, the nausea, feeling too warm when he was outside on a cool day, and later, the confusion he’d experienced right before everything exploded and refused to be ignored any longer. But for some reason, back then, he couldn't see it at all. Maybe he just didn’t want to.

Now, he knew he had to.

Rob had been absolutely right -- nothing was worth his health.

Just as Brian figured there would be, there were more lectures, and more telling him things that he already knew and had simply chosen to ignore. He knew exactly what he was supposed to be doing -- he just hadn’t been doing it, but now he’d been scared straight. There were also blood tests and urine tests, which he wouldn’t have the full results of for several days -- a nerve wracking several days of not knowing whether he’d fucked himself over for good or if he got lucky.

Brian went back home and spent the rest of the afternoon in his office, looking at reports and approving artwork and ad copy -- glad to be back in the habit of doing his thing and actually having enough energy to do it without feeling like he needed to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon.

He was in the middle of trying to figure out how to modify the artwork for GoodLife Connection’s first print ad to be exactly what he wanted it to be, when his cell phone rang. It was Michael. Brian hadn’t talked to him in a while -- at least not by voice. They’d texted and chatted, staying caught up with each other, but they didn’t talk on the phone quite as often anymore. He started not to answer, thinking about how much he still needed to get done on this campaign, then remembered the promise he’d made to himself -- that he wasn’t going to let work take over his life again. It would be nice to talk to Michael and catch up with his oldest and dearest friend. So he saved what he was working on and answered the call.

“Hey, Mikey. What’s up?”

“So, when were you going to tell me?” Michael’s tone was strange, and Brian wasn’t quite sure how to read it. He hoped he wouldn’t regret answering the phone.

“Tell you what?” Brian leaned back in his chair, settling in for what sounded like it could be a long conversation, although he had no idea what the hell it was about.

“That you and Justin are moving back to Pittsburgh.”

Brian was lost for a moment, before he figured out that Michael must have been talking about the house. But how did Michael know about that?

“Considering that we aren’t moving back, I guess never,” Brian said, keeping his voice nonchalant, with just the right amount of annoyance sprinkled in, as he tried to fish for whatever it was Michael knew, without revealing too much himself. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If you’re not moving back, then why did your business just purchase a house in our neighborhood?”

Shit, Brian thought. How the fuck did Michael find out so soon? Ted and Cynthia were really the only ones who knew, aside from Jennifer, who was contractually obligated to keep it private, and a couple of other people at Kinnetik who wouldn’t be talking to Michael at all. Surely it wouldn’t be Ted. But he would be the one most likely to be talking to Michael.

“You know, Theodore was a really good friend...it’s a shame I’m going to have to kill him,” Brian said. He was joking, but at the same time testing the waters to try to see exactly how Michael acquired his newfound knowledge.

“What? Ted knew about this?” Michael sounded surprised. So it wasn’t Ted.

“Okay, so if he didn’t tell you, who did?”

“One of our neighbors saw that the house had been sold and they did some digging and found out who purchased it.”

“Christ, is there anything the gay mother hens don’t cluck about? So, what did they say about me?” Brian picked up his pen and started tapping it lightly on the desk.

“Nothing. They just knew that it had been purchased by Kinnetikorp. I think Ben and I were the only ones who knew who it would be. They were mostly worried that the house might get rented to some… less-than-savory people.”

“You know, in some neighborhoods, we would be the less-than-savory people, Michael.”

“I know. But you know what I meant. They were just curious.”

“More like fucking nosy.” Brian put the pen down and switched to playing with the paperclips, dumping a small amount out of the cup that he could arrange into various patterns on the desk.

“So, if you’re not moving back, why’d you buy a house?”

“I didn’t buy a house. Kinnetik bought a house.”

“Which means you bought a house, Brian. Now quit arguing semantics and tell me what’s going on.”

“Don’t get your tits in a twist. Christ, you really are your mother’s son. It’s an investment property. I’m renovating it to make it ADA compliant, and I’m planning to do short-term rentals.”

“Oh, like that B&B app?”

“Exactly. It’s fucking hard to find an accessible place to stay where they really did think of and consider everything. And sometimes they’ll say it is and it’s not. So I want to offer that to people -- a place that really is accessible -- should they wish to visit our illustrious hometown. And it will give Justin and I somewhere to stay when we do need to come back to Pittsburgh for one reason or another.”

“So does that mean you’ll be coming back more often?”

“I don’t know,” Brian sighed. He paused for a few seconds, then added, “Maybe.”

“Brian, that’s--”

“Don’t start planning any dinner parties just yet, Mikey.”

“I’m not. I was just going to say, that’s great. I miss seeing you sometimes, you know? I mean, we saw each other almost every day for more than 20 years.”

“Minus that time when I got pissed at you for buying a house and you got pissed at me for telling you that you could be a Stepford Fag if it made you happy,” Brian chuckled.

“And now, here you are, buying a house.”

“This isn’t my first time buying real estate, Mikey.”

“I know, but… Brian, it’s a house.”

“Yes, and I own our apartment here as well. One also might consider that to be a house. Again, not my first time. There’s nothing symbolic here, so stop trying to make it into something it’s not. It’s an investment property, and it will make our lives more convenient when we’re in town. That’s all.”

Michael sighed on the other end of the line. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do say so. And, by the way, if you even so much as breathe a word of this to Justin, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re sitting here telling me there’s nothing symbolic, and now you’re telling me that it’s a surprise for Justin? How the fuck is that not symbolic?”

“It’s just not. But I do want to surprise him with it, so if you could just...not tell anyone else, that would be great.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“They damn well better be.”

“When have I ever--”

“Michael.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“That includes your mother. Especially your mother.”

“I promise I won’t tell Ma. Cross my heart and hope to die, or whatever.”

Brian laughed. “Jesus...you really are perpetually 13 years old, aren’t you?”

“Hey, when you own a comic book store, you have to stay a kid at heart, I think.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Mikey.” Brian heard the faint jingle of a bell coming from Michael’s end of the line.

“Gotta go,” Michael said. “I’ve got customers. But I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Mikey. Now keep your damn mouth shut.”

“You have my word. Love you.”

“Always have.”

“Always will.”

That night, Justin seemed to sense Brian’s worry over his impending test results, in spite of his best efforts to let it go because there was really nothing he could do. Justin had been at his studio until fairly late, so by the time he was home and had showered, Brian was already in bed with a book, trying to keep his mind from wandering to the great unknown that was weighing heavily on it.

“Did your appointment go okay?” Justin asked as he climbed into bed and snuggled up close to Brian.

“I guess.” Brian set the book aside and turned over to face Justin. “I probably won’t know anything until next week.”

“I hope you’re okay.” Justin laced his fingers through Brian’s and pressed them to his lips.

“Me too. But if not, then I guess we’ll deal with it, huh?”

“Yeah, we will. Together.”

That was one thing that was changing -- no more trying to handle things on their own. No more keeping things from each other for the sake of not worrying one another. All that did was create more pain, and more worry.

Yet another lesson from Brian Kinney’s school of hard knocks.

The next week seemed to crawl by. Brian was back to going about his normal week for the most part, with work and client meetings and even his regular appointment with Rochelle, which felt so different now that he’d opened the door to talking about things with Justin. He could never have imagined what a difference it made to just open up and talk. That's not to say it was easy or that there wasn't still a lot of work to be done, but after months of feeling as if he was getting nowhere, he felt like they were making progress at long last. Like he was finally able to let go of what had been haunting him for more than 15 years. Maybe soon he’d be able to sleep soundly without the help of medication to keep the nightmares at bay.

The phone call Brian had been waiting for came on Friday afternoon, just as he was beginning to think he’d have to wait through another agonizing few days of not-knowing. He felt his heart rate speed up as he answered the call and held the phone to his ear, silently praying for good news.

Thankfully, that was what he got. Everything looked fine. No permanent damage. Just a hard lesson in what could happen if he neglected his health, and a personal vow to never put himself in that position again.

Justin had been spending more and more time in his studio, which Brian was thrilled to see, although Justin had remained tight-lipped about what he was working on. Brian tried not to ask too many questions, but he couldn’t help himself -- he was curious about what Justin was doing, and he loved seeing what he created. He really just wanted to be supportive, and he wished he could get Justin over the insecurity he seemed to have developed about his work since his accident. He’d seen what Justin had painted at the apartment while he was still recovering, and he was impressed. It was different from Justin’s previous style, but it was still really good. Justin, however, was still reluctant to believe Brian’s words -- seeming to think that Brian was just trying to be an encouraging partner rather than giving an honest opinion on his artwork.

So Brian was surprised, to say the least, when they were sitting at a cafe near Justin’s studio having dinner one evening, and Justin suddenly offered to take Brian over to the studio to show him what he’d been working on. It was totally out of the blue, and Justin even seemed a little bit excited about it, although that excitement was definitely tempered by nervousness. Brian certainly wasn’t going to argue, but it was such a sudden change that he wondered what had brought it on. However, the closer they got to the studio, the more Justin’s anxiety seemed to take over and his excitement started to fade. Brian tried to be reassuring, holding Justin’s hand in the elevator as they rode up to the floor where Justin’s studio was, and smiling at him each time Justin gave him a nervous glance.

Brian was desperate to find a nonverbal way to tell Justin that he wasn’t going to judge, because his words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Justin’s anxiety rose. It didn’t matter what Justin had been working on, if he was happy with it, then Brian was happy and would support him. But he could hear the unease in Justin’s breath as he unlocked the studio door. Brian’s hand rested on the small of Justin’s back in silent support as he pushed the door open.

The first thing Brian saw when they entered the studio was the canvas that had been on the easel by the window -- the only thing that hadn’t been thrown asunder the last time Brian had been there. The one Justin had been working on back in December.

Brian remembered what this painting had looked like before -- before Justin’s accident. Before their whole world fell apart. Not only Justin’s world -- both of their worlds. Because while the physical aspects of Justin’s accident had happened only to Justin, this tragedy and all of its secondary effects really had happened to both of them. Just like the prom.

The painting had been bright and happy -- shades of red and yellow, blended together into an abstract piece that just made a person feel sunny. Like sunshine. Like Justin. Sunshine. To the untrained eye, the strokes might have looked haphazard, but Brian knew the attention to detail that Justin put into each and every one of his paintings. Those strokes were anything but haphazard. They were carefully placed, painstakingly drawn, with a finesse that Justin simply didn’t have anymore. At least, not right now.

The upper half of the canvas still featured the streaks and spatters of red and yellow, but now, there was a dark, inky black covering most of the lower half -- like an eclipse. It was a stark contrast to the upper half. Brian was sure it was supposed to be. And he was also sure he knew what it symbolized.

But at the very bottom edge, there seemed to be a sunrise emerging -- pinks and oranges and reds and yellows -- light pushing out the darkness. He knew what that symbolized too.

The strokes were different, but the entire piece was still breathtaking.

“Justin, this is…” Brian let his voice trail off as his fingers reached out, seemingly of their own volition, and touched the edge of the canvas. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Justin’s voice was quiet. Shy. Unsure.

“You believe that, don’t you? Because it is.”

“I’m trying to believe it.”

Brian pushed himself over to where Justin was standing and took his husband’s hands in his own. “I know,” he said, looking up at Justin, giving him a reassuring smile. Justin still looked uneasy.

“I’ve been working on some different things too,” Justin said. The timid voice he was using sounded so strange. So not-Justin. He was biting his lip too.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready. I understand.”

“No, I want to.” Justin took a deep breath and walked over to the workbench in the corner on the same wall where the door was. On the workbench was a clay sculpture, about two feet tall. The closer they both got to it, the more clearly Brian could see what it was. It was him.

It was a tasteful nude, modestly positioned, with his likeness sitting atop a square column, the strong muscles of his upper body clearly visible as he sat, head bowed, hair falling over his face, looking down at his legs. They hung just like they always did now -- soft and limp, visibly too-thin, his feet exhibiting the relaxed, slight downward curl that they had anytime they weren’t being pressed against a surface by the weight of his legs.

This must have been what Justin wanted to show him. What he was excited, yet nervous, for Brian to see.

“What do you think?” Justin said softly. He waited for a couple of seconds for Brian to answer, before he started nervously filling the silence left by Brian’s speechlessness. “I’d never really worked with clay before, outside of high school art class and the one class I had to take at PIFA in the interest of being a ‘well-rounded artist.’” He made air quotes with his fingers when he said those last three words. “But I wanted to try something different. Kind of my own rebirth. And this piece is kind of about yours. Your rebirth.”

Brian felt like he’d had multiple rebirths in his life. Of course, to have rebirth, one must also have death. And he’d had plenty of that, too. Deaths and rebirths. Positive and negative, always in balance, in perfect harmony with one another, even when it didn’t seem that way at the time. When he’d met Justin. Justin’s prom. Justin’s recovery. When Justin left him in search of romance and candlelight dinners. When they reunited. When he lost his job at Vangard. When he started Kinnetik. The cancer. The Liberty Ride. Justin’s foray to Hollywood. Justin coming back home. Justin leaving him again. The bombing. Their brief engagement. Their called-off wedding. Justin leaving for New York. His own accident. Several deaths in a row -- easily the darkest time in Brian’s life -- brought back into balance by Justin’s return to it and his unconditional acceptance of Brian, exactly as he was. For that, Brian would always be grateful. In some ways, he felt like he had a debt that could never be repaid.

This sculpture was how Justin saw him. Brian was looking at himself -- at his body -- through the eyes of his husband. The strength and the weakness, in contrast to one another, but also in balance. The beauty, blended with tragedy. Longing. The longing that was clearly evident in his face, cast downward, gazing at the most visible reminder of what he’d lost nearly eleven years ago. He knew he would always feel that longing. No matter how far he’d come in accepting the hand he’d been dealt in life, that longing would always be there. Wishing things could be different. But, at the same time, appreciating the fact that he was still here. That he still had a life to live. That he had someone who loved him, unconditionally. Someone who brought out the best in him, and, in a lot of ways, had transformed him into a totally different person. His true self, perhaps.

That was what Justin saw.

It was what he always had.

Reinvention by TrueIllusion

“When I was bashed, I found out that the best way to survive -- to go on -- is to make something. A painting, a napkin holder, it doesn’t matter, just so that you can prove to yourself and to them that they didn’t get you. You’re still here.”

*****

“Are you sure you don’t want your old job back?”

Brian had asked Justin that several times in the last few weeks, ever since he’d saved the day with his artwork for the New York tourism campaign. And Justin’s answer was always the same.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

It was a Wednesday night. Not their normal night to go out, but Justin didn’t feel like cooking and neither did Brian. Normally, they’d just order takeout, but Brian had been stuck in his office all day working, so he was ready to get out of the apartment and quickly vetoed that idea. That was how they ended up at their favorite Italian restaurant in their neighborhood, Monetti’s.

The owner, Nick, was a young, gay man in his late 20s, having recently taken over the restaurant from his father, who was in ill health. His mother, who -- in true Debbie Novotny style -- had basically treated all of the restaurant’s regulars as if they were her children, had passed away a couple of years before. Justin missed seeing her, because she had always been so sweet and nice to him, not to mention her propensity for throwing in a free dessert almost every time he picked up their takeout order, because she knew how much he loved her lemon cake.

He knew Nick really missed her as well. Justin couldn’t imagine losing his mother at that age, or even now, a few years older than Nick. And with his father’s health problems, Nick was now running the entire place by himself, and he was struggling to stay afloat. Sometimes he and Brian would talk advertising, which Brian didn’t mind doing outside of work hours because Nick was a friend. Brian had put together a couple of different campaigns for him, and Nick had paid him in free catering for meetings and events hosted by Kinnetik in the city. But there was a lot of competition in New York City when it came to owning and operating an Italian restaurant, and even with Brian’s marketing help, Nick was still struggling to make ends meet, and he’d recently confided in Justin that he understood now what a stress operating the restaurant must have been on his parents.

Even now, Brian and Justin were one of only a handful of couples in the restaurant, at 7 p.m. -- what seemed like a prime dinner hour. They’d just finished splitting a piece of Mona’s famous lemon cake -- which Brian pretended not to want any of, but he ate more than half -- after a dinner of too-much pasta, meatballs, and fresh ricotta cheese. Three more of Brian’s secret loves. Now, they were finishing their cocktails while Brian continued to pick up cake crumbs and scrape stray frosting off the dessert plate with the back of his fork.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just order yourself your very own piece of cake, instead of eating most of mine and then sitting here scraping the crumbs up off the plate like some sort of starving orphan,” Justin teased.

Brian shrugged, put his fork down, and tipped the rest of the contents of his cocktail glass into his mouth. “The calories don’t count if the food wasn’t yours,” he said, his trademark smirk turning up the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, okay.” Justin laughed. “Whatever you say, old man.”

“Hey, I’m not the one whose birthday is fast approaching.”

“Yours isn’t exactly far behind.”

“Now you’ll be the same age I was when we almost got married the first time.”

“And you’ll still be twelve years older than me, so watch your mouth. I’m not the one who’s about to enter the back half of my forties.”

“Don’t remind me.” Brian ran his finger along the edge of his empty glass, just as their server, Julie, stopped by their table to ask if they’d like more to drink. Brian shook his head and asked for the check, and asked her to let Nick know that the ricotta cheese was particularly delicious tonight.

Justin snickered and shook his head.

“What? Ricotta isn’t a carb.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure that pasta is. And the three slices of garlic bread that you ate. And that cake. You’d better watch out, or you’re gonna get fat in your old age.”

“Well, we can’t all be blessed with Justin Taylor metabolisms, can we?” Brian took a sip of his water and raised an eyebrow at Justin.

“And I saw you squinting at the menu when you were trying to decide what drink to get. You should go get your eyes checked. It’s probably about time for some reading glasses.” Justin grinned.

“And it’s probably about time for you to shut the fuck up if you don’t want to sleep on the couch tonight.” Brian laid his napkin over the empty dessert plate, which had now been cleared of any and all crumbs. No sooner had he done that, than an odd look came over his face, and Justin saw him shift his weight a little bit in his wheelchair.

“You okay?” Justin asked, trying his best to tamp down the instant anxiety that seemed to rise up in him whenever it seemed like Brian wasn’t feeling his best. Justin was doing a lot better with that than he had been a few weeks before, but it was still hard not to worry. Brian wasn’t always the best at taking care of himself without being prodded to do so. He was getting better about that, too, but there was still room for improvement.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Brian said. “But I need to go home soon.”

Justin knew exactly what that meant. It had happened before when they’d been here -- Brian needing to use the bathroom. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, because Brian carried everything he needed with him all the time, but at this particular restaurant, he couldn’t get into the bathroom because the door was too narrow. Even if the door had been wider, the room wasn’t big enough for him to turn around in, so it still wouldn’t work. They came here quite a bit, and Brian knew to make sure that he took care of things before they left the apartment, but sometimes his body could be unpredictable. At least they were close enough to home that if the need arose, they could get back to their apartment in time.

Brian fidgeted a few more times before Julie returned with the check and another slice of cake in a to-go box with a note on top that said, “Because I know Brian ate most of it. - Nick.”

Justin laughed as Brian took his credit card out of his wallet and handed it to their server. “He knows you well,” Justin said.

“And you,” Brian said. “Fucking bottomless pit. You still eat like a goddamned teenager.” Brian frowned and shifted his weight again.

“If you need to go ahead and go, I can wait for the check,” Justin said. He knew that Brian’s system was still fucked up from the kidney infection, and was still getting used to keeping up with normal hydration levels after months of Brian not drinking enough water. So that meant that by the time Brian got warning, it could quickly become an emergency situation. And, if he didn’t take care of it in time, an embarrassing one, particularly for Brian, who still prided himself on being perfectly put-together all the time.

Brian nodded and said, “Yeah, I’d probably better. I’ll see you at home. Sorry.”

“It’s no problem. You go. I’ll be there in a little bit.”

With that, Brian turned and left the small dining room. The hostess opened the door for him and held it while he negotiated the single step at the front door of the restaurant by tilting himself back into a wheelie and carefully lowering himself down to the sidewalk outside, being mindful that both of his back wheels hit the ground at the same time and his front casters stayed off the ground until that happened. It took a lot of strength, control, and finesse to do it, and Justin knew that. But Brian always managed to do it himself, even on the days when it didn’t seem like he’d be able to. The last time they’d been here, while Brian was still working on getting his strength back after being so ill, it had taken him three tries to get up enough momentum to get over the step and into the restaurant. But he’d done it without Justin’s help. And Justin had a feeling that if he hadn’t been able to, they would have been going home before Brian ever would have agreed to let Justin help him.

A couple of minutes after Brian left, Julie was back with his credit card and the receipt. Justin signed the slip, leaving the same sort of tip that would have been left if Brian were the one doing the writing, then grabbed his cake and got up to leave, shouting a goodbye to Nick over his shoulder and into the kitchen as he walked out of the restaurant.

When Justin got back to the apartment, Brian was just coming out of the bathroom and back down the hallway.

“Sorry about that,” Brian said as he went into the kitchen and refilled his stainless steel water bottle at the refrigerator -- the one that he had to empty four times throughout the day. Every day. Maybe five times if he’d had alcohol or too much coffee. He’d had two cocktails at the restaurant, so he was probably about to have number five. And he was fine. They were both fine. Sometimes it was still difficult for Justin to not worry about Brian when they were apart, but it was getting easier, slowly but surely.

“Did you make it back in time?”

“Yeah. Barely, I think.”

Brian pushed himself over to the sofa, slid his body onto it and pulled his legs up onto the chaise lounge, letting out a quiet grunt as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You alright?” Justin asked, sitting down next to Brian and pulling his own feet up onto the cushion.

Brian nodded and breathed out. “It’s been a long day. I’m so tired of arguing with the art department.”

“You’ve always been tired of the art department.” Justin ran his hand up Brian’s bicep on his way to wrap his arm around Brian’s shoulders. Brian leaned into him slightly.

“That’s because they’ve always sucked. Except for when you were there.”

Justin pulled his hand back a little, starting to massage the back of Brian’s neck. Brian moaned softly.

“God, that feels good,” Brian said.

Slowly, Justin worked his left hand down the side of Brian’s neck toward his shoulder, raising his right hand to do the same on the right side -- at least, as well as he could. His hand seemed to be getting a little stronger, even though the fine motor control was still not there and it still felt a bit numb. He’d been giving Brian full-body massages, just like Adam did for Rob, for a couple of weeks now. Adam had given him some pointers, and Justin had jumped right in, eager to help Brian get some relief for some of the things that had been bothering him, physically.

Even after doing it just a few times, Justin already felt like it was not only good therapy for Brian, but also for him. He was starting to get more confident in using his right hand, and he was fairly sure that the slight increase in strength he’d been noticing was probably due to exercising his hand as he massaged Brian’s muscles.

Every time Justin had done it so far, Brian had ended up falling asleep. Brian apparently had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Justin felt a little guilty that so much of Brian’s exhaustion could be traced back to him, but he knew he couldn’t let that guilt take hold. It wouldn’t do any good. All they could do now was move forward and take care of themselves and each other.

Justin moved over so that he was straddling Brian, starting to unbuckle Brian’s belt and unbutton his pants, then sliding them down to his ankles, where he took off Brian’s shoes and socks before removing his pants entirely. Justin started with Brian’s feet, working them one by one with his hands, massaging the bottoms of Brian’s feet with his thumbs. The soles of Brian’s feet were soft and smooth, having long ago shed their toughness, given that they hadn’t been walked on in over a decade. Justin had always loved Brian’s feet -- long and slender, just like the rest of him, with long toes to match. They’d always been sexy, and they still were. The skin of his feet was cooler than the skin of his upper body had been, just like it always was, because Brian’s lower body didn’t regulate temperature very well. Once he’d finished rubbing Brian’s feet, Justin’s hands slowly crept up Brian’s legs, massaging the soft, pliable muscles there, feeling the occasional spasm beneath his fingers, although those were nothing now like what they had been the first time he’d done this.

By the time Justin made it to Brian’s upper thighs, Brian was reaching out to Justin and starting to unbutton Justin’s shirt, then grabbing both sides of his face and pulling him in for a kiss. Slowly, they undressed each other until they were both naked, Justin’s hands working the tight, tense muscles of Brian’s shoulders and chest while his mouth kissed Brian’s neck and his chin and his lips and that space behind his ear that drove Brian crazy.

When Justin got there, he switched to his tongue, licking a trail back down the side of Brian’s neck and across his chest to Brian’s left nipple, enjoying how Brian arched his back when Justin did that, a low, guttural moan coming out of his mouth. Justin moved to the other nipple, then traced his tongue down Brian’s abdomen to his waistline, testing the waters. Brian moaned again, louder this time -- still pure pleasure, no pain.

Justin could feel Brian’s hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him up so Brian could reach more of him, but Justin wasn’t done yet. He took Brian’s cock into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, relishing how it felt to have Brian inside of him in this way, as he felt Brian getting hard. Once he was, Justin moved back upward, letting Brian prepare him with the lube they kept in the drawer of the table by the end of the sofa, for those times when they just couldn’t make it to the bedroom.

They hadn’t had sex since before Brian got sick, so the feeling of Brian’s fingers inside of him alone was almost enough to push him over the edge. He knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Hurry,” he whispered in Brian’s ear, before kissing Brian’s earlobe and making his way back down Brian’s jawline and up to his lips.

Brian did as he was told, and soon Justin was straddling Brian again, sliding them both downward just a little, so he’d be in the right position to ride Brian. Justin squeezed the older man’s hips between his own legs as he moved himself up and down, the feeling of his husband moving inside of him overwhelming his own senses. He could feel Brian’s hands on his cock as well, jerking him off -- at first slowly and gently, then gradually becoming more quicker and more urgent as Brian’s breathing sped up and he approached his own climax. Justin’s orgasm was stronger and more intense than any he’d felt in a while -- like his body had been saving it up during Brian’s recovery.

Justin practically collapsed on top of Brian, his head coming to rest on Brian’s shoulder, and they both lay there, catching their breath, not saying a word for several minutes. Neither of them needed to say anything, really. Their bodies had said it all.

Brian was the first one to speak.

“You used to do that, you know. Before.”

“What?”

“Give me massages.” Brian took Justin’s right hand in both of his hands and started his own slow massage of the muscles that spent too much time feeling taut and painful in spite of their lack of strength. “It feels really good. It helps my back so much.”

Justin turned his head up and kissed Brian, trying to stay in the moment and not get dragged down into feeling guilty over what he didn’t remember. “Take me to bed and I’ll take care of that for you too,” he said, in his best sultry voice.

Justin slid off of Brian and stood up, pulling Brian back into a sitting position before he released Brian’s hands so he could get himself into his chair. They left their clothes in the living room. Justin would pick them up later -- right now he was focused on Brian.

He got out the special massage oil he’d bought expressly for this purpose, while Brian was getting himself into bed. Once Brian had himself settled and turned over onto his stomach, Justin started massaging Brian’s back muscles with his fingers, being mindful to stay away from the area where titanium rods and screws held Brian’s spine together, supporting it where the bones had once been shattered. Instead, he concentrated on the muscles on either side, working them with his fingers and his thumbs, and the heels of his hands -- doing the best he could to keep his efforts even between his right and his left hand -- until he felt the soft rise and fall of Brian’s chest begin to lengthen and smooth out, as the older man fell asleep.

Justin kissed Brian’s cheek and settled in next to him, pulling the duvet over them both and letting his own eyes close.

The next week, on Justin’s birthday, he woke up alone in the bed. He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock -- it was 9 a.m. He knew Brian had an early morning meeting with a client and would already be gone, so he wasn’t surprised to be by himself, even though it still felt lonely, particularly on his birthday.

He had vague memories of birthdays past -- just snippets. Recollections of Brian ordering him flowers, or leaving him a card on the kitchen island if he had to be out before Justin woke up, but today, there was none of that. Idly, Justin wondered if Brian had forgotten his birthday. It had seemed like Brian had a lot on his mind lately. Even though Justin could tell Brian was trying to not stress himself out the way he had when he’d made himself sick, Brian was still often pulled in a million different directions, and even when he said “no,” those million different things would still be running through his head, leaving him obviously distracted.

Maybe resulting in him forgetting his husband’s birthday.

Justin showered and dressed and ate breakfast and went to his studio, hoping to get some work done on his newest sculpture project, but when he got there, he found that he really felt like painting. So he did. All the while wondering when or if he’d hear from Brian. Still questioning if Brian really had forgotten that today was his birthday.

Justin was standing in front of his easel, completely absorbed in the task at hand -- carefully placing strokes on a canvas, blues and reds atop a gray background, letting his imagination run uninhibited as it guided his hand. He still wasn’t sure where exactly he was headed with this piece, but he figured he would let it tell him when it was done. He’d just dipped the brush back into the red paint when he felt a hand on the small of his back, nearly causing him to paint a bright red streak across the entire canvas out of sheer surprise.

“Fuck!” Justin exclaimed, dropping the brush and letting it clatter to the floor, where it scattered small droplets of paint across the tile. He turned to see who the hand belonged to and found Brian sitting behind him.

“Sorry,” Brian said. “I thought you heard me come in.”

Truthfully, Justin had been so lost in his painting that he hadn’t even heard the door open or Brian approaching him.

“What’s this?” Brian asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Justin said, shrugging as he looked the partially-finished canvas up and down. “I just felt like painting today, and this was what came out.”

“Well, I like it.” Brian wrapped his arm around Justin’s waist.

“You’re also a little bit biased,” Justin said, smiling.

“I can’t help it if my husband is a genius.” Brian grabbed Justin by the arm and tugged him down to give him a kiss. “Happy birthday.”

“So you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget the day that my soulmate was born?”

Brian had come a long way from being the man who felt that birthdays meant nothing -- that only achievements were worthy of celebration. A long way from the man who’d once bought him a night with a hustler as a gift, thinking it was thoughtful and romantic and something Justin would want, when, in reality, Justin only wanted Brian.

“Your soulmate, huh?” Justin could barely contain his grin as he bent down to pick up his dropped paintbrush. “Look what you made me do.” He gestured to the droplets of paint that had spattered on the floor when the brush hit.

“Eh, that’s what we pay the maintenance staff to take care of, right?”

“I guess. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Well, I did want to surprise you. But not necessarily with that.” Brian turned and went back to the door, retrieving a garment bag that he’d apparently hung on the handle. “I wanted to surprise you with this.”

“Brian, you know that I don’t need any--”

“Hush. You’ll need this for where I’m taking you tonight.”

“And what was wrong with the other half dozen suits that hang in our closet that belong to me that I never wear?”

“I can’t be seen with my husband wearing last season’s couture, now can I?” Brian grinned as he unzipped the bag to reveal a light grey suit that Justin was pretty sure he remembered seeing on the cover of one of the many catalogs Brian got in the mail, along with a navy blue shirt and a light blue tie. Only then did Justin notice how Brian was dressed -- he had on his most recently acquired custom-tailored black Armani suit, with a red shirt and a red tie that kind of made him look like the devil -- and also, sexy as hell.

“But it’s so much money--”

“Since when do you object to my spoiling you with my monetary gains?”

Brian had a point there. Justin would just rather be spoiled with art supplies and trips to Europe than with designer clothing. Justin also knew that there was no way he was going to get Brian to stop buying him clothes, so he might as well quit trying.

“So where are we headed, Mr. Kinney?”

“Get dressed and I’ll show you.” Brian took the garment bag over to the bathroom that was in the corner of his studio and opened the door, hanging the suit on the hook that was attached to the back.

After Justin had washed up as best he could in the sink, with Brian assuring him any missed flecks of paint on his face or his hands were nothing more than a huge turn-on for him, Brian turned out the lights in the studio and led Justin downstairs, where there was a black Lincoln Town Car waiting for them. The driver -- whom Justin recognized as being the same man who had taken him to the hospital on the morning Brian got sick -- got out and opened the door for them, then took Brian’s chair apart and stowed the pieces in the trunk.

“Five-star service,” Brian said, leaning across the seat to give Justin a kiss. This time, Justin felt Brian’s tongue push into his mouth as their lips moved in perfect sync, like they were meant to fit together. Justin wondered if he’d ever stop feeling his stomach flutter when Brian kissed him. He hoped he never would.

“So what exactly do you have planned, Mr. Kinney?” Justin said, after Brian had pulled back.

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later, they were at a restaurant Justin had never even heard of before, but that he could tell was expensive just from the decor and the lack of prices on the menu. It also featured a gorgeous view of the city. He ordered a steak and a baked potato, while Brian ordered his with a salad, and they sat drinking from a bottle of wine that had already been on their table, ready to be served, when they’d arrived. Clearly, Brian had arranged every bit of this, and Justin wondered when he’d had time to do it. Not that it mattered. Brian was healthy now, and he was doing a much better job with delegating tasks and prioritizing his own well-being. Justin kept having to remind himself of that.

“I probably don’t want to know how much this bottle of wine cost,” Justin said, as he swirled it in his glass and then took a sip.

“Probably not. But you’re worth it.”

The steak was the best cut of meat Justin had ever eaten in his entire life -- and with his “country-club upbringing” as Rob called it, he’d eaten a lot of steak. Justin closed his eyes for a moment to focus on the flavor, only to hear Brian say, “Don’t come before I’ve even had a chance to fuck you.”

Justin opened his eyes to see the older woman at the next table eyeing Brian haughtily. “Shhhh, Brian,” Justin hissed, jerking his head in her general direction.

“Who the hell cares? I paid my money just like she did. I can say whatever the fuck I want.”

They finished the bottle of wine over a dessert of triple-layer chocolate torte, which Brian enjoyed far more than he’d ever want to let on. He did let Justin have the last bite, though, and he refrained from scraping the crumbs off the plate with his fork.

Brian finished his glass of wine, then paused to look at Justin, his hazel eyes seeming to glow in the dim light from the candle that flickered in the center of their table. Justin could remember when all he’d ever wanted was for Brian to look at him like that -- like he was the most precious thing in the world. Now, he had it. He had it every day.

He was so goddamned lucky.

When they got back into the waiting Town Car, Justin expected that they’d be heading back to Chelsea, but they didn’t. Instead, they ended up at a jazz club on the upper west side. There was a line of people waiting to get in, but Justin wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when Brian bypassed it entirely and they were both ushered in as if they owned the place.

“Brian, how did you--”

“Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Just relax and enjoy.”

They were led to a table in a dark corner of the already dimly-lit room, and the “reserved” sign was removed from it once they’d been seated. A low din of conversation buzzed in the busy room while the musicians warmed up onstage. Seconds later, a server appeared with another bottle of wine that Justin probably didn’t want to know the cost of, pouring some of it into two glasses before nodding toward Justin and saying, “Happy birthday, sir.”

“Brian, you really didn’t have to do all of this.” At this moment, Justin wanted to kick himself for ever entertaining the thought that Brian had somehow forgotten his birthday. He certainly hadn’t forgotten it at all. He’d apparently been planning this for a while.

“I know.” Brian’s eyes looked mischievous, reminiscent of a little boy who was up to something. “I wanted to.”

It was hard to believe that the man sitting in front of Justin at this moment, a bottle of expensive red wine between them, having just shared a romantic candlelit dinner, was the same man who’d once stood barefoot on the street and told him that he didn’t believe in love -- that he only believed in fucking, because it was fast and efficient, minimum bullshit and maximum pleasure.

How far they were from that moment on the corner of Fuller and Tremont, when Justin had cried tears of hurt as he drove away in Daphne’s car, feeling like all of his dreams had been crushed.

Now, he had everything he ever could have wanted.

Once the band started playing, Brian seemed lost in the music, his eyes closing as he swayed in rhythm with the melody. Justin was enjoying watching Brian as much as he was enjoying the music. They chatted a little, but mostly, they just listened. After a few songs, Brian came out from behind the table and took Justin’s hand.

“Dance with me.”

Justin stood, and Brian led him to the dance floor, where a few couples were already swaying in time with the soft sounds of the saxophone, the piano, and the bass, combined with the sultry voice of a woman in a black, sequined evening gown.

At first, Brian held Justin’s hand, moving his chair with the other, occasionally switching hands so they could move a different way. Then, Justin took both of Brian’s hands and led for a while, before Brian pulled him down onto his lap and whispered, “Put your arms around me.”

Justin draped his arms around Brian’s neck as Brian began to move them slowly around the dance floor, twirling and turning. Justin closed his eyes and let himself be consumed by the moment, only to open them and find that they were the only ones on the dance floor and everyone in the room was watching them. Brian was giving him a small smile that looked so shy and so un-Brian-like, and Justin couldn’t help but notice how happy Brian looked. How in love. So absolutely in love.

As the song ended, Brian kissed him, long and deep. When their lips parted, the other people in the room were applauding -- not just for the band, but for them. Justin was fairly sure he could see tears in Brian’s eyes.

Justin wondered if they’d danced like this at their wedding reception.

He wondered if he would ever stop wishing he could remember it. If it would ever come back to him.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Brian said softly, putting his arms around Justin.

“Me too.” Justin kissed Brian again, feeling the electricity surge through his body that he always did whenever they kissed. That he had ever since that first night at the loft. “Take me home.”

That night, they made love. It was slow and sweet, with Justin’s feet atop Brian’s shoulders and his ankles crossed behind Brian’s neck as they used the chair Justin had bought for Brian that allowed them to revisit all of their old favorite positions and put Brian back in control. After all Brian had already done for him that night, Justin didn’t think it was possible for Brian to demonstrate any more clearly just how much he loved Justin, but as their bodies rocked back and forth in perfect sync, Brian moving in and out of him as he reached his edge and tipped over it into oblivion, Justin knew that neither of them would ever be complete without the other. And when they were connected, they were whole.

The next morning, as Justin headed to his studio, he was still on cloud nine, remembering how amazing the previous night had been. Brian had truly made the night perfect. It was the best birthday Justin had ever had.

Brian had given him a post-birthday blow job that morning, and then they’d showered together, still unable to keep their hands off of each other. But eventually, they had to, or else Brian was going to be late for his meeting.

Justin had made them both breakfast, and they’d eaten together just like they did on most mornings -- Justin drinking his coffee with too much cream, and Brian with too much sugar.

It was a good morning. A really, really good morning. The sort of morning that Justin was looking forward to repeating, over and over again, for the rest of their lives.

Justin had recently started a new sculpture project -- an abstract piece that he was fashioning out of random objects he’d found at thrift stores and junk shops and bought from people on the street in neighborhoods that Brian would probably freak out if he knew Justin had been to by himself, even though they were both trying to be better about that. He was really enjoying having the ability to branch out and create whatever he wanted -- trying things he’d never tried before -- without having to worry about whether or not he was living up to anyone else’s expectations.

The only person he needed to please was himself.

As he sorted through the box of metal and plastic and ceramic bits and baubles, looking for whatever spoke to him next, Justin started thinking about Brian’s birthday. It was a little more than a month away, and Justin had no idea what to do to celebrate it.

What do you get for the man who has everything, and the moment he realizes he wants something that he doesn’t have, buys it for himself? The man who rolls his eyes at romance -- unless, of course he’s the one doing the romancing.

How in the world could Justin put something together that would even begin to measure up to what Brian had done for him?

He knew it wasn’t a competition, but he still felt pressured. He wanted to be as good of a partner to Brian as Brian was being to him. To do something for him that was just as special -- just as unforgettable -- as the beautiful memory Brian had given him the night before.

Justin spent the day dabbling in his studio -- working on the sculpture, painting a little bit, even sitting down in the comfortable armchair he’d recently put by the window to just sketch for a little while. Thinking of Brian. The man he could sketch from memory, and had since he was seventeen years old.

He was just finishing softening some of the harsh pencil lines by smudging them with his finger when he started to feel the telltale tinge of pain behind his eyes that told him tonight wasn’t going to be as good of a night as last night. But maybe if he went home and took his meds, he could keep it from being as bad as it would be otherwise. He hoped so. He was glad that these headaches were getting fewer and farther between, but they were still an unwanted interruption when they did pop up.

Closing his sketchbook, Justin got up and stretched, then slid the book and the pencil into his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder before locking up his studio and heading toward home.

He had to walk right past Monetti’s as he covered the distance between the subway station and their apartment building. There was a chalkboard sign out on the sidewalk advertising a special on cannolis, which Justin knew Brian loved. So, on a whim, he took a detour and opened up the door, finding Nick standing behind the hostess stand, talking on the phone.

“Yes, I’m very sorry that we’re unable to accommodate your party. … Yes, I understand. … Thank you. Goodbye.”

When Nick hung up the phone, he closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“God, that hurt to have to turn down,” he said as he turned and walked back into the empty dining room, motioning for Justin to follow him.

“What?” Justin asked, taking a seat at the same table where Nick had just sunk heavily into a chair. He tried not to think too much about the fact that the dining room was completely deserted. It was the middle of the afternoon, after all. But still, it was a Saturday. He knew things would be busy later, and that there would probably be a wait list during dinner, but he wished for Nick’s sake that they could be busy all day long. The food was so good -- Justin didn’t understand why more people didn’t come here.

Besides, any time is a good time for spaghetti and garlic bread. That was Justin’s philosophy.

“Birthday party. Thirty people. Would practically fill up this whole damn room and maybe get us some new customers who had never been here before. But they needed wheelchair accessibility. They said we were the fifth place they’d called, and they kept striking out.”

Justin nodded. He and Brian certainly knew the struggle of trying to find a place that was accessible and how frustrating it could be as a customer when you really wanted to go somewhere and it just wasn’t feasible. But he hadn’t really considered it from the point of view of the business owner before.

“I really wish I could afford to make the necessary modifications, but I can’t,” Nick said. It was easy to tell how frustrated he was. “You and Brian are two of my best customers, and I know things aren’t exactly convenient for him, but I appreciate that you come anyway. Still, I wish I could make things easier. I just don’t have the money. I don’t have the money for a lot of things I want to do. Such is life, I guess.” Nick sighed and shook his head. “But I’m sure you didn’t stop by just to hear about my problems. What can I do for you?”

“I saw your sign about the cannolis, so I thought I’d stop by and pick up a couple.”

“I’d probably better give you extra, right? So you can have another after Brian eats half of yours?” Nick winked at him. “I don’t see how you stand that. I’d stab him with my fork.”

“I’m used to it. He’s done it for fifteen years. One of these days I’ll get him to admit that he actually likes carbs.”

“Keep feeding him Italian food; he’ll come around.” Nick stood up and walked back toward the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to ask if Justin wanted anything else.

Justin shook his head. So far, the pain in his head was holding steady at “barely there.” Hopefully it would stay that way.

A few minutes later, Nick returned with the cannolis and, as always, a little something extra that he refused to let Justin pay for, insisting that a few bucks worth of pasta and bread wasn’t going to break him. Justin always felt bad about taking the extra food Nick gave him, but Nick wasn’t going to take his money, so eventually, he’d quit trying and had just started saying thanks, and trying to make it up to Nick by sending more business his way.

As Justin walked the rest of the way home, he suddenly realized what he could do to help Nick. Nick might not be able to afford to renovate, but Justin was still sitting on almost all of the money he’d made selling his paintings over the last ten years, since Brian would never let him pay for much of anything and never had. He kept telling Justin to save his money in case he needed it later, but they both knew that need was never going to come if Brian had anything to do with it.

This, though -- this would be an excellent use of some of that money. He’d be helping Nick, which he knew Brian would support, and it would be a great birthday gift for Brian as well, to not have to struggle to get through the door or have to leave suddenly if he needed to use the restroom. Justin hoped he’d be able to get Nick to agree to let him do this for him.

When Justin got back up to the apartment, Brian wasn’t there. Instead, there was a note on the kitchen island -- in what had become their usual note-leaving spot -- letting him know that he’d gone to the gym and he’d be back in about an hour. Justin chuckled to himself at the thought that, since he didn’t know when Brian had left, he really had no idea when “about an hour” was. But he guessed it really didn’t matter. They would both be fine.

He set the paper bag containing the cannolis and the rest of the food Nick had given him on the counter and went into the bathroom to take the medication he hoped would keep him from spending the rest of the evening in bed. Although he knew he might anyhow, because the pills made him sleepy.

He had a pretty good system worked out now for getting the bottles open, using a rubber grip thingy that Rob had given him. He’d finally started using the flip-top pill box Brian had given him, but that was just for the things he took every day. For the things like this, that he only needed sometimes, he still had to open the bottles. But that was okay. It was good for him to keep doing it, because then he’d notice when it started to get easier. And that was a good thing.

After he’d downed the pills with some water and set the empty glass back in its home on the counter, he went back into the kitchen and sat down at the table with his food -- a late lunch, he supposed. Nick had given him some fettuccine alfredo and two slices of garlic bread, which Justin thought was the most delicious bread he’d ever eaten in his life. The bread itself had just the slightest note of sweetness in it, which paired nicely with the strong, savory flavor of the garlic butter.

Once his belly was full, he cleaned up his mess and then went into their bedroom to lie down, because he could already feel himself getting drowsy. He started off trying to read the book he’d started last week, but set it aside after he woke himself up by dropping it on his face at one point when he must have nodded off. The headache was starting to ramp up a bit, although it was nothing like some of the ones he’d had recently. He was thankful for that.

Justin listened for a moment to see if it sounded like Brian was home, but the apartment was still quiet. Brian must have left right before Justin came home. That, or he’d decided to go somewhere else before he came home, or he got to talking to one of the personal trainers at the gym again. One of them, Brandon, seemed to have taken a particular interest in Brian, seeing him as a potential challenge, and had been trying his best to get Brian to let him design a training plan for him. So far, Brian had refused, because he’d always been more of a “just go do whatever I feel like, and whatever will make me look good” kind of guy when it came to the gym. But he got the feeling that Brandon had been wearing him down.

He let his eyes drift shut once again, falling asleep quickly. When he woke up again, Brian was beside him, setting a glass of water on the nightstand. His hair was wet, probably from his post-gym shower, and he was dressed like he didn’t plan on going out again.

“Shit,” Brian said. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No. But you are a pretty nice view to wake up to.” Justin smiled.

“You alright? It’s not like you to be sleeping at dinnertime.”

“Headache.” It was still about the same as it had been the last time he’d woken up. No better, but also no worse, so that was good.

“A bad one?”

Justin shook his head a little. “No. Just kind of there. It’s my meds that are making me sleepy.”

Brian went around to the other side of the bed and pulled his body up onto it, scooting himself over close to Justin before turning onto his side and laying his arm over Justin’s chest, pulling Justin’s body against his. Justin loved laying like this -- it always made him feel safe. Protected. And he knew that was exactly why Brian did it.

The next time Justin woke up, he could feel Brian’s breath, warm and gentle, on his neck -- a steady rhythm, in and out, coupled with the soft snore that indicated Brian was asleep. Justin interlaced his fingers through Brian’s, immersing himself in the moment, sharing this intimacy with the man he loved. The only man he’d ever loved. The only one he ever would.

Justin spent the next several days working on setting his plan for Brian’s birthday into motion. First, he had to convince Nick, which turned out to be more of a challenge than he’d thought it would be, but ultimately, he’d managed to talk him into it. Once he was sure Nick would go for it, he put in a call to a contractor who had done some work in the building where his studio was, to see what an estimated cost and time frame might be. Once he and Nick had met with the contractor at the restaurant and they’d all agreed on the details of the project, he had to call Ted so he could have one of Kinnetik’s lawyers draw up a contract to protect Nick, just to be sure all of their bases were covered. Justin could hear the smile in Ted’s voice as he described what he wanted to do and why, and made Ted promise that Brian wouldn’t hear about any of this. Ted agreed, ending their call with, “I have to say, when you first started following Brian around Liberty Avenue, I don’t think any of us ever thought we’d be here fifteen years later.”

Justin had to agree. He’d had high hopes back then -- it was why he wasn’t willing to give up easily -- but he’d never imagined that a decade and a half later, he and Brian would be married and monogamous. Much less that they’d both be perfectly content with that. But here they were.

It would take about two weeks to make the necessary changes at Monetti’s. And in the meantime, Justin had to keep Brian out of there.

He’d figured that might be the biggest challenge of all, and he was right. Not even three days after work had begun on transforming the storage room full of unused junk into an accessible restroom, Brian was trying to drag Justin out of the apartment, insisting that he had an overwhelming need for chicken parmesan. Justin had to pretend that he could feel a headache coming on to convince Brian that they should stay home and order takeout, having it delivered. Brian spent the rest of the night trying to take care of him, which Justin had to admit was even nicer when he wasn’t feeling like shit and could really enjoy it all.

When the work on the bathroom was nearly completed, Justin snuck away during one of Brian’s client meetings to check out the progress so far. He and Nick were both impressed with the quality of the work and the efficiency with which everything was getting done. At this rate, it would be done in time for Brian’s birthday with no problem at all. Once the bathroom was done, they’d also be working on the entrance, replacing the single step at the front door into a ramp, which wouldn't be too difficult since the entrance was already set back a little bit off of the sidewalk.

They were discussing those plans with the contractor when Justin’s cell phone rang. He had to keep his heart from jumping up into his throat, because it seemed like the only time people called him now was if it was an emergency. Most of the time, everyone just sent text messages back and forth.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he saw that the call was from Adam, which made it even stranger. He hoped that nothing was wrong. But his hands were still shaking just a little bit as he stepped away to take the call.

“Hello?” He could hear the apprehension in his own voice as he answered the phone.

“Hey Justin. It’s Adam. Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you. Hear me out before you say no.”

Adam didn’t even give Justin any time to object -- he just kept talking.

“I know I’ve mentioned before that Mrs. Chambers is retiring at the end of the year, and I know that right now you’re really not interested in taking over the position full-time, but she’s been saving her vacation time up and is taking off the last two weeks of school. We really need a sub, but no one is available for two full weeks. The kids love you -- I know they’d be thrilled to see you again. So I guess I’m calling to beg. Please? Would you consider it? Just for these two weeks?”

Justin still remembered the first time Adam had brought up perhaps returning to substitute teaching, as they’d sat around the dinner table at Rob and Adam’s apartment. How, at the time, he’d had no idea how he was even going to make art at all after this injury. How out-of-reach it had felt to even think about teaching others how to make art when he couldn’t do it himself.

He also remembered the look on Esme’s face -- positively crestfallen -- when she’d thought that Justin might not teach her anymore either.

He still loved helping Esme and Sophia draw, but teaching a roomful of children was completely different from sitting in the floor of a child’s bedroom in a friend’s apartment.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Justin, please. We’re desperate. And I would have much rather called you first, but I knew you’d say no. I can tell you still want to say no. But will you promise me that you’ll at least think about it? It’s just for two weeks. That’s all.”

Two weeks still felt like a long time in Justin’s world. What would he do? What would he have the kids do?

Would they ask a lot of questions about what happened to him? Would they expect him to remember them? What if he didn’t?

“Justin? Are you still there?”

Adam’s words brought Justin back to reality.

“I’m here.”

“Will you think about it? Please?”

Justin let out a breath. He wanted to say no. But he couldn’t. Not after all that Adam and Rob had helped him with in recent months. He knew if he took the time to think about it, he’d probably find a way to talk himself out of it, so it was probably best to take this much like he’d taken his journey back into his own art -- just jump in.

“I’ll do it,” Justin said, still not quite believing what he was saying, but trying not to think about it too much. “Just for the two weeks.”

He hoped he would land on his feet.

The following Monday, Justin was standing in his and Brian’s closet, his hair still damp from the shower, trying to push the myriad of anxious thoughts and potentially disastrous what-ifs out of his mind as he tried to choose what clothing to wear for his first day back as a substitute art teacher. He was so lost in the chaos of his mind that he didn’t even notice Brian coming up behind him until Brian’s right arm was around his waist and his left hand was combing through the hangers, pushing aside several different things before stopping on a sapphire blue button-up shirt.

“This.” Brian took the shirt out and held it up to Justin. “It brings out your eyes.”

“I’m not trying to look sexy, Brian. I’m teaching elementary school students how to draw.”

“So it’ll be lost on the kids, big deal. But you can still look the part of the hot teacher.”

“Again, this is elementary school, Brian.” Justin tried to sound exasperated, but he was fighting back laughter.

Brian wasn’t listening anyhow. He had moved over to the small section where Justin’s pants were hanging, pushing more hangers aside until he found what he was looking for. “And these. These pants make your ass look delicious.”

“Why do I get the feeling this outfit is more about what you’re going to do to me when I get home, than anything that’s going to be happening during the school day?” Justin did laugh this time. He knew what Brian was doing -- trying to distract him from those anxious thoughts that were threatening to take over his mind.

“Maybe.” Brian was grinning as he took the outfit he’d selected back into the bedroom and laid it out on the bed. “Yes. Perfect. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need any more of my fashion consulting services.”

Justin watched as Brian left the room, then put on the slim-fitting khakis and the blue shirt, secretly grateful that Brian had taken one decision off of his plate when he was already feeling overwhelmed -- perhaps he’d done that on purpose. When he got into the living room, he saw that Brian had made breakfast.

“Are you going to go all housewife on me now that I’ve got a day job?” Justin teased.

“In your dreams. You’d better enjoy it while you’ve got it.”

An hour later, Brian was seeing Justin off with a goodbye kiss that made him want to take Brian’s pants off and have sex with him right there in his wheelchair in the middle of the living room. But they didn’t have time. He had to go or he was going to be late.

Brian ended the kiss with a light smack to Justin’s ass and a promise to show Justin exactly how proud he was of him the minute he got home.

Justin spent the entire subway ride thinking about Brian and trying to will away a hard-on. Yeah, he was pretty sure Brian knew exactly what he was doing -- providing just enough distraction to keep Justin’s “anxiety brain” from taking over. And it was working.

Adam met Justin at the front door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you again for agreeing to do this,” he said. “I know Michelle is grateful, too.” Michelle was one of the assistant principals and the unlucky recipient of the responsibility to locate subs.

From that moment forward, Justin felt like he’d been sucked into a whirlwind, ending in him being dropped into the classroom, alone, with fifteen minutes to go until his first class would arrive. He busied himself rearranging the desk -- putting most of the things he’d need on the left side so they’d be within easy reach of his “new” dominant hand. He was feeling more self-conscious of his right hand today than he had for a while. The muscles felt tight today -- he should have asked Brian to massage it for him before he left. He was sure it was just a side effect of the nervous tension he was feeling everywhere else in his body.

His first group of students would be fifth graders, and a note that had been left on the desk told him that they were working on drawing faces. Beneath the post-it note was a stack of papers, each with a different face on it and a first name and last initial in the lower right corner. Justin flipped through the papers with his left hand, more for the additional distraction than anything. Some of the faces were downright scary-looking -- with their proportions and positioning off in a horror-film sort of way -- but some of them were really good. He glanced down at the names as he turned the pages over. He thought perhaps he remembered some of them. He supposed he’d find out in a little while.

As the minutes ticked by, Justin tried to focus on his breath. Keeping himself as calm as he could. Reminding himself that they were just kids, and they were there to learn about art. Something he loved, and loved sharing with other people. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out only to see a text message from Brian: Can’t wait to hear all about your day this afternoon when I’m busy taking those pants and that shirt off of you.

Justin let out a chuckle as he shook his head and slid the phone back into his pocket, a smile spreading across his face. Brian was doing a damn good job of keeping him pleasantly distracted. He supposed this was Brian’s version of leaving a love note in his lunch bag. Although maybe that was another thing he’d done while Justin was in the shower. He would have to find out later.

The first half of the day passed by more quickly than Justin could have ever imagined. Some of the fifth graders recognized him -- he’d last seen them in October when Mrs. Chambers was out for a few days with the flu. He also saw a couple of classes of third graders, who were working with modeling clay, so that was a nice synergy with his newfound interest in sculpture. To his surprise, no one really asked any questions about his hand, and he found that he didn’t really feel as awkward about teaching and demonstrating with his left hand as he thought he would. It almost felt natural. Maybe they picked up on that too. Or maybe his partially paralyzed right hand didn’t stand out as much anymore as he felt like it did.

Maybe it was all about his own perception -- projecting his own self-criticism on other people. Just like what had happened with Brian more than a decade ago.

Justin was grateful that he had the same lunch schedule as Adam, which meant he wouldn’t be eating lunch alone. Even with as many times as he’d subbed, he really hadn’t talked much with any of the other teachers -- not that he felt like he’d remember enough of anything if he had. And he didn’t really want to talk about his accident or his memory loss today, so the last thing he wanted to do was try to explain to someone why they remembered him but he didn’t remember them.

He found Adam quickly, over in the corner of the cafeteria where the teachers sat. Adam was talking to a young woman who introduced herself as Shannon Smith, the music teacher. Justin wasn’t sure if he might have already known her or not, but perhaps he was safe since she was the one who did the introducing. He was so sick of having to “fake it” -- being polite and make small talk whenever someone obviously remembered him but he didn’t remember them.

“Well, you haven’t been by my classroom to smack me yet, or to ask me why the hell I talked you into this, so I’m guessing things are going okay?” Adam asked, his eyebrow raised as he picked up another forkful of his grilled chicken salad.

Justin looked up from unpacking his lunch bag and shrugged. “I guess. So far, so good. But I’ve only taught three classes so far. It’s easier than I thought it would be though.”

Adam smiled at him. “I knew it would be. You’re a natural.”

Justin wasn’t so sure about that, but he had to admit, it felt a lot more familiar than he’d figured it would.

Justin’s afternoon started with Miss Martin’s fourth grade class and an excited squeal and a hug from Esme. Apparently Adam hadn’t told her that he’d be there, but to say that she was thrilled would be an understatement. He heard her chattering excitedly to the student next to her, a blonde-haired girl with pink glasses whose name he later found out was Olivia, telling her all about how he was her papa’s famous artist friend and how much she loved to draw with him.

There was another student in that class who also caught Justin’s attention -- a young boy named Luke who used a wheelchair and had an aide with him. She told Justin that Luke had cerebral palsy, which left him with limited control over his limbs and slurred speech, but he was actually ahead of his class academically. Luke told Justin that art was his favorite class after Justin introduced himself and told Luke it was nice to meet him. That interaction was the only time all day that he talked about his right hand. He saw the curious look in Luke’s eyes later in the hour when everyone was busy working on their landscape drawings and he brought a couple of the tools he kept in his messenger bag over to show Luke. The tools he’d once been too embarrassed and angry to use. Luke had tools of his own that he was eager to show Justin, and even after he returned to his desk, Justin found himself watching Luke as he drew. The way he used his left hand to steady the right, the way Justin had once done himself all those years ago. The creative ways he would find to do things. But most of all, the way he seemed to lose himself in the process.

And when Justin made his way around the room answering questions and offering pointers, the way Luke looked thoughtfully at his paper for a moment, then immediately tried what Justin had suggested -- the grin on his face telling Justin how pleased he was with the result.

All day long, Justin was testing his long-term memory -- recalling all of the things he’d learned in the art classes he’d taken in grade school and at PIFA. The technical aspects that he didn’t often think about when he made his own art, that he thought might be helpful to his students.

He said that to himself again the second after he thought it -- his students. Maybe this did feel natural, after all.

Justin was smiling when he walked through the door of the apartment, where he found Brian on the sofa, laptop out, papers and folders scattered on the adjacent cushion.

“Working in the living room?”

“Change of scenery,” Brian said, starting to gather up the papers with his right hand as he closed his laptop with the left.

Justin sat his messenger bag down by the door and joined him.

“So...how was it?” Brian asked as he leaned over the arm of the sofa to set his laptop and his stack of folders down on the side table.

“Don’t you have clothes you wanted to tear off of me?”

“I thought I’d at least ask about your day first, but if you insist…”

Brian pulled his wheelchair closer -- the new one that had just come in a few days before and had already seemed to result in Brian feeling a lot better -- and slid his body into it, leading Justin to the bedroom and making Justin’s already pretty-damn-good day even better.

The next day felt even easier -- Justin was starting to find his groove and settle in. Really enjoying that he could spend his entire day helping the kids take whatever was in their imaginations and put it down on paper or bring it into a three-dimensional existence with clay or even popsicle sticks and a little glue. Showing them that the sky was the limit and there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do. As long as they liked it, that was all that mattered.

When Justin got home that afternoon, Brian was in his office, looking frustrated.

He told Justin that he had to go to Pittsburgh. That it was an emergency -- work-related, but an emergency, no less.

It would be the first time they’d been in separate cities since Justin’s accident.

Brian looked as nervous as Justin felt. Justin wished he could go with Brian, but he couldn’t, because he was committed to teaching through the end of the following week. And Brian would be leaving for Pittsburgh in the morning.

“It’ll be fine,” Brian told him as they lay together in bed that night, Brian’s packed suitcase sitting by the closet door. Justin could hear in Brian’s voice that he was as much trying to reassure himself as he was Justin. They both knew what this meant. What the significance was.

They both had bad memories of the last time they’d truly been apart.

At least, Brian had bad memories. Justin had a handful of bits and pieces and the lingering effects of a traumatic brain injury that were going to make it very difficult to not feel anxious at the idea of being home alone while Brian was in Pittsburgh. To not worry that something might happen to one of them. Even as unlikely as that was, statistically -- and Justin knew that -- that wasn’t enough to stop his brain from going there. Hell, it had already been there the second Brian told him he had to go to Pittsburgh.

Justin wanted to go with Brian to the airport the next morning, but he couldn’t, because if he did, he’d be late for work. So they said their goodbyes in the living room with a long, passionate kiss that made Justin want more, but he knew Brian had to go or he’d miss his flight.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” Brian said. He held Justin’s hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “It’ll be okay.” He must have been able to feel Justin’s nervous energy. That, or he was nervous himself. “You’ll be so busy being the most amazing art teacher ever that you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Justin nodded but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, because he knew if he tried, all that he’d be able to do was beg Brian not to go. And he knew Brian had to go. Brian had his own life and his work and his company, and those things were important. Just like Justin was starting to find his own life again, too.

“I love you,” Brian said. Justin wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to hearing those words -- the words that he’d waited so long to hear -- come out of Brian’s mouth. But he was okay with that, because it meant that each time he heard them, he was grateful. Grateful for the feeling. Grateful to have Brian in his life, the way he’d always wanted since the moment they met.

Justin nodded again and tried to smile. Brian smiled back at him.

“I’ll talk to you tonight.”

Justin spent the entire day trying to rein his brain back in. Keeping himself from worrying. Trying to focus on art and the kids. He got a text message from Brian during lunch and had to fight the impulse to call him, because he knew if he did, he would never want to get off the phone.

He stopped by Monetti’s on the way home to grab dinner. The progress so far on his and Nick’s project was impressive. The contractor was putting the finishing touches on the bathroom, and work would be starting soon to add the ramp at the front entrance. Justin managed to get Nick to let him pay for his dinner this time, but when he got back home, he saw there was a slice of cake he hadn’t ordered or paid for in the bag as well.

Once he’d finished his dinner, Justin moved to the sofa and attempted to settle in for an evening of bachelorhood. Only he didn’t really want to be alone. He much preferred spending his evenings with Brian -- dare he say, cuddling.

Brian called a little after eight, sounding stressed out. Justin could hear it in his voice, even though he tried to maintain an illusion of positivity, asking about Justin’s day and trying to generally keep the focus off of himself until Justin told him to cut the bullshit and tell him what was going on.

The long and short of it was that there was a client who was pissed because they felt that the campaign they’d agreed on and what they actually received were two very different things, and somehow that had slipped past everyone, including him. Now the client was refusing to work with anyone else other than Brian himself.

“It really wasn’t that different. I think they’re overreacting. They want me to fire somebody. But, I don’t know.” Brian sounded tired.

“Are you still at the office?” Justin asked, even though he was fairly sure he already knew what the answer was.

“Yeah,” Brian sighed. “I don’t have a choice. I didn’t get here until after lunch.”

“But you’ve been up since 5 a.m.”

“I know, Sunshine. But I still have to get this done.”

“By when?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“So why not finish it tomorrow morning?”

“Because I’d rather do it now.”

“You’re tired. I can tell.”

“I’m fine.” Brian sounded indignant, but Justin could still hear how exhausted he was. Justin knew this was his usual Brian Kinney bullshit. I’m fine even when I’m not.

“It’s one account. Don’t do that to yourself again.”

“It’s a big account, though.”

“I don’t care. It’s replaceable. You aren’t. Go to your hotel and get some sleep. It’ll all be there in the morning.”

“How about if I give it another hour and see what I can get done?” Brian was negotiating. Justin wasn’t surprised. He would have been surprised if Brian had capitulated without at least some sort of fight.

“Fine,” Justin said. He wasn’t thrilled to hear that but he supposed he’d have to take what he could get. “But I’m calling you in an hour and a half, on the hotel phone. And you’d better be there to answer it.”

He was. And by the time they hung up, Justin could tell Brian was nearly asleep.

Justin knew how hard it was for Brian to prioritize himself over his business and his reputation. But he also knew Brian was working on it, and Justin was still proud of him for not staying at the office until well past midnight like he probably would have done in the past. Baby steps.

Justin called Brian in the morning as he walked to the subway station, just to say good morning. Brian was already in the office. He’d had a late night and was having an early morning. Justin had to hope that Brian wouldn’t let things get out of hand this time -- that he’d stop and take care of himself when necessary. That he wouldn’t assume that just because he was feeling better now, he could go right back to doing what he did before.

Being so far away, Justin felt like he was at a distinct disadvantage. He’d have to rely on phone calls and text messages, and he’d also have to rely on Brian himself to realize when he needed a break. Justin was trying his best not to feel nervous about that.

He was also trying his best to go on about his life like a normal person whose husband was on a business trip.

When Adam asked Justin at lunch if he’d like to come over to his and Rob’s place for dinner, Justin wondered if Brian had been the one who orchestrated it. But it didn’t really matter if he had or not -- Justin was grateful to not have to eat dinner alone in an empty apartment and spend the evening with the television as his only friend. He would still have to go to bed alone, but at least he’d have a few hours of distraction before he had to go home and do that.

It was fun for Justin to be a part of the regular, weeknight dinner conversation at the Anderson-Manning house. Hearing about the girls’ days -- elementary and preschool trials and tribulations -- and just being a party to a family dinner table conversation. He hadn’t been a part of one of those since he was a teenager, and even then, he’d always felt like the odd man out because his father was never interested in anything he cared about.

All evening, though, Justin kept finding himself thinking of Brian. They hadn’t talked since that morning. They’d exchanged a few text messages, mostly consisting of sexual innuendo, but that was it. Justin hoped that Brian wasn’t still at the office. That maybe he’d gone over to Michael and Ben’s, or was hanging out at Babylon, overseeing his kingdom. Justin didn’t really care what he was doing as long as he wasn’t working well into the night again.

Someone must have asked Justin a question while he was lost in his thoughts, because the next thing he knew, he felt Rob’s hand on his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” Rob asked.

Justin shook his head a little, as if it was somehow possible to shake the thoughts out of his head, then said, “Yeah.”

Adam repeated his question, Justin answered it, and the conversation around the dinner table continued as normal.

Rob waited until they’d finished eating and Adam had taken the girls down the hallway for their baths to question Justin any further.

“You were about a million miles away at dinner,” he said. “What’s up? You okay?”

Justin knew there was no point in trying to lie. Rob would see right through it -- he was pretty perceptive. Even with Brian, and Justin knew that was a formidable challenge. So he told him the truth.

“I’m nervous. Afraid Brian isn’t going to do what he needs to do. I know that’s stupid, but...that’s where I am. I was just sitting there thinking I hoped he wasn’t still at work.”

“You have to trust him, Justin.”

“I know, and I do. It’s just… He needs encouragement.”

Rob laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. But he’s still gotta learn to do it himself. I think he got his wake up call, though.”

“I hope so.”

“Hey, I’m getting ready to go to a yoga class here in a bit. Would you like to go? It might take your mind off things.”

Justin wondered if Brian might have put Rob up to this too, but again, it didn’t matter. It didn’t really seem to be Brian’s speed anyhow, so it was probably all Rob. He’d been curious about yoga for a while, and John had recommended it to him offhand once as being something many of his clients found helpful for managing depression and anxiety. He wasn’t sure how helpful it would be, but maybe this would be a good way to jump in.

Not even an hour later, he was following Rob through the door of a yoga studio just a few blocks from Rob and Adam’s apartment.

Ninety minutes after that, Justin was hooked.

There were literally all sorts of people in that class -- different ages, sizes, abilities, walks of life -- and yet somehow the instructor brought it all together, managing to tell everyone exactly how to feel the pose in their bodies, whether they were sitting in a chair, standing, or even on the floor. It seemed like there were dozens of different ways to do every single thing, but in the end, it really wasn’t about the physical postures at all. The physical element was simply a way to access a deeper layer of connection between your mind and your body.

When he left, he felt better than he had in a long time.

Rob gave him a hug at the top of the steps to the subway station and told him he was welcome to come to class with him anytime. Justin had a feeling he’d be taking him up on that offer.

Brian had to stay in Pittsburgh for a few more days, and Justin made it his mission to try his best to not worry about Brian. But it seemed like Brian was still worried about him. Every time he talked to Brian on the phone, he could hear the concern in his husband’s voice, wondering if he was okay, even when Justin was assuring him that he was doing fine.

“I miss you, though,” he’d said one night, as he lay alone in their bed, sprawled across the mattress, his head on Brian’s pillow.

“I miss you too. Think of me when you’re teaching 11-year-olds how to draw nude portraits.”

Justin laughed. Leave it up to Brian to distract him with perverse humor, every single time.

Justin’s bachelorhood continued through the end of the week, but he was trying to focus on the positive -- mostly, how fulfilling it was to spend his days teaching art to kids. He could already see that he was making a difference in their lives, just by the looks on their faces when he showed them how to do something they didn’t know they could do. He was giving them the tools and the skills to bring their visions to life.

He was also really looking forward to seeing Miss Martin’s class again the following week, because he’d really enjoyed working with Luke. Somehow, it had taken a 10-year-old to truly show Justin that it didn’t matter how you hold the brush or what the finished product looks like, so long as you’re happy with it and the piece says what you wanted it to say.

He supposed that was what his mother and Brian had both been trying to tell him for months. But then, he hadn’t been ready to listen. Now, he was ready and willing.

The thing that surprised Justin the most about teaching was that the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that he was getting out of it felt a lot like creating art himself, with the added bonus of igniting that spark of creativity in someone else.

Brian arrived back home late on Friday night, as exhausted as Justin thought he would be, although nothing like what he had been when he’d gotten sick. They spent the evening at home, eating takeout in front of the television, just enjoying each other’s company. Taking care of each other in their own way.

The project at Monetti’s was finished on-time and on-budget, exactly as promised. Justin stopped by on the way home from work one day to see it, and was every bit as thrilled with it as Nick had sounded on the phone. Neither of them could wait for Brian to see it. And Justin couldn’t wait to be able to spend a few hours on Sunday afternoon listening to the live string quartet, drinking too much wine and eating too much pasta and lemon cake.

By the end of Justin’s two-week stint as a substitute art teacher, he found himself standing in the assistant principal’s office, inquiring about taking the position on full-time in the fall. It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d do, but in these two weeks, he’d found joy and purpose. A way to make a difference in the world that went beyond his own art.

Maybe it was time for him to take a different kind of leap.

On the eve of Brian’s birthday, Justin lay cocooned in Brian’s arms, basking in that safe, protected feeling that being with Brian always gave him. That it seemed like it always had.

He felt like his life was finally coming back together again. Just a few short months before, he’d felt like his entire existence had been picked up and thrown to the ground, leaving him to try to put together the shattered pieces, only he couldn’t figure out how to make them fit like they were before.

But maybe they weren’t meant to.

Maybe he was meant to do something different.

All there was left to do was embrace it with open arms.

Renewal, Part One: Past, Present, and Future by TrueIllusion

“What are you doing here?”

“You mean you haven’t heard?”

“It’s the last day of the rest of your life.”

“Did I die?”

“No. But you’ll wish you had. You’re thirty.”

*****

Forty six. Forty fucking six. He was supposed to be dead by thirty. He almost was at thirty five.

But here he was, turning forty six.

Justin was right -- he was entering the back half of his forties. And he wasn't too sure how he felt about that.

But he did know that he didn't want anyone to make a big deal about it.

Michael would probably call him and sing to him -- off-key, just like he did every year. Debbie would too. Michael got it honest.

Never mind the fact that he'd just seen Michael the week before, and his oldest and dearest friend had plenty of opportunity to wish him a happy birthday in person. He would still call. There was no escaping it. And there never would be.

They’d probably both be eighty years old, and Michael would still be calling to sing, just like he had every year since they were teenagers. Although the thought of being an octogenarian made Brian shudder.

At least no one was throwing him a death day party this year. Or they’d better not be.

It was still enough to make him want to pull the duvet over his head and stay in bed all day, pretending this day wasn’t even happening. But that wasn’t really an option. He’d have to face it eventually. All he could do was try to keep it as low-key as possible. Just like any other day.

One good thing was that Justin understood why Brian wasn’t fond of celebrating his birthday. The day that Brian was born was also the day that Justin almost died. And while he’d come a long way in dealing with that memory and the ghost of his actions past, it still wasn’t exactly something he cared to think about unless absolutely necessary. His birthday, however, always reminded him.

He knew he needed to start thinking of it as the day that Justin lived -- because he did. And, in December, he’d lived again. Brian was thankful for that, but it was still hard to get through this particular day, knowing how close he’d come to losing Justin before he’d even had the balls to tell him that he loved him.

He didn’t mind celebrating Justin’s birthday -- in fact, he’d come to love doing that -- but Brian himself would still be much happier having his own birthday completely overlooked.

However, this year, Brian didn’t even have the luxury of having his birthday be on a weekday so he could have the convenient excuse of “I have to work” or “Business doesn’t stop just because I was born.” It was a Saturday. Although he supposed that didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t still try to use work as an excuse. He was a workaholic, after all, and that was well known. Although Justin had been pretty well attuned as of late to when Brian was working too much, and he hadn’t been anywhere near as willing to allow it to go on unabated.

All he needed was a few hours, though. Just enough distraction to have the day feel like any other day.

Justin was asleep until Brian made a move to roll himself over onto his back so he could get out of bed, and then Justin was rolling over too, toward Brian, so he could give him a kiss.

“Happy birthday,” Justin said, smiling sleepily. Brian tried to smile back. “I know, I know. You don’t want it to be a big thing.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Brian pulled himself up so that he was sitting up a little more, noticing that he felt stiff and sore -- apparently his trip to Pittsburgh was still working on catching up with him. “But thanks. Just don’t remind me how old I am.”

Justin laughed. “Don’t worry. I know you’re sensitive about your age, old man.”

Brian rolled his eyes and pushed his legs over the side of the bed, then hoisted himself out of bed and into his wheelchair. “Laugh all you want, but you’ll be 46 someday too.”

“Hey, you said it, not me. And besides, when I’m 46, you’ll be--”

“Don’t even say it.”

Brian could hear Justin laughing behind him as he closed the door to the bathroom and proceeded to take a piss. For some reason, today, the whole process felt a lot more annoying and inconvenient. Probably just general irritation at being one year older. He’d just finished and was working on stripping his pajamas off so he could take a shower, when Justin came barging into the bathroom.

“Can’t a guy get a little privacy?” Brian groused, as Justin fit himself into the space between Brian and the toilet.

“Had to piss.” Justin shrugged.

“And that’s what the half bath by the guest bedroom is for.”

Justin finished and turned to face Brian. “Yeah, but the guest bedroom doesn’t have you.” He traced his finger down Brian’s bare chest and bent down to capture Brian’s lips in a kiss that went on for much longer than was Justin’s usual morning style. He had his hands on Brian’s shoulders and was pushing him back against the wall, either accidentally or on purpose, Brian wasn’t sure which. Justin sucked Brian’s bottom lip as he pulled away, then moved to straddle Brian’s lap in his chair, reaching down to lock the brakes in one smooth maneuver.

“Do you seriously have no idea how beautiful and sexy I think you are?” Justin whispered suggestively in Brian’s ear before kissing him behind it, then continuing down, planting one kiss after another down the side of Brian’s neck. “I don’t care if you’re 29, 39, 46, or 79 -- you’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. You always will be.”

Words that had been spoken long ago echoed in Brian’s head: You will always be young and you will always be beautiful. You’re Brian Kinney for fuck’s sake!

Justin hadn’t been there to hear Michael speak those words -- the first time, when they’d been what had convinced him to go to Justin’s prom, or the second time, after Justin had left for New York -- but he was obviously of the same mind.

Justin had his hands pressed into the wall on either side of Brian’s head as he moved back up to cover Brian’s lips with his own, his tongue pressing into Brian’s mouth as Brian’s tongue moved of its own volition to press back.

What followed was a hot-and-heavy makeout session that was clearly intended just for Brian. Perhaps a new version of a birthday blow job.

Justin followed Brian into the shower as well, practically pinning him against the wall again. This time, the throes of passion led them to an in-shower fuck as the warm water ran down both of their bodies.

It took Brian longer to get dressed compared to Justin, as it always did, and by the time he made it into their living area, he found Justin in the kitchen making breakfast.

“French toast,” Justin said as he carefully flipped a slice with the spatula. “I got that low-carb bread you like from the health food store. And fruit instead of syrup.”

Brian’s coffee mug was already sitting on the table, with the sugar shaker alongside it. Brian was well aware that he was quite the contradiction -- unwilling to eat syrup, yet he was about to pour several teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. It was all about balance, he supposed.

“You’re making a big deal out of this,” Brian said, stirring the sugar into his coffee.

“What?”

“My birthday.”

“So now I can’t make my husband breakfast?” Justin turned around and gave Brian his best dewy-eyed innocent look. Christ, he was even better at that than Michael.

“Not on my birthday, no. Looks suspicious.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing suspicious about my cooking you breakfast.” He plated up the french toast and brought the two plates over to the table, one at a time. “I’ve done it several times in the last few weeks, in case you’ve forgotten. And I make our dinner most nights too. So I daresay this isn’t unusual.”

“I bet you have other things planned though. Birthday things.” Even though Brian knew Justin understood his desire to keep his birthday low-key, he also knew that it was usually difficult for Justin to pull that off, and he would, more often than not, have at least one or two things planned. They were never anything huge -- usually just an evening out, or a new sex toy they could play with. But Brian had come to expect it and knew it was probably happening, no matter how much Justin tried to play coy.

As predicted, Michael called right after breakfast, already singing before Brian even managed to say hello. Debbie’s call didn’t come until after lunch, because she’d worked the graveyard shift at the diner the night before, but it was every bit as grating as it always had been -- and yet, at the same time, full of love.

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” she said, once she’d finished singing. “Forty fuckin’ six. Can you believe it?”

“No, and I don’t need any reminders.”

“Hell, we’re all getting older… You’re not immune, as much as you might like to think so.”

“Not to worry, I gave up on that a long time ago.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo. I hope you know that.”

“Thanks, mom.” Brian smiled to himself as he shuffled some of the papers on his desk, part of the work he was busying himself with in order to distract from what day it was. “One question, though...at what point does the statute of limitations run out on you calling me ‘kiddo?’”

“Never. You’ll always be a kid to me -- that smart-mouthed, skinny kid who followed Michael home from school one day and never left.”

“I thought you said I was a bad influence.”

“Sometimes you were, and you fuckin’ know it. Don’t think I don’t know you two used to smoke pot in the backyard while I was at work. And don’t get me started on the day you both came home from school drunk off your asses. But I also knew how much you two needed each other. You’re brothers. My two sons. Anyway, I’ll let you go before I get too sappy. I just wanted you to know how proud I am to think of you as my own. Love you, kiddo. Be good to Sunshine.”

“I will, Deb. Love you too.”

As Brian hung up the phone, he was reminded of how much he’d rather count Debbie Novotny as his mother than Joan Kinney. After all, Debbie had done more for him from the age of fourteen on than Joan had done the entire previous decade and a half.

Brian was a little surprised at how long Justin let him keep working in the office without even coming in to check on him. Maybe he sensed how much Brian needed the distraction on this particular day.

It was late afternoon before Justin came in and stood behind Brian, rubbing his shoulders and commenting on the artwork for the GoodLife Connection ad.

“Is that Alison?”

“Yeah. You should see some of the things these people are working on. It’s fucking amazing. I love going over there for meetings, just because I can’t wait to see what new thing they want me to promote.”

“Think you’ll be ready to take a break around five?” Justin’s fingers and thumbs were kneading at the knots that seemed to be a permanent feature of Brian’s shoulders at this point, now that his arms had effectively become his legs. Brian could tell how much stronger Justin’s right hand was getting, even though it still didn’t quite do what Justin wanted it to do.

“Mmm…” Brian leaned into Justin’s touch and closed his eyes. “What’s at five?”

“I thought we’d go out for dinner with Rob and Adam. Maybe go to Monetti’s.”

That, he could agree to. Just a simple dinner with friends. No muss, no fuss.

Brian wrapped up what he was working on a few minutes before five, anticipating that Rob and Adam would be coming by the apartment before they headed over, since they had either a long subway ride or a long cab ride to get to Chelsea from Brooklyn, and it was always a good idea to take a bathroom break before heading over to Monetti’s. Brian knew that, and Rob knew it too. So Brian was a little surprised when Justin was ready to walk out the door, and Rob and Adam hadn’t yet shown up.

“Are you ready to go?” Justin asked, his left hand resting on the door handle.

“Yeah, but aren’t Rob and Adam meeting us here?”

“They’re meeting us at the restaurant.”

Brian wanted to question that, but he didn’t. Rob was a big boy and he could handle himself. They’d been there before, and Rob knew what he was getting into. Maybe they’d been planning on going somewhere else beforehand, so it didn’t matter. Regardless, it wasn’t his issue to worry about.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in the city, and the sidewalks were busy as Brian and Justin made their way to the restaurant. As they passed under the High Line, they could see lots of people out for a summer stroll with their families or their significant others. Justin held Brian’s hand for part of the way, until it got hard to steer one-handed and Brian had to let go before he ended up running into someone.

When they got to the entrance to Monetti’s, Brian was surprised to see that the step at the front door had been replaced with a ramp.

“When did this happen?” he asked, confused at the sudden change.

Justin simply shrugged and kept walking, leading the way up the ramp and to the door. “I don’t know,” he said, holding the door open for Brian. “Last week, maybe?”

Nick met them at the door and led them to a table where Rob and Adam were already waiting.

Brian looked over his shoulder at Nick as the man he’d come to think of as a friend over the last several years was laying menus out in front of them. “When did you have a ramp installed?” Brian asked. “How? I know you’d been wanting to for a while but it just wasn’t in the cards, financially.”

“Well, you have a pretty awesome husband, that’s how. And there’s more. The ramp is really the smallest part of this project.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Brian was confused now. He looked around the table at Justin, Rob, and Adam, who were all grinning. They had obviously all been in on this secret, whatever it was.

“That storage closet in the hallway by the bathrooms is now a fully accessible restroom,” Nick said. “And Justin paid for it all, as a birthday gift for you.”

“But how? Where did you get the money to do all of this?” Brian’s gaze settled on Justin, whose sunshine smile was fully illuminated, its brightness spreading to his beautiful blue eyes, which were sparkling in the warm light of the restaurant.

“Well, since you never let me pay for much of anything, and you never have… I've got a lot of money saved up.”

“But what about… How did you...”

“I thought of everything, I promise.” Justin cut him off mid-question. “I had Ted’s help. All of the bases were covered. You know how he is.”

Brian did know exactly how Theodore was. It was why he was in charge of managing the manager of his own little foray into renovation. So he let that drop and tried not to micromanage his own birthday gift.

“I… I don't know what to say. Other than thank you. This is amazing.” Amazing wasn’t even the right word to describe what Brian thought about what Justin had done. Brian worked with words all day long -- finding the right one to say exactly what he wanted to say, usually with aplomb -- but this time, he was speechless. “I don’t deserve this,” he said. What he really meant was, ‘I don’t deserve you.’

Old habits, again.

“You do deserve it,” Justin said, squeezing Brian’s hand. “Besides, I thought it would be really nice to be able to come here and hang out for a few hours and not have to worry about anything. I know it stresses you out to have to rush home. And this helps Nick out, too. Now he can say yes to anyone who asks if his restaurant is accessible.”

Brian wasn’t sure how to respond. He was floored, and certainly surprised, and at the same time so proud of his husband’s big heart. Most of all, he was amazed that Justin had apparently pulled all of this off, from start to finish, on his own, and managed to keep it a secret.

“I feel like it’s my birthday, too,” Nick said. “I’m so grateful to Justin for taking care of all of this for me, and making sure everything was done right. Hopefully it’ll be a benefit to the restaurant too.”

“Oh I’m sure it will,” Rob chimed in. “I know a lot of people who would love to be able to go out for a good meal more often, but their options are limited. This is really helpful to so many people. Too often business owners just aren’t thinking about accessibility. It’s really frustrating. Word will get around when you’re accommodating and you treat people well. And I know you do.”

Nick served them personally that night -- from the wine all the way to the dessert. He’d even put candles in the lemon cake -- although not 46, since he didn’t want to set his restaurant on fire, he joked. Justin’s hand kept reaching for Brian’s underneath the table, and every time it did, they’d share a smile -- one that said Justin understood every emotion Brian was feeling, even the ones he himself couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Nick refused to let anyone pay for any aspect of the meal, insisting that it was the least he could do after all Justin had done for him.

After dinner, they went back to the apartment and drank a little more, until Rob and Adam had to go because their babysitter had a curfew.

Once Brian and Justin were alone, the celebration continued, much in the way one might expect a celebration between Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor to be -- one that took place primarily in the bedroom.

“Thanks again,” Brian said quietly, as they lay together in their bed, their skin still damp from the shower. He could tell that Justin was almost asleep alongside him. “That was a damn good birthday surprise.”

“I’m glad,” Justin said, his words made a little less than clear by the fatigue that seemed to be quickly descending upon him. His eyelids were already drifting closed. “I meant what I said earlier. You deserve it. You deserve everything.” The final word dissolved into a long exhalation as Justin’s body softened against Brian’s and he drifted off to sleep.

Those words were still so hard to hear. So hard to feel. So hard to believe. But he was trying. He really was.

He could hear Rochelle’s voice in his head, imploring him to let himself feel it. That there was no need to continue punishing himself for his past transgressions. Especially those that weren’t his fault. The transgression of his own birth being the biggest one of all.

Brian wrapped his arm more tightly around Justin and allowed his own eyes to close. For 29 years, he’d only seen his birthday as the anniversary of the day he’d come into the world, unwanted and unwelcome. Then, for 16 more, it had been the day he’d nearly lost someone very important to him, whose true importance, at that point, he had yet to fully realize.

This year, though, there was another shift occurring. One that was moving him more toward peace.

He was another year older. But maybe that wasn’t so bad, if it meant he got to spend one more year with Justin. The rest of his years with Justin.

Making new memories.

Brian spent most of the next several days on the phone, thankful that Justin was spending a lot of time in his studio now, because the actual renovation process had begun on the house in Pittsburgh and there were a shit ton of things that needed his input and approval. Every time his phone rang, it seemed like it was either Ted or Eric, the project manager Ted had hired, with another question that they wanted to ask before they got too committed to doing something one way or another.

Brian had finally seen the house for the first time in person during his recent trip to Pittsburgh, spending almost an entire day going over plans and picking out fixtures and trims and colors and thinking that this was an even bigger process than he’d ever dreamed it would be. It wasn’t like when he’d renovated the loft, piece by piece, each time he got a bonus from Marty Ryder. This was going to be happening all at once, and it was a major overhaul.

Jennifer had been right that the rooms were large, but to do what they needed to do with the bathroom in order to make it ADA compliant, they were going to have to take a significant portion of the third bedroom and turn it into part of the bathroom. And while they were doing that, Brian figured, they might as well make it even bigger than required and add a walk-in jacuzzi tub, big enough for two. It would be a custom job, but he could afford it, and he was already looking forward to spending time in it -- with Justin, of course -- at the end of a long workday at the Pittsburgh office.

The rest of the bedroom they were taking over would be used to add on to the closet in the master bedroom, turning it into something they could use to lock up things that they wanted to leave at the house but didn’t want temporary rental guests to have access to.

The kitchen was going to be a major project as well -- lowering the row of upper cabinets, removing some of the lower ones for better access to the sink and countertop from a wheelchair, and replacing the ancient appliances that Brian was wondering how on earth they were still functioning, since they appeared to be straight out of the 1960s.

He’d picked out the hardwood floors that would go in throughout the entire house, and the tile for the kitchen and the bathroom, and he’d even picked out his own paint colors, despite the fact that Ted said Emmett was dying to do the decorating. Since Brian didn’t want a bright pink accent wall in the living room, he figured he’d better do it himself.

They’d used a temporary ramp over the two steps at the back so he could get into the house, since it would be a while before the longer ramps at the front and the back were built and ready. Brian didn’t want it to be a rush job -- he wanted everything to look good. Like it belonged.

Once he’d seen the house in person, he’d found he was even more excited about it than he ever thought he would be, mostly because he couldn’t wait to see the look on Justin’s face when he saw it in person. For that, though, he’d have to wait until December.

Four days after Brian’s birthday, everything shifted once again, just as it always had for the past eleven years, when a different anniversary came around. One that brought with it a strange mixture of feelings and emotions. It was June 21st, the day Brian’s life had changed forever. The day that most of what he’d known for 35 years floated off into oblivion, never to be seen again, leaving him to figure out who the fuck he was now and what all of this meant. It had been a lot to figure out. Sometimes he still wasn’t sure he had it completely figured out, but he had certainly made a lot of progress since then. He was much more secure in who he was in the world -- even more so now than he had been before the accident.

He supposed that was all he could really ask for.

But the actual day was still a weird day, and it probably always would be. A day of what-ifs and unanswered questions.

According to Rob, it was a day when Brian needed to surround himself with people he loves, who remind him of how fortunate he is, to keep from getting dragged down into the unknowns.

He’d unwittingly done that on the first anniversary of his accident -- the day he proposed to Justin for the second time. And, ever since then -- since meeting Rob -- he’d done it with more purpose. Going up to Central Park with Justin. Spending time with Gus, either in New York or Toronto. Being with people who understood why his mood might turn on a dime that day, and that it was okay. It was allowed.

He was allowed to feel whatever he felt and he didn’t need to hide it or mask it or pretend it wasn’t happening. His past self would have never gone for that, but his present self really needed the latitude.

Brian was lying in bed, awake, trying to figure out how in the hell it had been eleven years already, when Justin began to stir next to him.

Justin rolled over, tucking himself closely into Brian's side, his arm over Brian's body, pulling himself in even closer. Justin kissed his chest, then looked up at him and smiled.

“Happy life day,” Justin said as he brought his head to rest on Brian’s chest.

“What does that mean?” Brian’s voice was gravelly with sleep and the emotions that had already been working their way to the surface as he lay there in the darkness, the sun having not made its way over the horizon quite yet.

“It’s the day that you lived.”

Justin’s words took Brian back to that rural two-lane road in West Virginia, but not at the time Justin was referencing. This was more recent. Last week. When Brian chose to return to the spot where the road took a turn and his entire life had taken an unexpected one as a result, this time in search of closure. Hoping maybe that if he saw it -- sat there in that very spot and thought about it -- perhaps this memory would stop haunting his dreams as well.

He’d been sitting in his office in the old converted bathhouse that became Kinnetik when he’d made the decision to go, but something made him take a detour on his way back to his rental car. A detour that led him to Red Cape Comics. When he told Michael where he was going, Michael refused to let him go alone and insisted on driving him. They’d had a short argument about it, but Brian had ultimately let Michael win.

“I'm not going to repeat history,” Brian had told him. But he knew that wasn't really what Michael was worried about.

In the end, Brian had been glad Michael did the driving, because he had a lot to think about.

Thirty minutes after locking up the comic book store, Michael and Brian were sitting in Ben’s Prius at the end of someone’s long, gravel driveway, beside an oak tree with a scar on the trunk.

“Do you remember it?” Michael had asked, his voice so soft Brian barely heard him, after a few long minutes of silence. “When it happened.” They had never talked about this before.

“I didn’t think I did, but I’ve dreamed about it. So maybe. Somewhere in my subconscious I do, I guess.”

“Christ… I can’t imagine.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to.” Brian stayed quiet for a few more beats. He wished he had a joint to smoke. It might help him make sense of what was running through his head. “You know, I used to think that this was the worst thing that could have possibly happened to me. I used to wish for ways I could go back in time and change something. Make it not happen. But now, I’m not so sure.”

Michael hadn’t said anything. In his peripheral vision, Brian had seen his best friend’s dark brown eyes looking at him. Studying him. Trying to decide how to proceed. Knowing that this metaphorical road was riddled with landmines.

“I think I’m kind of at peace with it now,” Brian remembered saying. He’d still been looking at the tree. Even with the scar, the tree was still surviving. It had gone on. Much like he had. “Life handed me this, and it sucked, and it hasn’t been easy. Not by any means. It’s been fucking hard. But if this hadn’t happened, there are some important people in my life I probably wouldn’t have met. Maybe I wouldn’t be in New York with Justin. Maybe we wouldn’t be married. If I take this one bad thing back, I have to take back the good things that happened after it too.”

Brian clearly remembered Justin saying those words to him not that long ago. Only that time it was about the night Justin was bashed. But this situation was so much the same. Turning back time might keep something awful from happening, but at what cost? What else would have to be given up in the process?

Michael’s only response had been to nod his head and lay his right hand over Brian’s left that rested idly on his thigh. He knew. He knew just how much the instant that tree got that scar and Brian’s spine shattered had transformed Brian’s life. For good and for bad. Precipitated a rebirth, as Justin had so eloquently put it.

Justin’s voice brought Brian back to the present.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. The fingers of his left hand were tracing random patterns over Brian’s chest.

It took Brian a few moments to formulate his response.

“That I’m thankful for everything that brought me here,” he said, the mixture of emotions he was feeling coming through in his voice as it broke just a little. “Even when it was hard. And there’s not a damn thing I would change.”

Justin smiled softly and took Brian’s hand in his.

“Me either.”

They got through the day together -- Justin supporting Brian, letting him feel what he felt. For some reason, this year it was different. Brian couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was or how he felt, but this year, the undercurrent of gratitude felt stronger than ever. Uncovering more of the blessings that this traumatic event that changed him fundamentally as a person had brought along with it.

He couldn’t change it. He couldn’t go back in time to keep it from happening. And at this point, he didn’t think he would, even if given the opportunity.

He wondered if Justin felt the same about everything that had happened to him.

For Brian and Justin, that summer was a time to grab life by the tail and hold on tight, letting it take them wherever it saw fit. Getting back to “normal,” but at the same time, changing that normal. Spending less time buried in work, and more time with each other. Surprising each other with impromptu lunch dates, taking walks through the city, through neighborhoods and down streets that, for whatever reason, they’d never really explored before. Just taking the time to breathe each other in. Making those new memories good ones.

They even took a vacation -- their first one in years -- spending two weeks on a yacht in the Mediterranean, exploring all that Italy and Greece had to offer. But mostly, just enjoying each other. Sharing the experience. Drinking it all in.

Brian became increasingly glad he’d given Ted the clearance to hire someone to manage the construction project on the house, because he knew it was saving him a lot of headache and stress that he really just wasn’t interested in taking on.

One task he couldn’t delegate, though, was finding an office space for the NYC branch of Kinnetik to operate from. Cynthia moved to the city in July, running the New York portion of the business while Brian and Justin were off enjoying Europe. Brian had to admit that it was nice to not have every single task for his New York clients falling to him in some way -- Cynthia had been right, it was too much for one person to handle. They looked at dozens of places and nearly wore out their real estate broker before they finally found one that met their requirements. Eventually, he signed a lease on a space near Rob’s office, and he and Cynthia would be moving their two-man operation out of his home office and into a place that felt a little more official come September. In late August, they hired a graphic artist and a copywriter, and Kinnetik NYC was born.

Back in June, Justin had taken a full-time position as an elementary school art teacher, which he’d start in the fall. He had already thanked Brian on multiple occasions for pushing him to finally finish his college degree more than five years ago, because that was what was giving him the freedom to accept this new opportunity that had come his way, seemingly by chance. Although, given the way Justin’s eyes lit up and his entire disposition changed when he talked about the kids and how it made him feel to show other people how to create, Brian had to wonder if perhaps the universe had this planned all along.

Come fall, their entire routine would change, maybe for good, when Justin started his new teaching job and Brian was actually going in to a physical office every day for the first time in ten years. Another new “normal.” But they were both ready for change. Embracing it with open arms, and seeing what would come along with it.

When Justin got the call about the show, it felt like deja vu.

They’d been sitting on the sofa, watching a movie together, sharing a bottle of wine that a client had given to Brian as a thank you gift, when Justin’s phone rang. It was his agent, whom Brian knew Justin had barely talked to in the last several months. In fact, Justin had recently told Brian that he felt like he didn’t have much need for her anymore, because his focus with his art was on creating it for himself, as an outlet. A release. He didn’t really care if he never sold another piece of art again. So they were sort of on “pause” at the moment. But she’d called him occasionally to check in and see how he was doing. Justin said she never tried to pressure him into trying to do something he wasn’t ready to do, and that he appreciated that. Brian appreciated it too. From what Justin had said, it sounded like her calls were focused more on the friendship they’d built over the years than on actual business.

So when she called at 8 p.m. on a Monday night, Brian assumed this call would be the same -- just a casual conversation between two business associates who had become friends. He’d hear half of the brief conversation, and then he and Justin would be back to their wine and their movie, spending the evening with each other.

But the half of the conversation that Brian heard went quite a bit differently than he’d anticipated.

“Hey Steph, what’s up?”

“Oh, not much, just watching a movie with Brian.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“I don’t know, I mean… What are they expecting? I’m getting ready to start my new teaching job next week and I’m not sure I’ll have much time.”

“Well, I do have quite a bit at my studio that’s already done. As long as they don’t have any specific requests, I guess that could work.”

“Sure, let’s talk more tomorrow. Sounds good. Thanks. Bye, Steph.”

When Justin hung up the phone, the expression on his face was one of disbelief, mixed with the tiniest hint of self doubt.

“What was that about?” Brian reached for Justin’s right hand and took it in his own, massaging it gently with his thumbs in the way he often did whenever they were just sitting and relaxing.

“Steph said she got a call from the Michael Paige Gallery. One of their people heard my story and had seen one of the paintings I did for that display at the coffee shop. They noticed it was new, and they got curious about how I was continuing to work, so they looked me up and reached out to her. They want to feature some of my new work in a show.”

At the time, Justin hadn’t been sure he was going to do it. And while Brian really wanted Justin to do it, he also didn’t want to be the one pushing Justin to do something he didn’t feel ready to do. So he’d let Steph do the pushing.

And soon, the show was scheduled.

And just like last time, they'd celebrated with a good fuck.

Brian Kinney’s definition of a good fuck was quite a bit different now than it once had been.

No longer was it hard and fast or bent over the table or the back of the couch or against the wall of a bathroom stall or the back room at Babylon. No longer could he do it whenever, wherever, with minimal thought or preparation. Now, it took a lot more preparation. More care.

But even though it was different, in ways he never could have imagined, it was still so good.

He wasn’t sure why it had taken him until he got to rehab to begin to consider what else might have gone along with being paralyzed from the waist down. That there might be more to this than just paralyzed legs and an inability to walk. That there might have been other inabilities as well.

But he really hadn’t thought about it until it was brought up by someone else at rehab. And when it was, things suddenly got a whole lot worse.

Suddenly, he’d lost the release he’d had since he was a teenager. The one he’d depended on.

And it didn’t matter how many people told him that his body would create new neurological pathways to pleasure. New erogenous zones. That there were still ways to get an erection. That he could still draw physical pleasure from sex, just in a different way -- from touch in the areas that he could feel, and from watching his partner. Pleasing his partner.

The people who told him those things didn’t know Brian Kinney.

For Brian Kinney, sex was primal. A basic need. One that needed to be tended to daily, often multiple times a day.

He’d experimented a few times in rehab. Touching himself. Thinking about fucking someone. Mostly Justin. Trying to see if he could make himself hard. But at that point, nothing worked. The system was entirely offline.

That changed a little bit once his body was out of the spinal shock phase and his reflexes came back online, but it didn’t change to the degree he was hoping it would. The normal things that would get him aroused simply weren’t. The only thing that worked was touch. Touch that he couldn’t feel.

The first time he’d done that and gotten what he wanted, he cried. But they weren’t tears of joy. They were tears of anger. Tears of despair. Mourning what he’d lost.

He’d already lost so much. Did he have to lose this, too?

He wondered if anyone would want him anymore. If anyone would be willing to touch him. To be with him in that way.

No longer was he the Stud of Liberty Avenue, sucking and fucking at the club almost every night. Instead, he was left wondering what there was left for him. How to navigate this new life.

Life without the use of his legs. Life without the emotional release he’d always gotten from sex.

He’d buried all of his negative emotions in it for two decades at that point. And when he left rehab, he was carrying a shitload of negative emotions with nowhere to put them and no way to process them.

In the end, it took Justin to show him how. To help pull him out of the dark days that seemed like they had no end. To love him unconditionally, no matter what his body did or didn’t do. To always be satisfied with whatever he could do, with no expectations or preconceived notions. To show him that positive emotions like love and acceptance and belonging were what being intimate with each other was really about, and how much better those feelings made it.

Justin had given him what he’d thought no one would.

Grace.

Grace he often struggled to feel like he deserved. But always, grace.

It had taken a lot of experimentation -- and a lot of patience -- to find what worked. But eventually, they did. They both did.

And through the process, there was hope. Even when Brian struggled to see the bright side, Justin always had hope.

Brian still remembered the last night he spent in his apartment in the suburbs, right before he moved to New York. All of the emotions that had been rushing through him that night after saying goodbye to the people he thought of as family, and Justin trying to help him work out his stress through physical pleasure. Brian had tried to stop him, knowing that it wouldn’t work, but Justin wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He’d tried to just relax and let go, like Justin kept urging him to, but he couldn’t. Not really. He’d kept imagining how good it would have felt to be able to pound out all of this sadness and frustration with thrust after thrust, but he couldn’t do that anymore, and the reminder, instead of making him feel better, had made him feel worse. He’d watched Justin bring himself to climax, and at the same time, had watched himself go soft, the way that he knew he would. He could see the physical evidence of Justin’s release against his leg, but he couldn’t feel it. And that had been all he could stand.

So he’d stopped Justin from going any further. Told him no. Left Justin confused and frustrated, and himself sad and embarrassed, on top of everything else he’d already been feeling that Justin was trying to fix. He’d cried himself to sleep that night, with Justin’s arms around him and Justin’s warm body pressed against his back, wondering if he was ever going to figure out how to deal with all of the shit that kept crashing down on top of him, crushing him beneath its weight.

In the end, that had taken Justin too. To show him that he hadn’t made a mistake in moving to New York. To show him that he could figure out to navigate this new life. And to encourage him to talk to someone when he was having trouble doing that.

He’d needed to let go of the baggage that was weighing him down, so they could find their connection again. Funny how that theme had come back around more recently as well, in a slightly different way.

Now, it felt just as good to be with Justin -- to fuck Justin -- than Brian could ever remember it being. Perhaps some of that was owed to the time that had gone by since he’d had sex as an able bodied person, with parts that worked completely and had full sensation. But it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was now.

Rob would have been proud of that thought. He was the one who was always trying to get Brian to live in the present moment.

The present moment was pretty damn good.

Brian wasn’t sure that Justin had any idea just how great of a gift the chair that had become known as their “sex chair” had been, with its gliding movement that mimicked the thrust that Brian could no longer do with his body alone. How freeing it felt to be able to do that again, long after Brian had given up hope of having sex in any position that wasn’t mostly passive for him. To be able to assume a more active role again. To be able to do more of what Justin liked. What Justin craved. What Justin deserved to have from his husband.

Justin had given Brian back control, and along with it, a key part of his identity that he’d been without since the day his Corvette crashed into that tree in West Virginia.

Before the day Justin surprised him with that chair, their options, while much wider than they once had been, due in large part to Justin’s creativity and sense of adventure, had still been limited by sheer physical ability. But now, there really wasn’t much they couldn’t do.

Even after years of experience, Brian felt like he’d never managed to make his entrance into their bed very sexy, though it hadn’t been for a lack of trying. Getting his butt from one place to another was a pretty well-practiced, smooth maneuver now, but he still hadn’t found a way to pull his legs up onto the bed without feeling like he was dragging the rest of himself up to meet his torso. But getting onto his sex chair felt much slicker and sexier.

The night Justin’s art show was scheduled and made official, they’d started in the living room, on the sofa -- Justin straddling Brian as they kissed each other up and down, peeling one another’s shirts off. Brian was up for anything -- this was a celebration for Justin, so it was his night, and Brian let him lead.

So when Justin said, “Fuck me,” Brian knew exactly what that meant. Mostly, that the sofa wasn’t going to work.

He gave Justin a ride into the bedroom, while Justin continued running his hands up and down Brian’s bare chest, kissing him all over -- the sensation produced by that a large enough distraction that Brian was glad that he could find his way to the bedroom with his eyes closed, because he was doing it right then.

Justin only stopped kissing Brian long enough for him to get himself from one chair to the other, before he was licking and sucking at Brian’s collarbone while they undressed each other the rest of the way. The electric sensations running through Brian’s body were quickly getting him aroused, making him want Justin even more.

Brian worked Justin’s pants down, the younger man helping him do that as the balance of power shifted from Justin kissing Brian to Brian kissing Justin. Justin’s hands were on Brian’s chest as their lips collided, their tongues rolling over one another. When they parted, Justin took the power back -- his lips tracing a path, licking and sucking their way down Brian’s chest. His warm and wet tongue pressed against Brian’s nipples, then circled them, his teeth barely scraping the surface of Brian’s skin, which made the already intoxicating action even more sublime.

“Want to be… inside you…” Brian rasped between breaths that were already becoming heavier, his fingers grabbing at Justin’s hips as the younger man sat on the edge of the lounge chair they’d found that was the perfect height for this purpose. Waves of pleasure were washing over Brian, becoming stronger as Justin’s fingers, lips, and tongue continued working their way over Brian’s upper body.

“Not yet,” Justin whispered, his lips still touching Brian’s chest, making their way back toward the middle, brushing along Brian’s skin with the lightest touch -- a touch that somehow felt even more arousing than when Justin pressed his lips harder against Brian’s skin, sucking at it, although both actions were enough to make Brian’s breath hitch as he bit back a moan. “I want... to make… this good… for both of us…” Justin’s words were broken up by kisses as Justin continued his journey down Brian’s body toward his cock, stopping at the area of Brian’s hips where the sensations he was experiencing became much stronger and more unexpected. Unpredictable.

Justin’s fingernails scraped lightly along the skin of Brian’s hips as the moan he’d been holding back finally escaped, unable to be contained any longer.

“Like that?” Justin whispered, his tongue starting to work Brian’s cock as he watched, his brain filling in the sensation from memory. Justin stroked with his tongue, then stroked with his fingers, preparing Brian’s body. Brian watched Justin kiss his inner thighs, remembering how that would have felt -- how it had always driven him crazy.

Once Brian was ready, Justin shifted positions, moving his legs onto Brian’s shoulders. Brian coated his fingers in lube, then slid them inside of Justin, slowly opening him, relishing the feeling of Justin’s warmth and tightness around his fingers. Then, he traded his fingers for his cock -- and physical sensation for mental -- moving his hands to Justin’s hips, where he could push against his partner to start the gliding action of the chair. He watched his penis slide in and out of Justin -- calling on the thousands of times he’d done this when he could feel it to remind him how it felt, using the memory to build on the pleasure he was getting from watching Justin’s face as he fucked him. Hearing Justin’s loud cries and soft whimpers as he journeyed toward ecstasy.

As they moved together in perfect sync, the sensations in Brian’s brain and body built up slowly, becoming more and more intense, making it harder to focus on the memory and the visual in front of him as his eyes slid shut and pleasure took over -- overwhelming his thoughts and his senses as Justin’s moans became more urgent and his body tensed beneath Brian’s fingers and then stilled when he fell over his own edge into rapture.

Justin’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, glistening with sweat, as he let his legs fall from Brian’s shoulders. Brian leaned back in the chair, catching his own breath. Justin shifted over in the lounge chair, making room for Brian to join him, so they could lie there together, basking in the afterglow.

For Brian, the act of sex had shifted in purpose over the last eleven years -- going from a selfish act focused primarily on his own physical and emotional release, to a selfless one focused on bringing pleasure to Justin. Giving Justin what he wanted. Of course, Justin felt the same about Brian -- wanting him to enjoy it just as much -- and it showed in the careful attention Justin showed Brian, giving him as much as he possibly could where he’d be able to feel it.

But he knew that Justin had lost something in all of this, too. They both had a whole host of memories that involved sex -- and a large portion of them were things that just weren’t physically possible now. Brian couldn’t fuck Justin up against the wall of the shower anymore. He couldn’t throw him down on the floor to fuck him, hard and rough. And he knew that Justin had enjoyed those things just as much as he did. They never really talked about that, but it was there. Silently acknowledged. Things were different now because they had to be.

It wasn’t necessarily bad, but sometimes he missed the way things used to be. He was sure Justin did too.

But this was another instance in which it was better to focus on making something new rather than dwelling on the past. The past was gone, and all that was left was the future. Their future together.

And their present -- lying together on the lounge chair in the corner of their bedroom, sweaty and sticky and sated.

“Did I forget to tell you congratulations?” Brian said quietly, as his breathing returned to normal.

“Oh, I think your message came through loud and clear.” Justin rolled over toward Brian, throwing his leg over Brian’s body and using it to pull their bodies closer.

“Good.” Brian kissed Justin again -- this time soft and sweet. Justin laid his head on Brian’s chest, his damp hair brushing against Brian’s chin while Brian drank in the scent of everything that was Justin at this moment -- sweat and mint shampoo and acrylic paint and a hint of the garlic from dinner.

Grateful for everything that had been, and for everything that was. And for everything that was yet to be.

Renewal, Part Two: Second Chances by TrueIllusion

“I think it’s exquisite. You should be very proud.”

*****

The first week in September was a week of “firsts” for both Brian and Justin. Justin’s first week as a full-time art teacher, and Brian’s first week in his New York office.

It was the also the start of a comfortable routine, with both of them waking up early, an often-shared morning shower (and occasional shower fuck), Justin making them both breakfast, and seeing each other off outside the front door of their building as they headed to the two separate subway platforms that would take them each to the place where they’d spend their days. Functioning like your typical married couple -- something that even in nearly ten years of marriage, Brian and Justin had never been. The closest they had ever come in their entire relationship had been when Justin was a student at PIFA and Brian still worked for Gardner Vance.

So it was new and different, and also kind of nice to just be “normal.” Especially after the chaos and upheaval that had made up the bulk of the first part of their year.

Justin came home from school each day with a new story about one of the students that he had started referring to as “his kids.” Sometimes they were funny, and sometimes they were serious, but they were always told with a smile on his face that lit up the entire room and told Brian that Justin had found his calling. It had taken him a while to get there, but he’d found it. Justin was fulfilled and happy -- all Brian had ever wanted for him.

Brian and Cynthia moved into their new office, along with their new graphic designer and copywriter. Brian quickly realized how much he’d missed working directly with Cynthia. She was his partner in crime -- she had been for more than two decades -- and they worked really well together. She had a lot of great ideas, and the two of them together were pretty much an unstoppable force. Going to work actually became fun, rather than an exercise in trying to dig his way out of a never ending pile of things that needed to get done and yet somehow kept growing, with two more things getting added for each one that he finished.

Evenings were for time spent with Justin. No longer did Cynthia have to make Brian go home at 5:30 every day -- he actually looked forward to it. Justin got home a little bit before Brian did, and was usually in the middle of cooking dinner when Brian came through the door. Brian loved coming home and putting his briefcase down, taking his coat off and going into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Justin’s waist and pulling him down into his lap for a kiss. It was their own version of the idyllic television family life -- only this time, starring two men and no children.

“No children” might not be true for too much longer, though, if Gus had anything to do with it. He’d told Brian during his visit the previous summer that he was planning on applying to a few colleges in New York, as well as a couple of internship positions in digital media. Brian thought that career path would be perfect for his technology-addicted son.

“He gets that from you, Brian,” Justin had said one night over dinner. “You always have to have the latest and greatest of everything.”

“I do at least manage to remove my eyes from the screen long enough to eat a meal or have a conversation with you, Sunshine.”

“True, but still… how many people can say they still have their first generation iPod?”

“You do realize they have one of those on display at MoMA? It’s a relic. A collector’s item.”

“Yes, Brian, I’ve seen it. But that still proves that you love technology. It’s no surprise that your son likes it too.”

Brian had to admit he wasn’t particularly surprised either, considering that the older Gus got, the more and more he looked like Brian’s clone. He’d recently made the transition from the “tall and gangly” stage more into “tall, dark, and handsome” territory, which ignited a strange overprotective feeling in Brian, because he didn’t want unsavory people coming on to his son.

It was hard to believe that Gus was already a senior in high school, thinking about college and making plans for internships. Sometimes it still felt like yesterday that he was born and Justin gave him his name. Thank god Justin was there, or else Gus would probably have been named Abraham. He didn’t look like an Abraham.

Brian still wished he would have spent more time with Gus when he was younger, but hindsight was 20/20. He wasn’t ready then. In a way, it was Justin that had made Brian ready -- showed him that he wasn’t doomed to repeat his father’s mistakes. That Gus really wasn’t better off without Brian in his life. That if Brian wanted to be in Gus’s life, he should be, and everything would work out fine. It had, and Brian was glad that he got to spend more time with Gus now. If he went to college in the city, that would be the icing on the cake.

As the warmth of summer dissipated into the cooler temperatures of fall, Brian and Justin found themselves spending their weekends uptown, enjoying the colors of the trees of Central Park -- in many ways a small forest plunked right in the middle of Manhattan. Sometimes Justin would take his painting supplies and they’d sit on a bench together, Brian watching Justin’s brush move across the canvas as he transferred the image before them into a still form. Sometimes he’d sketch, and sometimes he’d use pastels, but no matter what he did, Brian always felt honored to have the privilege of watching Justin work. He always had. But it felt even sweeter now, knowing how hard Justin had to fight to get back his own emotional release.

Brian was proud of him. How he’d overcome tragedy not once but twice, and come out on the other side, still doing what he loved, albeit in a different way.

And that was really all that mattered.

Now that Justin’s show was scheduled, he was trying to decide what he wanted to feature in it, and finding it harder than he thought it would be. Justin had spent a lot of time over the summer in his studio, working. He’d shown Brian a few things, but for the most part, what Justin had been working on was a mystery. So when Justin said he was meeting with a representative from the gallery and asked if Brian wanted to go, there was no question what his answer would be.

The second they went through the door of Justin’s studio, Brian was already impressed by the sheer volume of things Justin had produced in such a short time. Brian could also see the difference in the things Justin had been working on months ago and the things he’d produced more recently. It was clear how much more comfortable Justin was in working with new techniques and new mediums. There were paintings on easels and leaning against walls, pencil sketches -- some matted and framed, others not -- spread out on tables, and dioramas in shadow boxes that he’d constructed from random objects and pieces of broken things. Another table held sculptures made from various different mediums -- some that appeared to have emerged from the same box of random things as the dioramas, while others were made from clay, including the one Justin had made of him.

Justin and the woman from the gallery -- Jane, she’d introduced herself as -- were well ahead of Brian as they progressed through the room. She was moving quickly from piece to piece, talking to Justin about each one. Brian was only picking up a word or phrase here and there, most of which meant nothing to him because he wasn’t an art critic or an artist, and when he did work with art, it was primarily graphics or photography, not the fine arts that were more Justin’s focus. Each time, she’d say a few words and then move on. Brian couldn’t figure out how she was moving on from some of these pieces so quickly, because he felt like he was being drawn in by so many of them. Feeling all of the emotion he knew Justin had been feeling when he’d put the pencil to the paper or the brush to the canvas or his hands to the clay. He wanted to tell her to slow down and really take a look at what she was passing by, but he knew if he said something like that, Justin would probably kill him later.

So he focused on moving at his own pace, just taking everything in, not saying anything.

He paid a little bit more attention to their conversation about the painting Justin had started before the accident and finished afterward, but still felt like the depth of what was said didn’t do the piece justice. She didn’t know how hard Justin had to fight to be able to finish that piece. She didn’t know what it symbolized. The true depth of what was on the canvas.

When they got to the sculptures, Brian deliberately tuned them out, because he didn’t want to hear her clipped, condensed evaluation of the piece Justin had done of him. That piece was personal. It meant a lot to Justin and to Brian. He just hoped that Justin didn’t want it to be in the show, because Brian wasn’t sure he wanted it to be. It felt too intimate. Too revealing.

Brian had barely made it through the pencil drawings before Jane was exchanging pleasantries with Justin and bidding farewell to them both. Brian managed to look up and say goodbye just as she bustled out of the room, her high heels clicking on the tile floor.

Justin walked over to Brian and put his hands on Brian’s shoulders, as Brian sat looking at the last pencil drawing on the table -- an erotic depiction of the two of them having sex that was quite reminiscent of some of Justin’s earliest work.

“You okay?” Justin asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just… taking it all in, I guess. This stuff is amazing, Justin. You should be proud.”

“She really liked the sculptures. She wanted to know if I was willing to show and sell those too.”

“What did you tell her?”

“All but one.”

Brian nodded, not needing to ask which one. That piece was as personal to Justin as it was to him. He turned toward the easel at the end of the workbench, where a painting sat, appearing to depict the two of them in silhouette, making their way down a city street, holding hands -- Justin walking and Brian rolling. The street looked wet, and reflections of the streetlights and the lights from the buildings shone on its surface.

“I decided to call that one, ‘Through the rain,’” Justin said, following along behind Brian as he made his way from piece to piece, stopping to take it all in, still not saying much because he was just so overwhelmed with it all. Justin was chattering excitedly about everything Jane had told him.

“She said we can show some of the sculptures and the dioramas on pedestals, and frame some more of the drawings, and of course the paintings,” Justin said. “I feel like so much of this never would have happened before, because I’d never really ventured outside of drawing and painting. Now, I just kind of want to see what I can do, you know? Just to prove I can.”

Brian took Justin’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers.

“There’s absolutely nothing you can’t do,” Brian said. “You just have to have the desire. The rest will come.”

In a way, Brian felt like he knew that better than anybody, because he’d been there himself. And he knew Justin had been there before too.

After their meeting with Jane, Justin spent most evenings at dinner talking animatedly about all of the new ideas he had for paintings and drawings and sculptures that he wanted to put in the show. And he spent every weekend in his studio, working, while Brian was at home getting more well-acquainted with the television than he cared to do alone.

He missed Justin, but he was also getting a little bit worried that Justin might be working too much. Between his teaching job and putting in work on his art at the studio, Justin was leaving the apartment early and coming home late, then doing the same on the weekends. Brian was well-acquainted with this type of pattern and what it could result in, so he started bringing Justin dinner at the studio to make sure he was eating, and trying to get him to go out and take a break or get some fresh air, but the only thing he could get Justin to do was eat while he worked.

And, just as Brian feared might happen, everything eventually caught up to Justin in the form of the migraine from hell.

It was a Sunday night, and it was getting really late -- so late that Brian was already in bed, reading a magazine and trying not to worry too much about Justin’s whereabouts, although he was quickly losing that battle. Justin should have been home by now. He had to be at work at 8 a.m. the next morning, and it was already past 11 p.m. He had been working late, but not that late. Brian sighed and tossed the magazine aside, picking his phone up off the nightstand. No sooner did he have it unlocked than it started to ring, and Justin’s name came across the display.

“Hey,” Brian said, adjusting his pillow with his free hand. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming home.”

The only response he got from Justin’s side of the line was a soft moan and a hoarsely whispered, “Fuck.”

“Justin?” Brian pushed himself up to a sitting position as quickly as he could with only one arm. It wasn’t very graceful, but it got the job done. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Where are you?” He knew he was asking too many questions and probably overwhelming Justin, but they spilled out of him before he could stop them, the panic quickly rising in gut also echoing in his voice.

When he still didn’t get a response from Justin, Brian backtracked, repeating the only question he really needed the answer to: “Where are you?”

“Studio,” Justin said softly. “I’ve got a migraine. Shit, I think I’m gonna throw up again.”

Brian heard the clatter of the phone being placed unceremoniously onto the floor in what he assumed was the bathroom, about two seconds before Justin started retching. Brian put his phone on speaker -- cringing at the sounds he was hearing but he really didn’t have a choice in the matter, because he needed both hands and free movement of his shoulders to get out of bed. He took the phone with him into the closet, setting it on a shelf while he grabbed a pair of jeans and worked them up as quickly as possible -- which wasn’t very quick at all -- until he got them to where he could hook his thumbs through two of the belt loops and hoist his butt up to finish pulling them on. He was in the process of pulling a shirt over his head when he heard Justin moan, and more noises as he apparently picked up the phone again.

“Sorry,” Justin said. He coughed and then let out a soft whimper. “I need to come home but I don’t think I can. I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay.” Justin sounded like he was ready to cry. “I'm really sorry.”

“Justin, don't. Don't apologize. Just sit tight, okay? I'll be there soon.”

By the time he hung up the phone, Brian was already gathering up Justin’s medications, not really knowing if he should try to have him take them at the studio to see if that would help him be able to get home, or if he should be trying to make some sort of a plan to stay at the studio. Right now, he was cursing the fact that they’d never bought a couch for Justin’s studio, even though they’d talked about it dozens of times.

He was, however, grateful that his car service operated 24 hours a day, which meant a much faster ride to get to Justin’s studio than trying to take the subway at this hour, or hail a cab any time of the day as a person in a wheelchair.

When he got to Justin’s studio, Justin was sitting in the armchair by the windows, and the motorized blinds that normally stayed open all the time were closed. The room was almost completely dark. The only light source was Justin’s computer monitor on the other side of the room, which was providing an almost eerie glow that changed in intensity and color as the starburst screensaver danced around. Justin had on one of his dozen or more hoodies, with the hood pulled over his head and down over his eyes. His knees were pulled into his chest, and his arms were hugging them in even closer.

Brian tried to shut the door as softly as possible, then made his way across the room to Justin.

“It’s me,” he said quietly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Justin until he knew it was okay.

Slowly, Justin unfolded his left arm, holding his hand out to Brian, palm up. Brian took it.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of Justin's hand, hoping it would be soothing but knowing it wouldn't be enough.

“I brought your meds,” Brian said, keeping his voice low. “Do you want them now or do you want to try to go home first? I've got a car waiting, but we can stay here for a while if you want. Wait for them to kick in.”

“I want to go home. I just… I need a minute.”

Brian squeezed Justin’s hand. He looked around the room, which was somehow even more full of artwork than it had been when he’d brought Justin dinner on Friday night. One of the workbenches was covered in what he recognized as framing supplies. Slowly, Brian realized what Justin had been doing during all of these long hours at the studio. Why he’d been so physically exhausted every night when he came home. Why his arm was sore and his hand was stiff. And it was a wonder he hadn’t had a migraine before now.

“Have you been framing all of these yourself?” Brian asked, his gaze settling on a grouping of already-framed works in the corner.

Justin nodded, barely moving his head.

“Why?”

“I had a certain way I wanted them all to look.”

Brian really didn’t know what to say to that. He knew Justin was a perfectionist when it came to his art, and when he got it in his head that he wanted something a particular way, there was no changing his mind. But Brian wished Justin hadn’t attempted to do all of this himself. They had the money to hire the best goddamn framer in the city, whoever the hell that was, and to send it back over and over again if it wasn’t done right the first time. But none of that mattered right now. What was done was done. Getting Justin back home and into bed was the most important thing at the moment.

After a few minutes in silence, Justin unfolded himself and stood, leaning heavily on the chair. Brian picked up Justin’s messenger bag from the floor by the door, leading the way downstairs to the waiting town car. Justin rested his head on Brian’s shoulder for the entire ride back to their apartment.

Brian got Justin upstairs and into bed, gave him his meds and brought him some water, before changing back into his pajamas and climbing into bed alongside him. By now, it was well after midnight. Even lying there in the dark, eyes closed as he waited for the medications to take effect, it was easy to see how exhausted Justin was. He’d been doing too much. Putting too much pressure on himself.

Not quite six hours later, Justin’s alarm went off as it always did, jolting Brian from a sound sleep. Justin groaned and rolled out from under Brian’s arm on his way to turn it off, then started to get up out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Brian mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

Justin was standing beside the bed, his hand on the nightstand, looking like he was waiting for the world to stop spinning. Brian patted the empty space on the bed beside of him.

“Come back to bed,” he said. “Call in sick.”

“I can’t. People are counting on me.”

“Justin… You look like you’re about to fall over. You’re exhausted. Come here. Just lay here with me for a minute.”

Tentatively, Justin did as he was told, climbing back into bed alongside Brian. Brian wrapped his arm around him and tugged him closer.

“You need to rest,” he said gently. “Remember all of that you were telling me a few months ago about taking care of myself? That I wasn’t replaceable?”

Justin didn’t say anything. He was massaging his forehead with the fingertips of his left hand.

“You’re not replaceable either,” Brian said. We can find someone to do the framing. And if you don’t like their work, we’ll find someone else.”

“It’s not just the framing, though. I have more pieces that I want to finish for the show. More things I want people to see.”

“You have dozens of beautiful pieces of art, already done and ready to go. What you’ve done is enough.”

“I need more, though. What if…” Justin let his voice trail off, almost as if he was afraid to say what he was thinking.

“What if what?”

“What if I don’t get another chance?”

“Justin… Why would you think that? You’re an incredibly talented artist. Of course people want to show your work. There will be more shows after this one -- I’m sure of it. This isn’t your last chance. Not by a long shot. You can’t keep running yourself into the ground like this. It’s not worth your health. You’re staying home today, and I’m staying with you.”

“But your meeting today--”

“No buts. It’ll be fine. Cynthia can do it without me. You need me today. You’re more important than work.”

Hearing those words come out of his own mouth -- and so easily, too -- told Brian just how much his perspective had shifted in recent months. His work was important, but coming as close as he had to losing Justin again had shown Brian what was truly vital in his life, and that it had nothing to do with magazine spreads or market share or television commercials. The most important thing in his life was being right here, right now, with his husband.

Justin spent the day in bed, mostly sleeping, and Brian spent the day taking care of him -- grateful that he had the ability to do just that. Appreciating the fact that sometimes it was the simple things in life that were the most fulfilling.

He’d spent his entire life chasing success -- climbing the proverbial mountain, not letting anything or anyone stop him when it came to proving what he could do in his business. Proving that he could be somebody, no matter how many times his parents had told him he was a worthless sack of shit. For decades, his success in business had been his purpose -- his way of finding fulfillment in this life. Of proving to himself that his parents were wrong. But now, he’d realized that success had been, for the most part, superficial. Sure, it was a high to get to the account, to sign another contract, to be chosen over a competitor. But it wasn’t what truly made him happy.

What made him happy was the person lying in bed beside of him. The person he’d woken up next to every day for nearly ten years now, and hoped to wake up next to each day for the rest of their lives.

Justin was the person who made him whole. The person who made him feel loved.

The next few weeks were better. Justin agreed to send the rest of what still needed framing for the show out to a framer who had come highly recommended by another artist, and he managed to keep his work-life balance more in check. Brian could tell that made Justin feel better, physically, and he knew it made himself feel better, mentally.

As the days until the show counted down, Brian made hotel and travel arrangements for their entire Pittsburgh family -- including the Toronto contingent. They’d all wanted to come out to support Justin. Daphne wasn’t able to come because she couldn’t get the time off -- something about still being low man on the totem pole at the hospital and how frustrating that was -- but Brian had overheard Justin promising to send her pictures. Either way, Justin had a lot of people in his corner.

Once they started arriving, Brian was reminded of how much trying to wrangle the entire group at once was like trying to manage a three-ring circus. It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d been to the city -- they’d been before, for some of Justin’s previous shows -- but some of them always acted like it was their first time. And Debbie, namely, usually acted like she’d never been out in public before. Her loud and boisterous personality might fit right in on Liberty Avenue, but in New York City, she stuck out like a sore, unsophisticated thumb.

Brian was thankful that Jen had been there so many times that she felt comfortable acting as a tour guide for those who wanted to play tourist, so Brian and Justin wouldn’t have to. But, of course, there would always be the family dinner -- a slightly more upscale, restaurant version of Debbie’s weekly Sunday gathering. The same attendees in a different locale.

As much as they drove him crazy, though, Brian loved them. All of them. And he was grateful for them, too. Just as he’d come to realize ten years before on his 36th birthday, they all loved him unconditionally, even when he hadn’t always treated them very well. But, he supposed, that was just what families did. Gave each other shit because they loved each other so much. His biological family notwithstanding.

Their ragtag group took up almost half of Nick’s dining room at Monetti’s on the eve before Justin’s opening. There was wine and toasts, and Debbie breaking down in tears as she told everyone how proud she was of her Sunshine. It was truly Justin’s night.

Of course, Debbie and Nick had to have a small, good-natured battle over the finer points of lasagna and homemade marinara sauce, and Lindsay had to repeatedly keep Gus from stealing her wine glass, and Michael nearly ruined a very important surprise when he started talking to Brian about the work he’d seen going on with the front ramp on the house in Pittsburgh before Ben caught Justin’s attention and redirected it with a question about some book they’d both been reading. But all of that was just their family.

Once everyone had raved about the lemon cake and retired to their hotel, Brian and Justin went home for a little celebration of their own.

“I am so fucking proud of you,” Brian said, his arm around Justin, whose head was resting on Brian’s chest.

“Deb said the same thing.”

“Must be the truth, then.”

“Must be.”

“I’m glad you found a way to keep doing what you love. You didn’t let anything stop you. It took a while to get there, but you got there. You didn’t quit. Even when you wanted to.”

“I had a pretty good inspiration.” Justin wrapped his fingers around Brian’s and let out a contented sigh. “So this is it, huh? The first day of the rest of my art career.”

“Your new beginning. Enjoy it, Sunshine.”

“Oh, I am. I just feel so lucky.” Justin paused for a moment and looked up at Brian. “You know what the benefit is of almost dying?”

“What’s that?”

“You realize how lucky you are to be alive. How amazing every little thing is. How lucky we are to breathe, to love, to create. It helped me learn how to live.”

Brian kissed the top of Justin’s head and blinked back the tears that were pricking at the corners of his eyes. Justin was right. Life was pretty damn amazing, and they were lucky to have it, and each other. Brian didn’t plan on taking any of it for granted ever again, and he knew Justin didn’t either.

The next day, Brian and Justin arrived at the gallery an hour early, so Justin and the people at the gallery could iron out some last minute details.

“You nervous?” Brian asked, watching Justin as he walked slowly around the room, waiting for Jane to return with an updated pricing sheet.

“I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”

Brian rolled up in front of Justin, wrapped the end of Justin’s tie around his fingers, and used it to pull the younger man down for a kiss.

“Oh, so that’s why you made me wear a tie.” Justin grinned.

“No, I made you wear a tie because it’s classy. You can’t wear t-shirts and jeans all the damn time.”

“Why do you think I became an artist instead of going to business school and working a soul-sucking desk job?”

“Alright, twat.” Brian swatted Justin on the ass. “Need I remind you that my soul-sucking desk job has paid for a lot of your shit over the years? The least you can do is wear a tie for one night. I promise I’ll take it off of you later, in the most sexy way possible.”

“Is that a promise, Mr. Kinney?”

Brian didn’t get an opportunity to answer that question, because Jane walked up behind him at that moment, with a lot more than just the price sheet she’d gone to retrieve -- she had a large box in her hands too.

“My assistant just told me this arrived today, addressed to you, Justin.”

Justin took the box from her and looked at the return address, then turned and gave Brian a confused look. “It’s from Pittsburgh,” he said. “But I don’t recognize the address. Wonder what it is?”

“One way to find out,” Brian said, handing Justin the pocket knife he always carried -- the one remnant of his biological family that he actually treasured. It was a gift from his grandfather -- a family heirloom that he’d passed down to an 8-year-old Brian just before he died -- that Brian was fairly sure no one else ever knew he had. If Jack had known, he probably would have taken it and pawned it to pay his gambling debts.

Jane’s assistant called her name from down the hallway, and she turned and walked away, leaving Justin and Brian alone in the gallery.

Justin used his left hand to carefully cut the tape on the box, and a single white sheet of paper slid to the floor. Justin bent down to pick it up, then sat down on the bench and read it aloud:

Dear Mr. Taylor,

I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Jason Harris, and I’m a detective with the Pennsylvania State Police. I recently found these paintings in an evidence locker at the post, without tags, and started looking into where they might have come from and how they got there. Long story short, I found out that you were the artist, and I read about your accident, as well as the show at the gallery I’m shipping these paintings to. They’re a little bit worse for wear, but I wanted to make sure they were returned to you. I wish you the best of luck at your show.

Sincerely,
Jason Harris

Setting the letter aside, Justin slid two wrapped canvases out of the box -- the paintings that had been missing when Brian and Michael went to retrieve the others at the state police post.

“I didn’t even remember these were missing,” Justin said, carefully removing the paper from each canvas, leaning them against the bench. “I don't know if I knew. Did I know?”

Brian stared at the canvases, trying to work out the weird combination of emotions that was rising up in him. He’d thought these paintings were lost forever. And he’d kind of made peace with that, although it had taken him a while, because to him, they were pieces of Justin. Not knowing where they were -- if they were lost or stolen or had been pulverized on the side of the highway -- had been devastating for Brian at a time when he didn’t even know if Justin was going to be okay.

So he was relieved, and he was happy that Justin’s artwork had been returned, but there was a small part of him that was taken right back to that day with Michael in the storage room at the police post, and all of the sadness and frustration that he’d felt at seeing Justin’s artwork treated in such a way, while Justin was lying in a hospital bed in a coma with an uncertain future, at best.

“Brian?”

Justin’s hand on his shoulder brought Brian back to reality.

“Hey,” Justin said softly, brushing his finger over Brian’s cheek to wipe away a tear that Brian didn’t realize had fallen. “What’s wrong?”

Brian blinked and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m okay. I’m glad someone found them.” He fought to turn his facial expression into a smile and hoped it looked sincere.

“But…?”

“It’s nothing. I swear. Don’t worry about it. It was in the past. Old memories. We’re making new ones tonight, remember?”

Justin scooted over to the very end of the bench and put his arm around Brian. “I love you,” he said, kissing Brian on the lips -- long enough and deep enough that it would have been highly inappropriate were they not the only ones in the gallery at the moment.

“Better watch out, Mr. Taylor,” Brian said, raising an eyebrow. “I hear fucking in art galleries is frowned upon.”

“That never stopped you before.” Justin laughed. “Although I’d rather not be the subject of a front-page scandal tomorrow morning: Disabled artist makes comeback, gets caught with pants down.”

Brian was about to shoot back another smartassed remark when Jane reappeared in the gallery, and Justin immediately put his professional artist face back on. It reminded Brian of himself whenever he went into a business meeting -- apparently he’d taught Justin well in more places than just the bedroom.

Brian put his own game face on, too -- this one the face of the proud husband to the featured artist.

“Are you ready?” Jane asked, smoothing her skirt and straightening her jacket. She had a megawatt smile to rival Justin’s.

Justin nodded, and Jane signaled to someone else, who unlocked the door and let in the people who had been waiting outside -- the loudest of which was, of course, Debbie Novotny. But the crowd was much more than just their family and friends -- there were a lot of people here to see Justin’s art.

The rest of the night passed by in a whirlwind of hand-shaking and introductions, and watching while reporters and art critics talked to Justin, their tape recorders in hand and pencils flying across their notepads.

Brian was thankful that the Pittsburgh family seemed to be entertaining themselves, which freed him up to just sit and watch as person after person shook Justin’s hand and talked about their favorite pieces. He could hear Ben trying to engage Michael in a far more intellectual conversation than Michael was probably capable of having about any sort of art other than comic books, and Emmett discussing the finer points of hors d'oeuvres with the caterer, and Debbie bragging on Justin every chance she got, but for the most part, his focus was Justin.

At one point, Rob and Adam joined him in his people watching. Justin watching, really.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him this happy,” Rob said. “You can tell he’s in his element, but it’s different this time.”

Brian had to agree. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different, but he knew he’d never seen a smile that wide -- or that sincere -- on Justin’s face during an art show before.

A couple of hours in, nearly everything that was for sale had a sticker on it, indicating that it had been spoken for.

Brian was giving Justin a congratulations kiss when a woman walked up behind them and said, “Are you Justin Taylor?”

Justin stood up and straightened his tie. “Yes ma’am. That’s me,” he said. Always WASP-y politeness. He was well trained.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I got held up at work. But I wanted to make sure I made it tonight so I could talk to you. You probably don’t remember me.”

Justin shook his head. “Sorry, no.” Brian could see the slight frustration on Justin’s face that was always there whenever he felt he should have remembered someone and didn’t. He squeezed Justin’s hand in silent support.

“I’m Gina Abernathy. I happened to be traveling through Pittsburgh on the same night you were. I saw the accident happen.”

Brian heard Justin’s sharp intake of breath. He squeezed Justin’s hand harder. Brian felt like there was some sort of separation between himself and what was happening in front of him at that moment. Like he’d been pulled into a parallel dimension.

“It was awful,” the woman said. There was a strange echo to the way Brian heard her words, as if he was far away, even though he was right there. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear any more or not. Reading the police report and seeing the car had been enough for him. But he didn’t have much choice in the matter, because he wasn’t going to leave Justin to hear about it alone.

“But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how awful it was,” she continued. “I sat with you until the ambulance got there. You weren’t conscious, but I wanted you to know someone was there, so I kept talking to you. I remember I couldn’t get that night out of my head for a long time. I wondered if you were okay, but I didn’t have a way to find out. Then, I saw an article about your show in one of those free newspapers I picked up at a coffee shop. I recognized your picture, and I remembered all of those paintings that had been scattered across the road, and realized you must have been the artist. I was so glad to read about you and find out that you were okay. How crazy that we both live in New York, huh?”

It took Justin a few seconds to reply. “Yeah. Crazy,” he said, sounding numb. He looked like he was still processing everything that had been said.

To be honest, Brian was too. He was back to sorting through emotions, trying to figure out what he felt. But this time, what came to mind first was gratitude -- a word that seemed to have become a central theme in his life lately. He was grateful that this woman had taken the time to stop. That she’d made sure Justin wasn’t alone. That she’d called for help. And, who knows, perhaps her quick action had saved Justin’s life.

“Thank you,” Brian said, extending his hand to shake hers. He had so much more running through his head, but he didn’t want to say any of it to a stranger -- even one who might have saved his husband’s life. Mostly, he was thankful to finally know that Justin hadn’t been alone out on the highway that night. That he’d had someone holding his hand and talking to him.

It gave him closure. Closure that he hadn’t even really known he still needed.

Justin managed to shake off his shell-shocked expression and shake her hand and thank her as well, before she walked away to take a look around the gallery. After she’d turned the corner, Justin sank down heavily onto a nearby bench.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed.

“I know,” Brian said, reaching out for Justin’s hand again.

“I just… I don’t even know what to say about any of that.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Brian said, tightening his grip on Justin’s hand. “You thanked her, and that’s all you can say. I’m glad she was there. If I couldn’t be there with you, my one wish has always been that you weren’t by yourself. I sort of feel like that wish was granted tonight, even though it had already happened, and I just didn’t know it. Fuck, I feel like I need a philosophy degree to decipher that statement.”

Justin laughed, a small smile spreading across his face.

“There’s that smile,” Brian said. “So, it’s been a good night, I think.”

“More than I could have wished for.” Justin kissed Brian’s cheek and laid his head on his shoulder, while Brian’s eyes surveyed the gallery and the sum of Justin’s work of the last several months. Everything that represented his transformation. The way he’d reinvented himself and his art, like a flower emerging from a crack in the sidewalk -- beauty coming from something entirely unintentional. Something most people would think of as undesirable. But it had led to something beautiful, just the same.

The next morning, Brian was in the kitchen pouring his coffee when he heard a soft thump outside the door to the apartment. When he opened the door and looked outside, no one was there, but there was a stack of newspapers by the door, with the top copy folded and opened to a review of Justin’s show. There was a note on top from Steve, the weekend doorman, that simply said: Thought you guys might like a few copies of this.

Brian laid the papers on the table and settled in to read the review, which was glowing, detailing Justin’s “triumphant return to the art world after a serious accident last year” and how his treasure trove of artwork was filled with “artistic gems, in new mediums as well as old favorites.”

He had just finished reading the final paragraph, the smile on his face now even wider than it was when he’d began, when Justin walked into the room, still in his pajamas, his hair tousled, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. When his eyes met Brian’s, he stopped.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked.

Brian pushed the newspaper across the table toward Justin, who picked it up and starting reading, a same smile spreading across his own face as he read.

When he was finished, he pulled a chair out and sank down onto it, still staring at the paper as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“I thought I’d never get another review like that again,” he said. “I thought I’d never sell anything again. That nobody would be interested in my art anymore if I couldn’t do what I’d always done.”

“Well, I’d say last night proved you wrong, then.”

“I still can’t believe it. I just wanted to create things for me. Just to show I’m still here, you know? That I’m living.”

Brian reached across the table and laid his hand over Justin’s.

“That you are, Sunshine,” Brian said. “And I’m glad you are.”

Justin turned his hand over and wove his fingers through Brian’s. “Here’s to us,” he said, his smile illuminating the entire room in the early morning light. “Living.”

Renewal, Part Three: Beauty in the Aftermath by TrueIllusion

“You are fucking unbelievable.”

“It’s true. I am.”

*****

“Are you sure they gave her hot chocolate and not some sort of espresso?” Brian laughed as he watched Sophia bouncing lightly in her chair, sitting between Esme and Adam at JFK airport, where they were all waiting for their flight to Pittsburgh to begin boarding.

“She’s just excited,” Rob said.

“This is far too much excitement for someone going to Pittsburgh,” Brian said.

“Don’t mind him,” Justin cut in. “He just doesn’t remember what it was like to be five years old and going on a plane ride for the first time.” Justin switched to stage whispering in Sophia’s general direction and added, “Because he’s old.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last part,” Brian said, with mock indignance. “You think Joan and Jack took us on vacation? I took my first plane trip at 19 years old when Michael and I saved up to go to Florida for spring break my sophomore year of college. It was his first one too. I thought he was going to have an anxiety attack before we even got off the ground.”

“Well, I remember what it was like at your age,” Justin said, leaning forward across the aisle between the rows of chairs to lay a hand on Sophia’s knee. “It’s pretty cool, huh?”

Justin spent the next ten minutes pointing at things around the terminal and out the window, explaining the entire process to her. Everything was already taken care of -- baggage checked, breakfast eaten, and last-minute bathroom trips completed -- and now they were just waiting for the call to pre-board. Their group would be taking up the entire first row of the plane, with Sophia sitting with Rob and Adam, and Esme sitting with Justin and Brian. With as hyper as Sophia already was, Brian was thankful that she would be with her dads, because as much as Brian loved her, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to withstand that much pent-up energy buzzing beside of him for the next hour and a half.

Justin had filled his entire messenger bag with art supplies, and he had big plans for himself and Esme. Brian was grateful that Justin would have a distraction, because they were traveling on the anniversary of his accident.

That morning, Brian had been able to tell that the significance of the day was weighing heavily on Justin’s mind. He’d woken up in a melancholy mood that Brian hadn’t seen from him in quite a while -- not since their first few months at home after the accident. It was a sudden change, because Justin had been really happy as of late, with both his teaching job and his art show buoying his confidence in himself and his abilities as an artist. But Brian also understood exactly where Justin’s morose disposition that day was coming from and why he felt that way, because it was something he went through himself every year. And he knew how hard the first year had been in particular.

Ironically, he’d also spent the first anniversary of his accident traveling between Pittsburgh and New York. He just hoped that today’s travel went a lot smoother than things had gone that day, when the frustration of cancelled flights had merged with the depression and resentment he’d already been feeling. Every single thing that happened that day had reminded him of how things were different and more difficult for him now, on the day when he’d least needed to be reminded of that. But he was thankful that he’d had Justin with him that day to support him on that long journey back home, and to remind him of everything he’d gained that year, rather than letting him get dragged down into dwelling on what he’d lost.

Brian made it his mission to do the same for Justin that day -- to keep his focus on the positive, on everything that was going right and everything they’d been blessed with these last twelve months, instead of focusing on the split second that had sent both of their lives into a spiral.

Focusing on the positive wasn’t particularly easy. The memory of this day was a heavy one in Brian’s mind as well, because he remembered talking to Justin on the phone, looking forward to a more lewd phone call later, falling asleep wondering why Justin never called and wasn’t answering, then being awakened just after midnight by a phone call that turned his entire world sideways on its axis. It wasn’t a day he wanted to remember, and it was a day whose events he hoped he’d never relive again.

But his focus had to be on Justin today. Keeping Justin from being pulled down under the weight of past memories -- or memories lost.

Things seemed to have gotten a little better for Justin once they’d gotten to the airport and met up with Rob, Adam, and the girls. Brian just hoped that trend continued, and Justin really was feeling better and not just putting on a front for the sake of Esme and Sophia.

When the time came to board, they were an interesting group headed down the jetway, with two little girls running excitedly ahead of four grown men. Esme and Sophia beat them to the door of the plane by several seconds, and practically rushed right on past the flight attendant and onto the plane before Rob made it to them, taking advantage of the trajectory of the jetway to increase his speed, while Adam, Brian, and Justin lagged behind.

The girls were two pint-sized bundles of giggles as they all made their way to their seats and waited for everyone else to board, but things quickly shifted after they were in the air, once the sugar crash hit Sophia, who was asleep pretty much the minute they hit altitude, and Justin got out some of the art supplies he’d brought for himself and Esme.

Brian watched Justin doodle in his own sketchbook while he helped Esme with her drawing, pointing out the places where she could shade or add light. Brian was impressed with how far her drawing skills had come in recent months -- it looked like she really had some talent.

It wasn’t too long, though, before she was fading as well, and Brian was only halfway through looking at the trainwreck that was the in-flight sell-you-shit-you-don’t-need magazine when he noticed she’d finished her drawing and fallen asleep. Justin closed his sketchbook and put all of the supplies he’d brought back into his messenger bag, then settled back into the seat and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, Brian noticed him absently massaging his right hand.

“Doing okay?” Brian said, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“Where I was this time last year. Putting everything in the car, getting ready to head to Pittsburgh. Wondering what your plans were for our anniversary. Thinking about spending Christmas with the family and seeing Daphne. How I had no idea my life was about to change forever.”

Brian reached over and wrapped his fingers around Justin’s right hand, taking over the massage. “I know,” he said.

“It feels sort of surreal to think about. How in this past year, everything has completely changed. And it’s not all bad, not at all. There’s so much good that I might not have ever found if it wasn’t for this. But, you still wonder, what if… You know?”

Brian nodded and looked into Justin’s eyes -- deep pools of blue that had the ability to communicate everything Justin was feeling without a single word. Brian recognized what he saw there, because he’d seen it on himself in the mirror, every June. The doubt and the sadness and the mourning, mixed with hope and the embracing of change. “I get it,” he said. “It’s hard not to wonder.”

“I feel bad about feeling this way. Like, I never thought this about the prom and I don’t know why. I need to take my own advice. Remember that I lived.”

“You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel. You’re entitled. You don’t need to apologize.” Brian turned Justin’s hand over and interlaced their fingers together, letting out a long, slow breath. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today too. There are a lot of memories. All of the things I was so scared to death were going to happen this time. That you wouldn’t wake up. That this time I’d lose you. But I have to remind myself that none of those horrible things happened. And I’ve got the proof right here beside me. You lived.”

“I did.” Justin nodded and bit his lip.

“You more than lived. You’re thriving.” Brian leaned over to kiss Justin, more to feel him and his physical presence than anything else. To feel his warmth -- a gentle reminder that Justin had survived. “Happy life day.”

Justin gave Brian a small smile, then leaned his head on Brian’s shoulder. Brian let go of Justin’s hand and wrapped his arm around Justin instead, feeling the younger man relax and settle in, tucked into his side. These were some of Brian’s favorite moments -- just being with each other, their bodies melded together, saying nothing because there was nothing that needed to be said.

When they hit the ground in Pittsburgh, snow flurries were falling outside the window. Esme was still asleep, only she’d shifted so that she was now leaning against Justin. Sophia had awakened and was just as full of energy as she had been back in New York, as if her nap had merely served to recharge her batteries.

“How do you live with that all the time?” Brian asked, half joking and half serious.

Rob laughed. “Well, I do spend most of my day at work. And she spends most of the day at school now. But really, I think I’m jealous of her energy.”

Sophia was talking about a million miles a minute while they waited for Brian's and Rob’s wheelchairs to be brought to them. Esme, as usual, was the complete opposite -- quiet and soft spoken, just looking out the window at the suburban landscape that surrounded the airport. Although they were biological sisters, their personalities couldn’t be more different. They’d both been with Rob and Adam since Sophia was less than a year old -- starting off as a fostering situation that ultimately turned into adoption several months later. Brian knew a small handful of details, but not a whole lot -- mostly that their home environment had not been a good one, and their mother had voluntarily decided to relinquish her parental rights. It wasn’t likely that either of the girls would ever see her again.

Sometimes Brian wondered if the difference in Esme and Sophia’s dispositions might have been because Esme was old enough to remember some of that, and Sophia was not. He knew Rob thought that too -- that Esme’s tendency to try to shrink into the background and not be noticed, especially in unfamiliar situations or around people she didn’t know, might have been a survival skill learned at an early age. A byproduct of being in a household where her preschool self had never been sure what was going to happen next. Brian could relate to that, and he knew firsthand the damage that could be inflicted from living in fear in a place where you were supposed to be safe. He'd learned at an early age to stay quiet and not make waves. She had too. He just hoped that Esme wasn’t going to adopt the same coping mechanisms he had when he’d hit his teenage years -- that having a loving, stable home now would be enough to turn things around for her.

For Brian, things hadn’t really turned around until he’d met Justin. And even then, it had taken a lot of hard work on Justin’s part to break through the walls Brian had constructed around himself -- one of his own survival skills. Looking back now, Brian was glad Justin had been as persistent as he had been -- and on more than one occasion -- because he honestly had no idea where he’d be right now if it hadn’t been for Justin.

Once they were finally able to deplane, they picked up their luggage and went on to the rental car counter, then downtown to their hotel, where they all crashed for a few hours before they met up with Jennifer for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. Once they’d finished their dinner and drinks, Brian lingered a bit longer after Justin went upstairs, so he could iron out a few last minute details with Jennifer concerning their anniversary party on Thursday evening.

He’d had Emmett planning the rest of the party, and Brian had been the recipient of more than a few excited phone calls from him in the past few days as the final details came together. But Emmett didn’t know everything Brian had planned -- Jennifer, Cynthia, and Daphne did, and Rob and Adam did, but they were the only ones aside from Brian himself. He didn’t trust anyone else to be able to keep it a secret, and it was important to Brian that this one aspect of the party remain a surprise to Justin. Mostly because he couldn’t wait to see Justin’s reaction.

Brian wanted the party to be really special -- new memories to last a lifetime. And with what he had planned, he was confident that it would be.

Brian and Justin spent the morning in bed, the winter sun streaming through the windows as they enjoyed a room service breakfast and coffee before Justin went off to spend the day with Daphne. He hadn’t seen her since he’d been in the hospital after the accident, although they talked on the phone at least once a week, and Brian knew Justin was looking forward to spending some time with his best friend.

Meanwhile, Brian had tasks of his own that he needed to do -- the first and most pressing of which was checking out the finished renovations on the house, then going to the Kinnetik offices, where Brian was scheduled to meet up with the person who would deliver his standing wheelchair and show him how to use it. Rob was almost as excited to see the standing chair as Brian was, so he’d be going with Brian, while Adam took the girls to see a few of the sights.

Together, Brian and Rob took care of making sure everything at the house would be perfect when Brian brought Justin back there after the anniversary party -- right down to the gourmet chocolates and champagne, which Rob teased him about, joining Cynthia’s camp in calling him a closet romantic. It was almost like they were setting up for a honeymoon -- and, Brian supposed, in a way it was. Their second honeymoon.

Later, in Brian’s office at Kinnetik, he and Rob were both like kids with the latest toy -- playing with all of the features of the standing chair that they’d been shown before the company representative had left them to their own devices. When seated, it functioned like a regular manual wheelchair, but it had a mechanism that, when pushed forward and down, would push Brian up into a standing position, with some strategically placed bracing to give his legs and torso added stability.

“I’m so fucking jealous, man,” Rob said, back in his regular chair after his last turn trying it out. “This is really cool.”

Brian was standing by the conference table, testing out what it felt like to stand next to it again after eleven years of sitting for every single one of his meetings. “It’s a good thing you like it,” Brian said, keeping his voice as nonchalant as he could. “Because there’s one with your name on it. Or, there will be.”

“Huh?” Rob’s confusion was clear on his face as he looked up at Brian from a few feet away.

“If you want one, all you have to do is call and get the process started. I’ve got everything else taken care of. It’s on me. Consider it a thank you for everything you’ve done for me these past ten years… especially this year.”

“Brian, you don’t have to--”

“I know. I want to.”

“I didn’t do any of it expecting something in return. I did it because that’s what friends do -- you take care of each other.”

“It’s my turn to take care of you then. With this.”

“But it’s so expensive.”

“And I can afford it. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know, and more than I can say. Let me do this for you. Please.”

Eventually, Brian got Rob to reluctantly agree, still insisting that nothing he’d done was deserving of a gift of this size. But Brian disagreed. At the time when he’d met Rob, Rob had been the exact person Brian had needed -- someone who understood the most challenging, frustrating, and sometimes embarrassing aspects of his life and could help guide him through them, because he’d been there and found his way through. And in the past year, he’d truly been a life preserver at a time when Brian had often felt like he was drowning. Doing this for Rob seemed like the least Brian could do to thank him for being like a brother to him for the past ten years -- an integral part of the family Brian had chosen to surround himself with.

And, because they were family, Rob and Adam and the girls had also been invited for dinner at Deb’s along with Brian and Justin -- although Debbie’s version of an invitation sounded more like a demand. But that was just Debbie.

She was thrilled to meet the girls, saying that she missed having kids running around the house at the holidays now that Gus and J.R. were teenagers. It was still hard to believe that Gus was nearly grown -- it seemed like only yesterday that he’d been Esme’s age, and Lindsay had been calling Brian every other day because Gus had done something to get in trouble with one of his teachers.

It took Esme a little while to warm up to Debbie, but once she did, they all had a great time, playing a card game Brian remembered from when he and Michael were kids, while they ate cookies and Debbie talked to them about what they’d asked for from Santa Claus.

Brian had been afraid he’d have to spend the entire evening preventing Michael, who was the worst secret keeper in the universe, from saying something about the house in front of Justin, but Ben had an awards banquet to attend at Carnegie Mellon, so he and Michael were there instead, much to Brian’s relief. Twenty-four more hours, and all would be revealed, and then it wouldn’t matter what anyone said about anything.

The evening was exactly like the hundreds of others they’d spent at Debbie’s eating too much lasagna and drinking too much wine, but sharing so much love. It was a perfect way to spend the evening before their anniversary -- and so much better than what things had been one year before, when Brian’s entire life had been taken over by uncertainty and doubt. Now, Justin was here with him, instead of lying in a hospital bed, and they’d found their way back to their own version of normal -- a little different from before, but still so good.

When they left Deb’s that night and headed back to the hotel, Brian almost felt like he had on the night before their wedding -- nervous, but excited. Mostly, he wanted the next day to be perfect for Justin. Because Justin deserved nothing less.

But Brian would have been lying if he’d said it wasn’t important to him as well. As much as he wanted to make this happen for Justin, he needed to make it happen for himself too. He needed to be able to share this memory with his husband, since he didn’t know whether or not they’d ever share the memory of their actual wedding again -- and that still hurt. Brian wished it didn’t, because he felt like it wasn’t fair for him to feel this way when it was Justin who had lost so much. But as much as he wanted to get rid of that feeling, he couldn’t. It was still there. He hoped that having a new memory to share with Justin might help ease the pain.

He knew that Justin loved him more than life -- and he was grateful every day that Justin hadn’t forgotten that -- but he needed to have those shared memories too. They were a part of them. The collective that was Brian and Justin.

Brian awoke on the morning of their 10th anniversary with Justin’s soft, warm body tucked into his side, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths as he slept. Justin’s right hand lay on the pillow next to his head, his fingers curled slightly. This morning was so different from the morning of their ninth anniversary -- when Brian had awakened alone in a hotel bed, while Justin lay in a hospital bed in a medically-induced coma. Brian was thankful to have Justin beside of him -- whole and still the same man he’d married ten years before.

Justin’s eyelids slowly fluttered open, and a smile spread across his face when his eyes met Brian’s.

“Morning,” Justin said sleepily. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary.” Brian leaned in and kissed his husband, still not quite believing that it had been ten years already. It seemed like only yesterday they’d stood together in front of the justice of the peace, with Daphne and Jennifer and Michael and Ben looking on as they exchanged their vows and declared their love for one another.

The last ten years had been full of change and growth for both of them, and plenty of the unexpected. But, that was life. Navigating it together, they were stronger -- greater than the sum of their individual parts.

They shared a morning shower fuck -- making it work even though the hotel’s setup wasn’t exactly ideal -- before the room service breakfast Brian had scheduled the night before was delivered. The early part of the day was just for them -- to spend time with each other, not worrying about anybody else, until the party with their family and friends later that night.

“I never know what to get you,” Justin said as they sat at the small table in their suite, a full spread of breakfast pastries and fruit and coffee in front of them. “But I saw this at an antique shop when I was looking for things to use in some of my art projects. I hope you like it.” He pushed a small box across the table toward Brian, its lid wrapped in cream-colored paper that had been hand lettered and tied with a red ribbon -- Brian’s favorite color.

The handwriting was clearly Justin’s, and Brian felt like he could see him in his mind’s eye, putting the words down on paper. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116. A page Brian had marked in a book many years ago, when he was writing the vows he’d hoped to say to Justin at the wedding that never happened.

Brian slid the ribbon off the box, then read the words aloud:

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

After a few words, Justin’s voice had joined his, reciting the words from memory.

“I found it while I was reading every book in the house,” Justin said softly, his eyes shining, a sheepish smile on his face. “Right after my accident. When I read it that day, I cried, because it was so true. It was so us. True love overcomes everything. And if it doesn’t, was it ever love at all?”

The memory of the words and what they’d meant to him for such a long time was making Brian emotional too. He swallowed hard as he carefully took the lid off the box, which contained another box -- this one covered in red velvet. Brian took it out and opened it. Inside was a beautiful gold watch. The center of the face was transparent, revealing the watch’s inner workings.

“Turn it over,” Justin said.

The back was engraved with three lines -- the first two lines clearly older than the third:

B & J
12/21
It’s only time

“I don’t know who B & J were, but they must have shared our anniversary. I felt like I was meant to find this that day,” Justin said. “I never even meant to end up at that shop -- I found it by accident after I took the wrong subway train on my way somewhere else. But then, there this was. When I turned it over and saw the engraving, it was like I was supposed to be there. Something had led me to it. I had ‘It’s only time’ added, because I’ve never forgotten the day you spoke those words to me, right before I left for New York. At the time, I don’t think I knew what you meant, but now I do.”

“You found what inspired it.”

“I know. And you were right. It was only time. It didn’t separate us. We transcended it.”

“I’m glad we did.”

“Me too. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Truth be told, Brian couldn’t imagine his life without Justin either. And he didn't want to.

“I got you a little something too,” Brian said, placing the small box he’d been holding in his lap on the table in front of Justin.

“Tiffany’s?” Justin’s eyes were wide, his eyebrows practically up in his hairline. “Holy shit, Brian. You shouldn’t--”

“You don’t even know what it is. Open it.”

Justin untied the white ribbon on the light blue box and opened the lid. Inside was a small blue velvet pouch, containing the diamond cufflinks Brian had picked out the week before -- simple bars of white gold, set with dozens of tiny diamonds. Justin turned them over in his hand, the diamonds catching the morning light streaming in through the windows.

“For your next big art show, and all of the ones to come,” Brian said.

Justin laughed and shook his head, then looked up at Brian, his lips turned up into the tiniest smile, as if he was fighting a bigger one. “So I can look classy?”

“Always. You know what they say. Put your best foot forward.”

“Jesus, you’ve been hanging out with Rob for too long. You’re starting to adopt his motivational quotes.”

“Nah,” Brian said. “I just know a lot about first impressions. And you made a hell of one on me.”

“Took you long enough to admit it.” Justin smiled, his eyes sparkling brilliantly.

“At least you never took no for an answer.”

“I knew the truth. You loved me.”

“You knew it before I did, Sunshine.”

They spent the rest of their morning and afternoon just enjoying each other’s company, with no obligations and no expectations. All they wanted was to be with each other.

When five o’clock came around, it was time to see the fruits of Emmett’s labor, and for Brian to finally reveal the surprise he’d been planning for months.

Brian had an overwhelming sense of deja vu as they got ready for the party -- this time forgoing the suits and ties for something slightly more casual, but still nice. Ten years ago, back in Boston, he’d been keeping a secret -- a surprise for Justin. Tonight, he was doing the same. And, just like before, he couldn’t wait to see the look on Justin’s face when Justin saw what he had planned.

They went downstairs at the exact time Emmett had told them to arrive -- so they could make their grand entrance, he’d said -- and found their friend standing outside the doors to the ballroom, waiting. He greeted them both with hugs and kisses on the cheek.

“You look stunning, both of you!” Emmett said. He grabbed Justin by the shoulders and turned him around, evaluating his ensemble, which Brian had picked out -- a shirt the exact same shade of blue as his eyes, and a pair of charcoal grey pants. Brian had gone with a darker blue shirt for himself, though his pants were nearly the same color as Justin’s.

“Ready to go?” Emmett asked, his hand on the door, ready to swing it open.

Brian nodded. He was as ready as he ever would be. He just hoped that this time, everything went off without a hitch, just like it had in Boston.

When they entered the room, they were greeted by the smiling faces of their friends and family, all standing up and cheering for them as they made their way down the center aisle between the two rows of tables. The room was dimly lit, mostly by flickering candles on each table, although the overhead lights were on and emitting a very soft glow. The tablecloths were black, with runners in a festive deep red. Servers, dressed all in black, were circulating with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. A DJ in the corner was playing smooth jazz over the sound system, adding to the mood.

Emmett had really outdone himself, but the decor was still tasteful and modern and more Brian than Em. After so many years, he supposed Emmett did know him pretty well.

Brian looked over his shoulder at Emmett and smiled. “Thanks, Em,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

Emmett laid his hand on Brian’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I’m glad it’s everything you wanted. We’re all really happy for you guys. I’ll leave you to your guests -- I need to go check on the caterer.”

With that, he bustled away behind a partition, leaving Brian and Justin to make their way toward the table that had been set just for the two of them in the center of the room -- a slow-going task because people kept intercepting them to deliver hugs and congratulations and, in Debbie’s case, kisses that left behind red lipstick prints on their cheeks. Brian could feel the nervous anticipation building in his gut as he searched the room for Jennifer, finally finding her and making eye contact with her. She smiled and nodded -- signifying that everything was ready to go.

When Daphne rushed over to Justin and swept him into a hug, then pulled him toward the table where she’d been sitting with Lindsay, Melanie, Gus, and J.R., Brian knew it was time to make everything happen. He waited until Justin was sufficiently distracted by whatever-the-fuck Daphne was showing him on her phone, before pushing himself over to where Jennifer stood along the back wall of the room by a door, behind which his standing wheelchair should have been sitting in the adjacent hallway.

“I think I’m almost as excited for this as you are,” Jennifer said. “I’m so happy for both of you -- that you both have each other. I know it took me a long time to come around to believing you were good for my son, but I really am glad to be your mother-in-law.” She bent down and hugged him, kissing his cheek. “You’re the best spouse I ever could have asked for, for my son.”

“Thanks mom,” Brian said, returning her hug and hoping that the calmness that was apparent in Jennifer’s relaxed smile might spread to him via osmosis.

Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He glanced back at Justin, now crouching down in front of Esme and Sophia, who appeared to be showing off their dresses. Jennifer held the door to the hallway open for Brian, then stood guard at the window while he transferred to the standing wheelchair.

Once he was ready, Jennifer opened the door again and they went back into the room, where she grabbed her water goblet and tapped her knife against it a few times to get everyone’s attention. Once the crowd had quieted down, Justin gently disengaged from Esme and Sophia and walked back toward Brian. He was still several feet away when a confused look came over his face, and he looked like he wanted to say something about Brian’s chair when he finally got to him, but he didn’t have a chance to do it before Jennifer started speaking.

“Good evening, everyone,” she said. “We’re all so thankful for your presence this evening as we celebrate ten years of marriage for my son, Justin Taylor, and his husband, Brian Kinney.”

From there, Brian wasn’t paying much attention to Jennifer’s words because he was too distracted by the anxious feeling that had his stomach in knots. Now, he was just waiting for his cue. Jennifer kept talking, and heads kept nodding, and he could see Justin out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying to figure out what was going on.

“As all of you know, we nearly lost Justin again last year,” Jennifer said her voice wavering a bit.

Hearing Jennifer start to get emotional, Brian had to fight to keep the same emotions from rising up in himself. He had to keep his cool. Keep it together. He couldn't lose it now. Not yet.

“Luckily, we didn’t,” she continued, her voice a bit stronger, “and I couldn’t be prouder of his ability to take a tough situation and turn it around. He’s teaching now, he’s still making art, and he’s still living his life with as much passion and fervor as he always has. But, as many of you know, Justin suffered some memory loss, and there are some memories he never recovered, including the memory of his and Brian’s wedding. I remember what a beautiful day that was, and I know that memory was really special to both of them. So when Brian called me and asked me if I could help him recreate that memory for Justin, I couldn’t say no. So, friends, please join me in celebrating, once again, the union of Justin Taylor and Brian Kinney, as they renew their commitment to one another.”

Justin was still looking confused when Brian took his hand and led him over to where Jennifer was standing. Brian positioned himself in front of Justin, then pushed down and forward on the lever system that would bring him to a standing position. That seemed to be the point where Justin finally realized what was happening, and tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out for Brian and hugged him, gently and carefully at first, then more tightly, clinging to Brian and whispering a barely audible “thank you” in his ear. When Justin let him go, Brian held both of Justin’s hands in his, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he tried to remember everything he wanted to say.

“Justin,” he started, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “First, I want to say how proud I am to have you as my husband. How much it means to me to go through this life with you by my side. I can’t imagine it without you, and I’m thankful that I didn’t have to face that reality last year.” He paused and swallowed, attempting to push down the emotions that were bubbling up inside him. “This past year has shown me just how much I have to be grateful for, and what’s truly important in my life. Of course, you’ve been showing me that for a long time. You’ve rescued me when I’ve been close to a point of no return. You saw me for me, even when it felt like no one else did. And after everything changed, you still saw the person you loved underneath. You never gave up on me.”

Brian closed his eyes for a moment, willing back the tears that were threatening to fall. He felt Justin’s fingers close more tightly around his. He opened his eyes to see Justin’s gentle smile, giving him the strength to go on.

“You’ve shown me what marriage can be -- what it should be. We encourage each other and lift each other up, and we’ve grown through the pressures of the present and the uncertainties of the future. We’ve helped each other become what we are today. The only place I’m truly content is when I’m with you. Even when things are hard, you make life better. You put up with my shit.” Brian paused and winked at Justin, who was laughing through his tears. “But really, you make my life worth living. You have for a long time. Maybe before you even knew you were. So today, I want to renew my commitment to you -- my partner, my friend, and the man I want to wake up to every morning for the rest of my life. I love you, forever and always, no matter what our future brings. I’m looking forward to a lifetime of new memories with you.”

Brian tightened his grip on Justin’s hands and blinked back the tears that were beginning to blur his vision as he gazed into his husband’s beautiful blue eyes. The tear tracks on Justin’s face were glistening in the light as he looked up at Brian, wearing that same look of surprise and pure elation that he had ten years before at Boston City Hall.

“Brian…” Justin said, his voice wavering with emotion. “Shit, I can’t think.”

“Then don’t.” Brian squeezed his hands again and smiled at him.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I already know.”

When Justin did speak, he did so softly, as if his words were meant only for Brian to hear. A private confession, said before an audience of all of the people who had loved them and supported them through the past sixteen years.

“I’ve loved you since I was 17. I’ve never forgotten that, or how much you mean to me. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, and the only one I ever will. You’ve rescued me too, so many times. More than you’ll ever know. There’s no one else I’d ever want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Justin wrapped his arms around Brian again, harder this time, crushing his lips against Brian’s in a kiss that Brian knew he would never forget, while their family and friends clapped and cheered. When Justin let go, the smile on his face was easily the brightest thing in the entire room, and Brian knew he’d done exactly what he’d set out to do -- return to Justin one of the happiest memories of their life together, by creating a new one that was just as joyous.

“Now,” Brian said, nearly having to shout to be heard over the excited chatter in the room, “let’s eat, drink, and be merry!”

Brian lowered himself back down and led Justin back over to their table, where their dinner was already waiting, along with two glasses of the same wine they’d shared at the restaurant they’d gone to after their wedding. Brian was sure that detail would be lost on anyone else but him, but it was one that felt appropriate to include.

“Brian, this was… I don’t think I have a word to describe exactly what this was. Amazing. Unbelievable. But it was more than that. Standing there with you, hearing you say all those things...” Justin let his voice trail off. “I still don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“I promise you won’t forget this one,” Brian said, smiling and raising his glass to his husband in a private toast. “To new memories.”

“To new memories.” Justin clinked his glass against Brian’s and they both took a sip of their wine.

After dinner and dessert, everyone took to the dance floor -- celebrating love and life. Brian had switched back to his regular chair and was dancing with Justin to some late 90s pop song Daphne swore up and down was played at the prom, when the music smoothly faded into a slow song, and they all transitioned along with it.

No sooner had Brian taken Justin’s hands in his own than he heard Jennifer’s voice from alongside him.

“May borrow your husband?” she asked, smiling first at Brian, before shifting her attention to Justin and adding, “Assuming you’re not too old to dance with your mother.”

With a smile and a wink, Brian released Justin’s hands, then slowly backed out of the way and returned to his and Justin’s table, where he sat sipping his wine and feeling more content than he had in a long time as he watched Jennifer hold Justin close, resting her head on his shoulder as they moved to the music.

The song was nearly over when Michael slid into Justin’s chair, propping his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. “So, when are you going to have us over for dinner?” he asked, the expression on his face dead serious at first, before he started laughing.

“If you don’t keep your mouth shut, never.” Brian smirked.

“I know,” Michael laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m just messing with you. I’m happy for you guys. And if this means I get to see you more often, that’s even better. I miss our lunches at the diner.”

“I do too. But now that we’ve got an actual office in New York…”

“I know, I know. Your life is there now. I still miss you though.” Michael pushed himself up from the chair and kissed Brian on the cheek. “Congratulations. Welcome to the neighborhood. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mikey.”

“Always have.”

“Always will.”

As Michael walked away, the DJ started playing another slow song. Jennifer and Justin kept dancing, so Brian pushed himself over to the table Rob and Adam had been sharing with Ted and Blake, which was currently deserted except for Rob and Esme because everyone else was out on the dance floor -- even Adam and Sophia.

“Congratulations, man,” Rob said, clapping Brian on the shoulder. “That was beautiful.”

“I’d say it was a success.” Brian smiled. “So why aren’t you two out on the dance floor?”

Rob laughed. “Dancing’s not really my thing.”

“Oh, come on. If I can do it, you can do it.”

“Trust me, I have zero rhythm. You don’t want me out there running over people’s toes.”

Brian looked over at Esme to ask her if she was having a good time, but she had her gaze firmly fixed on the next table, where Gus was seated next to Lindsay, probably trying to finagle a way to steal a sip of her wine without her noticing. When Gus got up and went to the dessert table, Esme quickly excused herself and walked over to the punch bowl, where she nearly spilled punch on herself because she was too busy watching Gus.

“Well, this is an interesting development,” Brian said. He looked at Rob and raised his eyebrow.

“She’s been eyeing him all night,” Rob laughed. “Trying to figure out a way to get his attention. But she’s too shy to actually speak to him.”

Esme stood in front of the dessert table awkwardly, holding her glass, staring at Gus. The second it looked like she was about to get up the confidence to speak, Gus turned and walked back to his table, cake in hand. Esme looked defeated, but she kept her eyes on Gus as she walked back toward their table.

Brian winked at Rob and whispered, “I’ll see what I can do.” He made his way over to Gus, who was starting in on what Brian was fairly sure was his third piece of cake.

“Hey, Sonny Boy,” Brian said, throwing his arm around Gus’s shoulders as he rolled up beside him. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah,” he said, giving his typical teenager noncommittal half-shrug. His mouth slowly turned up into a half-smirk that made Brian feel like he was looking in a mirror. “I did learn that you and Justin are two of the world’s biggest saps.”

Brian chuckled. “I used to feel that way too, about people in love. But one day you’ll meet someone who makes you feel something you’ve never felt before, and you’ll understand. In the meantime, I think there’s someone over there who would like to dance with you.” Brian gestured in Esme’s direction, trying not to be too obvious.

Gus smiled shyly and looked down at his plate. “She’s been following me around all night. I think she thinks I haven’t noticed.”

“Well, maybe you can make the first move, then. Make her night. Do it for your old man?”

Gus laughed and shook his head, still reminding Brian so much of himself. “Okay dad,” he said. “For you. Consider it your anniversary gift.”

“Deal.”

Brian watched Gus walk over to Esme and bend down beside her. Even in the low light, it was easy to see how red she got the instant Gus started talking to her. She nodded her head, and Gus held her hand as she got up from her chair.

While Gus led Esme to the dance floor, Brian made his way back to Rob, the dessert plate containing Gus’s slice of cake in his lap. “So, your kid is straight, huh,” Brian said, taking a bite of the cake. “Please accept my sincere condolences.”

“I must have missed the checkbox where you request a gay one. My mistake,” Rob let out a quiet laugh. “But didn’t Gus have a girlfriend last summer when he came to visit? I remember you bitching about him spending more time on the phone with her than he did with you.”

“And now he’s got a boyfriend, according to Lindsay. I don’t think he knows what the fuck he is.”

“He’s 17, Brian. He probably knows. I know I did, and I’m sure you did too.”

Brian sighed. “I know. Lindsay and Melanie have just been encouraging him to go with his gut feeling and not worry about labels. But Lindsay’s pretty sure he’s bi.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t worry about labels either.”

“I just don’t get it, though.”

“What don’t you get? Just because you can’t imagine yourself liking pussy doesn’t mean your son can’t.”

“Cock is so much better, though.” Brian was being sarcastic, but there was a small bit of seriousness there too.

Rob shook his head and smiled, rolling his eyes at Brian’s remark. “I don’t disagree. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there that like both. Maybe Gus is one of those people. It sounds like he might be.”

“You know, Justin called me a heterophobe once.”

“I don’t disagree with that either.” Rob raised his eyebrow.

“Oh, thanks a lot.”

“But being bisexual isn’t being hetero. Even if he marries a woman and has a dozen kids and stays married to her for fifty years--”

“God help us if that happens.”

“But even if that happens, he’ll still be bi. He doesn’t have to pick a side. And part of your job as a parent is to accept him, even when you don’t understand.”

Brian knew Rob was right, and that Rob was simply calling him on his bullshit right now, like he always did. Brian still liked the idea of Gus being able to just be himself -- no excuses, no apologies, no regrets -- but he also found it hard to wrap his brain around the thought that Gus might not be on one side or the other. He might be right in the middle.

“I wouldn’t panic yet, though,” Rob said, grinning. “I’m pretty sure this is just a schoolgirl crush. He’s a little old for her. Although I heard that Kinneys like ‘em young.”

“Fuck you,” Brian said, giving Rob a playful shove. He tried to look mad, but his smile belied his intent. “Besides, he’s not a Kinney. He’s a Marcus-Peterson.”

“Have you looked at him? Spent any time with him? That kid is all you, Brian. Even if his last name isn’t Kinney.”

“Poor bastard.”

“I don’t know. I think he got pretty lucky. His dad’s a good guy. I’m glad he’s my friend.”

Brian looked down and shook his head. He still wasn’t good with sentimentality. “Thanks,” he said.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

As the song wound down, Jennifer hugged Justin and kissed his cheek before she let him go, and Gus brought Esme back to the table where Rob and Brian were sitting. Esme looked like she was on cloud nine, grinning from ear to ear as she practically floated back to her seat. Gus had definitely made her night. Maybe even her year.

“Is that my cake?” Gus asked, pointing at the plate in front of Brian, which now held a nearly half-eaten slice of cake.

“We can share it,” Brian said. “I just wanted a bite. Besides, I paid for it, so technically it’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t listen to him if I were you.” Justin’s voice broke into the conversation as he walked up behind Brian. “Your dad will eat it all, and pretend he doesn’t like cake. Or chocolate. And yet he ordered black forest cake for our anniversary party.”

“Emmett ordered it,” Brian corrected him. “And it’s your favorite and you know it, so shut up.”

“Actually, I didn’t come over here to argue about cake. I came over to see if you’d dance with me.” Justin was smiling, suddenly looking shy. He took Brian’s hand and pulled him toward the dance floor, the role reversal not lost on Brian as he thought of his 30-year-old self leading Justin through a crowd of dancing teenagers like Moses parting the Red Sea. Justin led Brian out into the center of the room while their family and friends moved to the edges. When the upbeat song that had been playing faded out and was replaced with another, more familiar tune, Brian’s sense of deja vu only grew stronger.

“I thought you said this was a corny old song?” Brian said, arching his eyebrow.

“I’d prefer to think of it as ridiculously romantic,” Justin said, his smile seeming to light up the entire room.

“We haven’t danced to this in a long time.”

“No time like the present, right?”

Justin and Brian had the dance floor all to themselves as they turned and twirled, their hands intertwined as they moved to the music while their friends and family looked on. It was a much different atmosphere than the last time they’d danced to this song -- instead of the faces of shocked teenagers, they were surrounded this time by happy smiles. The love of their family.

But just like before, Brian lost himself in it -- remembering how it had felt to look into Justin’s eyes and feel like they were the only ones in the entire room. Remembering the moment when he’d first realized that he loved this kid.

Thankful to still be here with him, holding his hand, knowing that later that night, they’d be in each other’s arms, at home -- their new home.

As the last strains of the song faded away, Brian pulled Justin down onto his lap and kissed him deeply, for long enough that he heard Debbie mutter to Michael, “Do you think they’re gonna fuck right here on the dance floor?”

“That would probably answer a lot of their questions, wouldn’t it?” Brian said, his voice soft and low.

“I’d prefer to keep up the illusion of mystery,” Justin whispered. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“In a minute,” Brian said, pulling his lips into his mouth to hide a smile. “I have one more thing to show you.”

The family gave them a send off as if they were newlyweds -- although Brian supposed, in a way, they were. But instead of taking Justin upstairs to their room, he led him outside to where a valet was waiting with their rental car.

“Where are we going?” Justin asked.

“You’ll see.”

Once they were in the car, Brian reached into the pocket on the inside of his jacket and pulled out a small box, handing it to Justin.

“What’s this?” Justin’s brow was furrowed as he looked at Brian in confusion, his eyes glittering in the orange glow from the streetlights. “You’ve already done so much--”

“Open it.” Brian cut Justin off, because he couldn’t wait any longer.

Justin took the top of the box to reveal a set of keys. His confusion deepened, as Brian fought to keep from grinning too much just yet.

“What are these for?” Justin asked, turning them over in his fingers.

“I’ll show you.”

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of the house Brian had bought and renovated, and Brian finally let the grin that he’d been holding back spread across his face. Justin looked back and forth between the house and Brian. Then the keys and the house. Then the keys and Brian.

“Is this…?” Justin looked from the house to the keys again. “Are these keys to this house?”

“Only one way to find out,” Brian said, pushing the door open and reclining his seat back all the way so he could take the components of his wheelchair out of the backseat.

Justin was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, still alternating between staring at the house and the keys in his hand, when Brian came up behind him.

“Aren’t you going to unlock the door?” Brian said gently.

“You bought me a house?” Justin turned and looked at Brian, eyes full of disbelief.

“I bought us a house. So that when we’re here, we can be at home.”

“Brian, this is too much.”

“Nothing is too much for you.” Brian took Justin’s hand in his own. “In fact, there’s nothing that could ever possibly be enough.”

Brian took Justin on a tour of the house -- with its bamboo flooring and granite countertops and spacious bedrooms and a bathroom with a roll-in shower whose size rivaled the one he’d had in the loft. Justin’s mouth was agape and his eyes still wide with surprise and wonder as they ended their tour in the kitchen.

“You really are fucking unbelievable,” Justin said, still looking around, seemingly trying to take it all in. “You can’t just do something small. It has to be some huge, grand gesture, every single time.”

“What can I say? Go big or go home.” Brian took Justin’s hands and pulled him down for a kiss. “So welcome home. Our second home.”

Brian opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of champagne, then led Justin to the bathroom, where two champagne flutes awaited alongside the fancy chocolates from that shop downtown he knew Justin loved. They spent the evening together, enjoying the custom jacuzzi tub while they sipped champagne and fed each other truffles in between long, sensual kisses that led to more -- much more -- as they climbed into their brand new bed for the first time and christened their new home together.

“That was a pretty good wedding night,” Brian said, as they lay together in the dimly lit room, his fingers carding through Justin’s hair as the younger man’s head lay on his chest.

“It was beautiful. All of it.” Justin paused and took a deep breath, then turned and looked up at Brian, baby blue meeting hazel. “As beautiful as the Christmas tree at Boston Common on a snowy night.”

Brian couldn’t speak. He had so many questions -- when, how, why didn't you tell me -- but none of them mattered. All he could do was close his eyes as the tears fell unbidden from beneath his eyelids and his arms pulled Justin’s body to his in a tight embrace. Even if he could have spoken, he didn’t have words to describe what he was feeling at that moment. For all of the times he’d recounted the story of their wedding to Justin, he’d never mentioned the Christmas tree. Justin had remembered that all on his own. He remembered.

“When you stood in front of me and you looked into my eyes, it all came flooding back to me,” Justin said softly, his fingers grazing Brian’s cheeks as they wiped away the tears. “I remember the snow. I remember standing there with you, saying our vows. I remember hugging you, and how everyone was crying. I remember how it felt to hug you like that for the first time in such a long time. Holding you. Putting the ring on your finger. Kissing you. How fucking much I loved you. How much I still do. It was beautiful. And it was perfect. Just like my life with you.”

Justin took Brian’s hand and brought their intertwined fingers to his lips.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Then, now, and forever.”

On the tenth anniversary of his wedding night, Brian Kinney lay holding Justin Taylor in their bed, in their house. A house in the suburbs.

It wasn’t anywhere he thought he’d ever be. It wasn’t a part of his plan.

But, then again, since when had anything gone according to plan once Justin had entered his life?

Justin had taken his plan and torn out half of the pages and rearranged the rest. And when the story had taken a very different turn on June 21, 2006, Justin had merely picked right up where he left off, rewriting Brian’s story.

Making it beautiful. Taking his pain and transforming it into peace. Acceptance. Love.

Just as Brian had tried to do for Justin for most of the last year.

Life had tried to tear them apart so many times, but it seemed like each time, they’d only end up stitched back together again, much stronger.

His life story wasn’t linear. It had a lot of twists and turns, and there were most certainly bumps in the long and winding path it followed.

But it sure did seem to be making its way toward a happy ending.

There had been pain. There had been strife. There had been tough lessons learned, with plenty of guilt and blame to go around.

But there had also been joy. And one common thread that seemed to weave together all of the most joyous moments.

Justin.

In this one beautiful, perfect moment -- holding his husband’s hand as he slept contentedly, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Justin’s chest against his own body -- Brian realized that it was all worth it.

All the pain. All of the strife.

It was what ultimately brought the joy.

And he wouldn’t trade one second of it. Not for anything in the world.

If we can make it through the storm
Become who we were before
Promise me, we’ll never look back
The worst is far behind us now
We’ll make it out of here somehow
Meet me in the aftermath
Oh, meet me in the aftermath

- Lifehouse, “Aftermath.” Lyrics by Jason Wade.

 

*****

If you've read my early fics, you've probably picked up on the fact that I love Lifehouse. I have long thought that "Aftermath" was a perfect song for Brian and Justin, but when I was listening to it one day as I was working on one of the final parts of this story, I realized just how much it related to the overall plot arc in this series. I wanted to share the song with all of you, so I asked if anyone would be willing to create a Brian & Justin video featuring the song, and kitkatbyte answered the call. Thank you, Wendy, for putting this amazing video together!

Now, all of that said...please click here to enjoy her creation...

End Notes:

Thank you to everyone who has been reading along since I went out on a limb and started this verse back in July, and to all of those who have come in along the way -- I appreciate all of you. Your support and encouragement means a lot.

I also owe a huge thank you to SandiD, whose input has made this story what it is. <3

I am planning to continue this verse with a series of one-shots or shorter multi-chapter stories that fit within it, and I am open to ideas. What would you like to see? They can be past, present, or future. Let me know what you want to see more of and I'll see what I can do. Thanks again for coming on this journey with me -- much love to you all.

This story archived at https://midnightwhispers.net/viewstory.php?sid=4087