Kinnetik – LateTuesday Morning

"Brian?" Cynthia called out softly from the office doorway. "There's someone asking to see you. Says it's really important."

Brian tried to act like he was being sorely interrupted from his work as he shifted his gaze from the laptop to his assistant; if he was being honest with himself, however, he hadn't really been able to concentrate on what he was supposed to be researching. He found himself instead reading the same page over and over again in between his constant thoughts of Justin. He had hoped being back at work would help to keep his mind off him, but he had been mainly unsuccessful. Even here in his relatively safe sanctuary, he could still feel his lover's presence. His mind kept going back to so many occasions when Justin had been here – the day he had held his grand opening for Kinnetik, Justin proudly by his side. The day he had made plans to have his surgery, and despite his half-hearted attempt to push Justin away, his partner had declared that he still loved him and would be waiting when he got back – and he was. The time a few days after they had mailed out their wedding announcements and the two of them stood together with Emmett, making plans for a wedding that ultimately, sadly, would not take place, and Justin asked for those rare golden gardenias that only grew in China of all places. But back then, Brian would have literally gone to the ends of the earth to do whatever it took to make Justin happy. Because when Justin was happy, he was happy. So fucking happy. Happier than he ever thought was possible.

"Brian?" He didn't realize Cynthia was patiently waiting for his response still, as his eyes refocused back on his assistant. Wearily he asked her, "Who is it, Cynthia?"

"It's Blake…..Ted's boyfriend," she announced, puzzlement apparent in her voice. "But he asked to speak with you, not him," she verified. "Should I bring him back?"

Brian's brow creased into a frown. Why the fuck would Blake ask to see him? Did he think he wasn't treating his boyfriend properly? Was he here to ask him to give Ted a raise? Finally shaking his head futilely, he instructed Cynthia, "What the hell…..bring him in." She nodded briefly and turned to retrieve the visitor.

A few minutes later, she knocked perfunctorily on Brian's door and moved aside to let Blake enter. The blond, slender man was noticeably nervous when he slowly strode into the room as Cynthia quietly shut the door, leaving the two men alone.

Brian silently motioned for Blake to sit in one of the visitor chairs; when the man didn't say anything after several seconds, Brian's eyebrows rose and he uttered a simple "Well?"

Blake fidgeted in his chair and Brian felt he was deliberating averting his eyes to avoid looking directly at him. Blake continued to remain mute until Brian growled, "I repeat….What do you want? Sure you aren't in the wrong office? Theodore doesn't get in today until noon, by the way," Brian informed him curtly.

"I know," Blake finally uttered softly. "Teddy and I live together now."

Brian was quickly running out of patience with the other man. "Okay…so again…..what the fuck do you want?" he demanded. "I DO have work to do here." He steepled his fingers and placed his elbows on the desk, staring intently at the other man as part intimidation and part invitation to get on with his task.

"I…..I know," Blake stammered. He was quickly questioning the intelligence of coming here to talk to Brian; the man was normally difficult to deal with anyway, but the subject matter he was about to bring up was going to make his previous encounters with the man look like a walk in the park compared to this encounter. "I….I need to talk to you... about something that happened yesterday afternoon at Babylon…..I, I mean Pulse," he finally managed to struggle out. "Teddy told me not to, but it's all I've thought about since then. I KNOW who I saw."

Brian's head was beginning to pound as he tried to decipher what the fuck this man was babbling about. "Look…I suggest you get to the fucking point now or I'm going to bodily throw you out!" he snarled.

"This isn't easy," Blake tried to explain, his heart beating rapidly, partly out of fear and partly out of nervousness. "Okay," he said, his hands coming out in a show of truce. "Let me explain," he pleaded, temporarily relieved when Brian, who was about to stand up, slowly sat back down, still glaring at him. "I was bringing Teddy some lunch yesterday at your club just after noon and I had to park about a half block down the street because of all the construction trucks parked nearby. I got out of my car and started to walk around to the back of the club when I heard a couple of guys yelling at each other." Here goes nothing, Blake thought, holding his breath temporarily. "They were standing in front of your club, and then walked back to their car and started to drive off. That's when I got a good look at him," he informed him.

Brian huffed out an exasperated breath. "I am SO tired of this game of twenty questions," he informed the other man, now highly annoyed. "Will you fucking get to the point? WHO did you see?" he snarled sarcastically. "The president of the United States?"

"Justin," he blurted out suddenly and clearly. Despite Brian's shocked, stunned expression, his voice lowered and he repeated, whispering this time, "Justin. That's who I saw."

At the mention of his lover's name, Brian's face went ashen. Nothing could have prepared him for what Blake had just said. His hands began to shake with rage as he slowly rose from his chair to glare at the other man, who shrunk back from the eyes that were solid black now with fury. Speaking initially in a deadly quiet voice, Brian answered, the volume slowly rising with each syllable, "I don't know what type of fucking sick joke you're playing, or what your drug of choice happens to be at the moment, but you have five seconds to get the FUCK out of my office before I rip one of your goddamn balls off and THROW YOU OUT!"

Blake almost knocked his chair over as he rose quickly and recoiled at the sight of the other man now leaning over his desk; he was sure the man would cock his fist back at any moment in preparation for throwing a punch at him. "You don't understand!" Blake cried out, as he slowly leaned away from Brian's reach. "I'm trying to help you!" he insisted, now beginning to walk backward toward the office door.

"Help me?" Brian screamed. "You're trying to HELP ME?" He laughed loudly now, his voice full of scorn and irony. "Every mention of his name is like a knife twisting in my gut, and you say you're trying to HELP ME? GET THE FUCK OUT- NOW!" he yelled, thoroughly outraged. Brian's face flushed deep red with anger, the veins clearly evident in his neck, as he fought to control the spontaneous impulse to strangle the other man where he stood. If he did not leave his office in the next five seconds, Brian truly felt he would be capable of doing just that. The absolute, fucking GALL this man possessed in order to come into his office and weave this sick, cruel lie about the only man he ever loved was unfathomable to him.

"Brian!" Cynthia appeared suddenly at his now open doorway, followed closely by a flustered and shocked Ted.

"Blake! What are you doing? I TOLD you to drop it, didn't I?" Ted asked the other man, who quickly rushed over to his boyfriend for both protection and comfort.

"I…I'm sorry, Teddy," Blake whispered, deflated. "I really was trying to help."

"Get him the FUCK out NOW while he still has his BALLS and you still have a JOB!" Brian screamed at the top of his lungs. He began to walk toward the two men and Cynthia when Ted made a wise decision to push Blake out the door and down the hallway out of Brian's sight and reach.

Brian stood in the middle of his office, shaking with uncontrolled rage, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. Could his pain get any worse?, he thought miserably, closing his eyes as he felt Cynthia reaching out to grasp his sleeve. He slowly opened them then and tried to focus on his assistant's soft brown ones, which were presently peering at him with both concern and sympathy. "Breathe, Brian," she simply said as she slowly steered him toward the couch at the side of the room. "Take a deep breath."

He allowed her to push him gently down onto the couch as she joined him. She sat with him for a few minutes in silence, somehow knowing that he didn't have the strength or inclination to say anything. After all, what could be said? What could have possessed the man to come into his office with such an outrageous claim? He shook his head, still too shocked at the man's utter audacity.

Finally, he whispered to Cynthia, "Why? Why would he do that? Did he get some kind of exciting thrill out of kicking the great Brian Kinney when he's down? Well, I've got news for him, Cynthia. I'm as down as I could ever fucking get right now." He rubbed his hands over his face with exhaustion and despair. At that moment, he doubted if his nightmare would ever truly end.

"I don't have an answer for you, Brian," Cynthia whispered helplessly. From what little contact she had had with Ted's boyfriend, she thought Blake was honestly trying to straighten his life out, just like Ted had done. Now she had serious doubts about that. Nothing could justify what the man had just done to her boss.

"Would you get me some Beam?" Brian asked her quietly, still trying to slow his breathing down from his tirade. He let out a loud exhalation of breath while he tightly grasped both of his hands in his lap.

Cynthia rose and quickly located the liquor bottle. Efficiently emptying some into a nearby glass, she walked over and placed it in Brian's trembling hand.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked quietly as she continued to stand over him.

Brian managed a very slight smile of thanks, grateful for the constant loyalty and friendship of his longtime assistant. "No…..It's okay. Go back to your desk. I just want to be alone for a little while." He quickly gulped down a large shot of the amber liquid, yearning for a major burn as it went down his throat to help take his mind off other things.

Cynthia looked at him for a few seconds intently, then nodded. "Okay…..Call me if there's anything else I can do." She started to walk toward the door before she turned around and paused. "I'm sure Ted didn't have anything to do with this, Brian."

Brian looked over at her. It really wasn't important at the moment. But he DID want to know just what Ted knew about his boyfriend's stunt just now. He decided, though, that it could wait until later. Right now he just wanted to forget about everything….God help him, even Justin. Just for a little while. Just to ease his pain.

As Cynthia quietly closed his door, leaving him in the privacy of his office, he placed the glass down on the side table and lay down on the couch. Despite his eyes being closed, it was not enough to prevent the tears from escaping down his cheeks as the relative darkness enveloped him.

Harrisburg General Hospital – Tuesday afternoon

"Hey, Michelle! Karen told me I might find you down here. How's the benefit coming?" Andrew asked her as she observed him carrying a large package wrapped in plain brown paper under his arm. He had asked the charge nurse upstairs where she was and was told she was down here in the large banquet room in the hospital's basement. He and Michelle had become even better acquainted recently when they had both volunteered to be committee members for the upcoming dinner and auction for the children's wing.

"It's going good," she verified, smiling at him in greeting. She continued to eye the rather large, flat package the doctor was carrying. "What's that?" she asked curiously.

He smiled back at her. "It's a donation for the benefit," he told her. "You've got to see it," he urged her. She walked over to him as he gingerly set it down so he could slowly rip the paper away from the contents.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, as the painting's vibrant, dramatic colors were exposed. "That's incredible! Who painted it?" she asked him.

He grinned broadly. "You're never going to believe it. It's someone you know."

"Me?" she asked him skeptically. "Who?"

Smiling somewhat mysteriously, he simply instructed her, "Read the signature in the corner."

He noticed her stunned expression as she realized who the artist was. "Jacob Martin?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "As in my former favorite patient and your current roommate, Jacob Martin?" When Andrew nodded in confirmation, she let out a whistle of appreciation. "I had no idea he was so talented…..this is really good," she raved appreciatively as her eyes swept over the abstract work.

Andrew nodded in agreement. "I know," he replied. "While he was waiting for the results of his first MRI a week ago, I found him over at the children's lounge helping a little girl there to draw a picture. I managed to get a look at it and was absolutely amazed by his artistic skill. I bought him some art supplies a few days later to try and help keep his mind occupied, and this was one of the results. It is impressive , isn't it? And he was happy to donate it for the benefit, although he had doubts about how much money it would bring." He stared at the dynamic and passionate painting before adding, "He may have doubts, but I don't. It's fantastic. If it doesn't bring a tidy sum, I would be shocked," he vowed firmly.

"I agree," Michelle responded as she, too, continued to stare mesmerized at the composition. "He's way too modest. This is wonderful. I'm going to talk my husband into letting me bid on this one for myself. I would love to have it." She finally turned away from the painting to look at the doctor. "Just how is he, Andrew?"

Andrew sighed softly. "Without going into a lot of detail – patient confidentiality and all," he explained as she nodded her understanding, "he's okay, but still upset over the lack of improvement. I tease him all the time over how impatient he always is," he told her, smiling wistfully. "But I can certainly understand his frustration. It's just that he's afflicted with a particularly tricky condition that we don't know a whole lot about. We're kind of flying blind here, no matter how many times it's happened in the past. Until we know more about how the brain functions, we'll continue to fall short, unfortunately." He shook his head empathetically. "I feel sorry for him. He's a really nice guy."

Michelle's lips turned upward in amusement. "Yeah….he is. I see you've discovered that, too," she said knowingly, smiling a little at him now.

Andrew blushed slightly. "Now don't go getting ideas, Nurse." As she continued to stare pointedly at him, he sighed again. "Okay," he confessed. I do like him….a lot. But I also know he's pretty messed up right now. No matter how I feel about him, I'm not going to take advantage of him being so vulnerable. It wouldn't be fair – to him OR to me."

"You're a good man, too, Andrew," she told him gently. "I hope things work out for both of you."

"I hope so, too," he agreed. "But I have a feeling his heart is already reserved for someone else."

Ted steered his boyfriend somewhat roughly into the men's room. "Just what the hell were you thinking?" he snarled at the smaller man as he stood angrily facing him.

"I'm sorry, Teddy!" Blake cried. "But I won't say I regret it! I mean, I'm sorry if it gets you into trouble with Brian, but he needed to know!" the man insisted.

"Know what?" Ted asked. "That you're delusional? The man's DEAD, Blake! For God's sake – let him rest in peace and let Brian at least try to get on with his own life! Can't you see how much pain he's in?" Ted began to pace restlessly. "He would never admit it, but he is. How could you do that?" he continued to press the other man.

"Teddy," Blake pleaded. "I know it sounds crazy, even to me, but I know what I SAW, and it was definitely Justin! Not a double – him! Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Again – maybe because it's not fucking possible!" Ted repeated furiously. "You've done enough damage – now drop it!" he demanded. He brushed his hand through his hair in exasperation. "I have to get back to work…..provided I still have a job," he growled, his voice an octave lower now. "I suggest you leave – quickly and quietly – while Brian's still in his office. Go," he demanded, pushing the other man more gently now toward the bathroom's main door.

Defeated and resigned, Blake nodded as he slowly walked with Ted out to the lobby. "Okay, Teddy," he said sadly. "I won't bring it up again," he promised. Just before he opened the office's door to exit, however, he whispered. "But I know what I saw."

Harrisburg – Calhoun Street Apartment – Tuesday Evening

"Hey," Justin greeted Andrew as the doctor returned from a rather long day of rounds. "You look beat," he observed.

Andrew nodded. "Very astute, Mr. Martin," he confirmed. "Had two gunshot victims come in – one was barely a teenager." He shook his head in irritation. "One of her friends was playing around with a gun – they never learn."

Justin asked, shocked, "Is she going to be okay?"

"Not sure…..they've still got her in the ICU. Said they'd call if they needed me to come back in." He noticed Jacob had the second canvas splayed out on the coffee table and was working on another painting. "That reminds me," he said, nodding toward the partially-finished composition. "I ran into Michelle downstairs when I took your painting in for the benefit – you know, your nurse?" Justin nodded as he recalled the compassionate woman who had first tended to him after his injury. "She's on the committee for the benefit, too. She took one look at your painting and vowed to do her best to outbid everyone else. She thought it was phenomenal, just like me."

Justin blushed but beamed at the compliment. "She did?" he asked somewhat shyly.

Andrew smiled. "She sure did. Said she was going home to browbeat her husband into letting her bid on it…..Oh, sorry, Jacob. Shit. What a poor choice of words."

Justin shook his head. "Don't worry about it….I know what you meant. That's great, though. Maybe it will bring two bucks instead of one," he remarked, tongue in cheek.

"It'll bring more than that," Andrew insisted, as he walked closer to the other man to examine his current work. If he liked the first piece Jacob had drawn, he was absolutely blown away by this one. It showed an attractive, dark-haired man dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a sleeveless black shirt, sitting on the arm of a couch with a young boy who was a miniature, spitting image of him. Both had the same hazel eyes flecked with gold and the same smile. The boy was sitting on the man's lap and was being tenderly cradled by the man's long, elegant arms. The love on both of their faces was obvious.

"Jacob…..This is unbelievable," Andrew murmured in amazement as he stood next to the other man. "The detail is incredible…..And it's so lifelike. I feel like I could almost reach out and touch them." He was quiet for a few seconds before he asked, "This is Brian, isn't it?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer; he had certainly seen the man in enough drawings in Jacob's sketchpad by now to know without a doubt who it was. As Justin nodded yes, he inquired, "And the boy? He looks so much like your Brian. His son?"

Justin shook his head in frustration. "I…I'm not sure, actually. That's the way I have it in my head – Brian and this boy together. But what I don't understand is why he's the same boy in my dreams that calls me Poppa. I had another dream about him last night – I was reading him some kind of bedtime story, just the two of us. He was laughing and giggling like he was having the time of his life, and he called me Poppa again. Why would he do that if he's Brian's son?" He scrunched up his face in confusion. "Damn! I hate this!" Suddenly he recalled his and Andrew's conversation last night. "Andrew…..that reminds me. What about the hypnosis? Did you find out anything today?"

Andrew nodded. "As a matter of fact, I did. I was so busy down in the ER today I almost forgot. I talked to the business office about your situation and they were very sympathetic. They're going to set you up soon with a hospital psychologist who's trained in hypnosis and get you started on some sessions. They'll coordinate it around my schedule so I can take you in when I go to work."

Justin smiled gratefully, hopeful that maybe that would help him remember. "That's great," he told the other man. "I can't wait to see if it helps. I'm willing to try anything now, if it will help me with my memory."

"I hope it does," Andrew told him sincerely. "I do have a something a bit more pleasant to ask you about, though." As Justin looked at him curiously, he explained. "How would you like to accompany me to the benefit tomorrow night? You could find out firsthand how much your painting brings in, and get a nice meal out of it to boot. It would sure beat ME trying to cook us something," he joked.

Justin hesitated. "I don't know, Andrew," he answered a little uneasily. "I don't think I would feel real comfortable hobnobbing with a big crowd, and besides, what would I wear? My same old chinos and t-shirt is getting a little old and faded by now." Justin had worn some of Andrew's hand-me-downs over the past week, but the man was somewhat taller and bigger than him; any type of formal wear would positively hang loose on him.

"Come on," Andrew coached him. "You could stand to get out a little bit. And I know a doctor friend who's about your size. I'm sure I could call him to borrow a suit for one night. I'll be sitting next to you at the dinner, and I'm sure I could persuade Michelle and her husband to join us. It's just for a few hours – what do you say?"

Justin pondered the idea; maybe Andrew was right – he had been pretty much holed up in the man's apartment for the past week, except for short jaunts down the street to grab some fresh air. And it would be interesting to see how the bidding went for his painting. "Okay," he finally concurred. "Maybe it would be nice to get out for a while."

"Great," Andrew encouraged him. "I'll give my friend a call and see if I can run over and pick up a suit from him." Justin nodded as the other man flipped his cell phone open and walked toward his bedroom to change. As the other man closed his door, Justin found his attention drawn once more to the two subjects of his current work. He stared at the unfinished painting for a long time, lost in thought. Help me find you, he pleaded silently, before he reluctantly closed his paints back up and carried his brushes over to the sink to clean them.