“What do you say to taking over fifty-one percent ownership of Babylon,” Brian said absently, scrolling through his emails at work and taking care of some last minute things before he left with Lindsay and Gus for New York in a few days.

Ted was sitting opposite him, helping him finalize Kinnetik business for the year, and helping him get all the end of year numbers crunched. Brian was officially closing the offices the few days before Christmas, and the entire week between Christmas and New Year’s. In addition to giving his staff what he thought were very generous bonuses for their hard work (20% of their monthly salary), he was also giving them the time off, paid. They all knew the gifts of the bonus and extra days off were not only to acknowledge what they’d done for Kinnetik in 2005, but to inspire them to greater heights in 2006. Brian expected nothing short of brilliance from all of them.

“What?” Brian glanced over his computer screen to see Ted looking at him curiously.

“I’m asking you if you’d like to be the majority owner of Babylon.”

Ted stared, his mouth hanging slightly open as he looked to have trouble processing the words.

“Are you joking?” he finally asked and Brian just shook his head.

“You’ve done wonders running the place. I thought you’d like to make it more official, and earn a hell of a lot more cash for all the work you already do,” Brian added with a smirk. He leaned back in his office chair and watched as Ted did the mental mathematics and ran all the possible scenarios in his head.

It was true – after the reopening, when Brian had handed over the day to day operations to Ted, the club had flourished. Brian was still involved in making decisions about hiring and when they planned promotions or themed nights he always offered his opinion – but the club was really Ted’s at this point. Hell, Brian would sell it outright if he didn’t feel some sense of pride in the ownership. Plus, he liked the income it provided him. Thanks to Babylon, he could afford to keep Britin, and the loft, and still live very, very comfortably. Plus, Brian would feel more at ease knowing Ted was monetarily invested in making the club a success – not that he’d ever given Brian a reason to think he wasn’t – but still…

“Well,” Ted nodded, “yeah!”

“Good,” Brian grinned, “I took the liberty of having Gene draw up some papers. We’ll meet and look them over in January.”

Cynthia walked in then, the day’s incoming mail in her hands.

“So if you don’t need anything else I’m going to take off,” she smiled at Brian as she dropped the stack of envelopes and magazines on his desk.

Brian sighed quietly as he stared at it. He was so ready to get the hell out of there and really didn’t feel like opening and reading one more impersonal, pre-printed, business oriented Christmas Card. He’d actually taken the time to write out personal messages to all his clients for the season – was it so hard to expect that in return?

“Go,” Brian indicated with his head as he pulled the mail towards him, “have fun in Tahiti with Calvin.”

Sticking his tongue in his cheek he met the narrowed eyes of his assistant. She just shook her head as she smirked at him.

“It’s Kevin. And I will,” she replied pointedly with the trademark sass that had first attracted her to Brian when she’s been a young intern at Ryder, “And you have fun in New York with Justin.”

Brian bit back a smile as Cynthia lightly tossed her hair, turning to leave.

“Merry Christmas, Ted,” Cynthia said as she walked out of Brian’s office.

The office was empty – officially closed until January 2, 2006. After a catered lunch (courtesy of Emmett) Brian had sent his staff home. Only he, Ted, and Cynthia had remained. Now it was just he and Ted.

“Okay, well I think we’re all set for the year,” Ted shut his binder, stood from his chair, and moved towards the door.

“So I guess I’ll see you in New York in a few days.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Brian said absently, his attention suddenly drawn to a handwritten note stuffed inside the Christmas Card that had been sent to Kinnetik from Sutton Brewery.

He didn’t hear Ted leave.

After the successful launch of the White Water Pale Ale account, Brian’s contact with Sam Fairfield had been limited to a few phone calls and two short visits. And after Brian’s final test came back negative, Sam had withdrawn almost completely. Brian wasn’t too torn up over it – he liked Sam well enough but he served as a constant reminder of how badly he’d almost screwed his whole life. Brian wasn’t lamenting not talking with him as much as he used too – and when they did chat it was almost always limited to strictly business talk. Still Brian owed Sam; it was because of the other man that Brian had actually paused to think about if he really wanted Justin out of his life. He had Sam to thank for forcing him to examine his priorities and realize he was so very close to making the biggest mistake of his life.

Holding the small postcard embossed with the Sutton Brewery logo, Brian read, than reread the words scrawled across the raised surface.

Merry Christmas Brian. I hope you find yourself surrounding by those you love,and who love you. I wanted to let you know I have appreciated your kindness and friendship (such as it was) to me. Jake and I are doing really well, which is surprising after everything we went through to get to this point. Sometimes I’m so sad at how everything played out but then I look at Jake and I can’t help but feel glad to have a second chance with him. We are both taking meds, and we both have undetectable levels. Certainly something to celebrate!

Take care of yourself, and don’t ever let Justin go again,

Sam

Brian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both. So Sam and Jake were happy again – and no detectable virus levels? He actually felt glad for them. Sam was a good guy, and didn’t deserve what had happened to him – though really, no one deserved HIV. Brian slipped the handwritten note into his jacket pocket and with one more cursory glance through the rest of the mail he shut down his computer and left, knowing it’d all be there waiting for him when he returned.

After Thanksgiving, time seemed to speed up at a frenetic pace. Justin didn’t return to New York again – instead he was preoccupied with finishing two more paintings for the show. He spent all day, and many times most of the night, in the room Brian had hastily retrofitted as an arts and crafts room for Gus. Justin seemed to work okay in the space, but Brian knew it wasn’t ideal. The lighting was bad and there wasn’t much space for him to move around. Thankfully Gus was back in school in the weeks leading up to their trip to New York, so Justin could work through the day undisturbed, for the most part.

Watching Justin struggle to finish his works in that inadequate space forced Brian to start to make plans for the studio he wanted to have built. He met with a few contractors in those weeks, soliciting bids. After consulting with a few local artists about orientation, design, and gathering as many details about what types of things were most desirable, he scheduled construction to begin in January – barring any blizzards or deep freezes.

The studio space would be a 25’x25’ open room with 15’ ceilings. The entire thing would be elevated on stilts about three feet off the ground, with floor to ceiling windows on all four sides and four large skylights in the roof so that all the natural light desired could filter in. The windows would be double-paned and have remote controlled coverings that could be raised and lowered at the press of a button, for when shadows or darkness were desired. In addition to the necessary trappings like a sink (Brian was putting in two), adequate countertop and storage space for supplies, Brian was also having a bed built into the wall so Justin could crash in the space if he needed to. The structure would be built about 100 feet from the back of the house, where the gently sloping lawn flattened out slightly before dropping again to the small stream that flowed through the back of the property. It would be close enough to be convenient even in bad weather, but not so close that the house would impede or obstruct any views of the expanse of forest that spread out from the house in all directions. Brian was giddy with excitement, and planned to wrap the plans, the concept photos and list of amenities into a large box for Justin to open at Christmas.

Christmas. For the first time in…well…ever, Brian was excited for the holiday. He vaguely remembered a few years as a child, feeling anticipation and excitement over the thought of fat, jolly Santa bringing him all the things he’d ever wanted, but after two disappointing years of getting nothing on his list, or anything very exciting at all, dear old Jack had crushed Brian’s dreams by informing him that Santa wasn’t real, and that he needed to grow the fuck up.

Christmases after that were nothing more than a long couple days where his dad drank too much and his mother bitched more than usual and Brian simply wished for the school break to be over so he could get away from his family. It wasn’t until he met Michael that he saw how a real family Christmas could be celebrated. Through high school and college Brian would routinely crash the Novotny’s Christmas celebrations, and even though he only ever had one or two presents under their fake, plastic Christmas tree he found it fascinating and exciting to watch everyone else open gifts. His parents could have cared less if he were home for Christmas – aside from making sure he went to church with everyone – they didn’t ask or harp on him when he would disappear for the two days. After college Brian stopped celebrating the holiday altogether. What was the point?

Brian was determined to make this Christmas as special as possible for Gus, and though he still struggled with the domesticity of the whole concept he, Justin, and Lindsay took Gus to pick out a Christmas tree (a live one!), and they all participated in the decorating of said tree. Though they wouldn’t be in the house for the actual holiday, Brian still wanted Gus to have as normal a Christmas as he could. Though certainly one of the most hetero things he’d participated in, Brian enjoyed most of the night. Justin played some old Bing Crosby Christmas music and the hung ornaments. Everyone was surprised when Gus put an angel ornament on the tree and proclaimed it was Mel and she would be spending Christmas with them, even if she was just an inanimate object hanging on the tree.

Brian caught Lindsay’s gaze and though she smiled, it didn’t touch her eyes – which were glistening with unshed tears. Brian wondered if things would ever get better for her – and he pulled Justin into his arms then. The thought of losing that, of losing him, was too much. He didn’t know how Lindsay was managing to get through the days because the longer Justin was around and the more they settled into a routine together the more Brian knew he wouldn’t be able to live if Justin wasn’t alive. Being with him or not ultimately didn’t matter – just knowing Justin was alive was everything to Brian.

As Christmas drew nearer, Brian and Lindsay started to prepare for their trip. Justin had returned to New York the day after they’d put up the tree; he had to prepare for the show, get his “look” together and get his interview sound bites ready – at least according to Jaelynn. That was her reason for calling him back a few days early.

Brian immediately missed his calming presence in the days leading up to his departure with Linds and Gus, but he was so busy with Kinnetik business and pre-emptively putting together new contracts for Babylon that would split ownership of the business 51/49 in Ted’s favor that he almost didn’t have time to miss Justin. Except at night; he always missed Justin at night.

It didn’t help Brian’s sleepless, restless nights that the man who had trashed Justin’s studio had been released from jail at the end of November. It took all of Brian’s willpower not to forbid Justin to go back – but as Justin had said when Brian tried to argue if it was wise to go back alone, the guy didn’t know where he was staying, or working, so the chances of anything happening were slim to none. Still, Brian felt additionally anxious because of it.

The day before they were to leave for New York, Brian accompanied Lindsay and Gus to the cemetery to visit Melanie’s grave. It was the first time either of them had seen it, and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground, the expanse of the cemetery a glistening white. The snow was sparkling like tiny diamonds. Even Brian thought it was quite pretty.

Gus talked to his ‘momma’ for a few minutes, leaving her one of his Lego toys and a drawing he’d done before Brian led him away to give Lindsay some time alone.

Brian tried to keep an eye on Lindsay, ready to go back for her if she appeared too upset. He was worried about her. They hadn’t talked about Melanie since that night in her room, and Brian wasn’t sure how to pose the question to her if she was okay. She seemed okay – but then again she’d seemed okay before that night as well.

Gus was holding Brian’s hand as he jumped with both feet through the snow. Brian was walking beside him, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to see how Lindsay was doing.

“Daddy?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Are you and mommy going to die like momma did?”

Brian’s head turned quickly and he looked down at Gus.

“What?” Brain stopped walking, ending Gus’s jumping game.

“Will you die like momma did? In a car crash?”

Shit. Just when Brian thought he had the parent thing down, his kid goes and asks him something like this…where the hell was Marty when he needed him!

“I don’t know, Sonny boy,” Brian said gently, crouching down so he was eye level with Gus.

“I wish I could say no, but I can’t,” Brian added. Gus’s wide, brown eyes stared back at him and Brian could see him trying to make sense of the answer.

“I don’t want you to,” he finally said, his expression worried.

Brian wanted to smile because he certainly didn’t want to die in a car accident either, but he didn’t think Gus would understand his meaning if he did, so he bit the inside of his cheeks to stop.

“I don’t want me to, too,” Brian teased softly.

“Mommy cries sometimes when we draw,” Gus said then, staring down at his feet as he kicked the loose, dry snow revealing the brownish-green grass beneath it.

“She misses your momma,” Brian said and Gus sighed.

“I know. I miss her too.”

“Gus,” Brian gently cupped his son’s chin with his gloved hand, tilting his head up so he was looking at him, “your mommy loves you very much. She’s so happy you are here with us, and safe. JR too.”

Gus nodded, but his expression was uncertain.

“And I love you,” Brian said pointedly, “you’re my Sonny boy.”

“I love you too daddy,” Gus stepped forward then and in a gesture that caught Brian completely off guard, Gus planted a soft kiss on his cheek before he wrapped his tiny arms around his neck and squeezed.

Brian laughed then, softly, while hugging his son back. Arms still around Gus, Brian stood and started back towards Lindsay, carrying the little boy. He wasn’t anything he’d said had alleviated the residual fears or questions Gus still had regarding losing Lindsay or him, but he hoped it had helped in some small way.

The following day Brian, Lindsay and Gus boarded the train to New York City. Brian had wanted to fly but Lindsay was uncomfortable with the idea and when she’d suggested the train Gus had been over the moon excited. So – the train it was. The time it took to travel was almost the same as flying, with getting to the airport early and such; and Brian had to admit, watching Gus marvel at the train station and the train cars had been worth the little extra time it would take them to get to the city.

Brian wasn’t sure when or how the others were getting to the city; that was up to them to figure out. He’d done enough, dropping a significant chunk of change to rent the house for them all to stay in. And he and Justin and Lindsay and Gus would all be staying at a hotel. The house wasn’t accessible for Lindsay’s chair, and Brian figured she’d like some privacy and a place away from the madness of their extended “family”. Brian knew he wanted privacy!

Brian was anxious to see Justin again. He’d only been gone for three days, but every time he had to go back to the city it felt like an eternity until Brian saw him again. It seemed the old adage was true, and absence does make the heart grow fonder. Brian couldn’t remember ever feeling such yearning for the other man in all their years together. Maybe when he’d been away in Los Angeles, but Brian had also done his best to numb the pain of that separation by drinking and fucking as much as he could. Things were different now, and he kind of liked it.

The anticipation of it and then the feeling he got when he finally did see Justin again after a few days apart…it was Brian’s newest addiction and as the train inched closer and closer to their destination he could feel his excitement at seeing Justin again, growing. He felt as giddy as Gus acted.

When they finally rolled into Penn Station, Brian was on edge, anxious to wrap Justin in his arms and kiss the shit out of him. He didn’t even care what anyone else in the station might think. They were the last to disembark though, because of Lindsay and her chair, which only made Brian’s desire for Justin stronger. By the time they were off the train he was nearly to the point of wanting to simply rip Justin’s clothes off him and fuck him in the middle of the terminal. He wouldn’t, but damn he couldn’t wait much longer.

Brian saw him first – he was looking at the Arrivals board, chewing on his finger like he sometimes did when he was distracted or thinking.

Brian laughed, causing Gus to look up at him.

“What’s so funny daddy?” he asked.

“Look up ahead. Who do you see?” Brian, pushing Lindsay through the crowds, winked down at Gus.

Gus, walking beside Lindsay, one hand on her chair, looked ahead of them. Brian could see him searching and when he spotted him he shrieked out loud, eliciting wide-eyed stares from the people around them.

“Justin!”

Gus then released his hold on Lindsay’s chair and sprinted towards Justin. At Gus’s yell, he’d turned towards them and grinned the biggest, brightest “Sunshine” grin Brian had seen in months. It made his heart ache with want as he hurried his pace.

Justin crouched down low to envelope Gus in a big hug, lifting him from the ground as Brian and Lindsay finally caught up. Brian grinned at Justin as the other man met his eyes over Gus’s shoulders.

“Put me down!” Gus laughed, kicking his legs.

“Sorry. I forgot you’re too old for bear hugs,” Justin said, lowering Gus to the ground.

“I’m not too big,” Gus said defiantly and the three adults all laughed.

“Hi Lindsay,” Justin leaned down to hug Lindsay, kissing her cheek before he stood up and once again met Brian’s gaze.

A small played on his lips and it was all Brian could do not to roll his eyes.

Setting the brake on the wheels of Lindsay’s chair, Brian wordlessly moved around her to grasp Justin’s face in both his hands. Justin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before his hands came up to rest on top of Brian’s.

“Hi,” Brian said softly before pressing his mouth to Justin’s.

“Hi,” Justin panted in reply when Brian finally pulled away.

Thirty minutes later, Lindsay and Gus were getting settled in their suite, and Brian and Justin were getting settled in their suite. Settled being relative.

As soon as the door had shut behind the bellhop, Brian had turned and begun stripping Justin of his coat and scarf and making quick business of his own winter over clothes. Then they were pressing their bodies together, their hands on each other as they each tried to strip the other of their shirts and pants. Finally, Brian broke contact and with no care to flying buttons or tearing seams, aggressively pulled his shirt off and kicked his pants halfway across the room.

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” Brian panted as he buried his face in Justin’s neck, inhaling the distinct scent of him. It'd only been three days yet it had felt like an eternity and all Brian wanted was to see and touch and feel Justin next to him, beneath him, beside him.

Justin’s hands were on him; on his back, on his ass, on his chest, tweaking his nipples.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Justin groaned and Brian felt Justin’s hand grasp his cock, tugging at it. He let out a low moan against the soft, smooth skin of Justin’s neck before he gently pushed the other man down on the sofa. Hovering over him he smiled when Justin reached out to the coffee table and presented a small tube of lube.

“Such a good boy scout,” Brian murmured, accepting the lube and squeezing some on his hand before he worked one, then two, then three fingers into Justin.

“Always be prepared,” Justin panted as he moved with Brian’s fingers inside him, fucking him. A part of Brian wanted to see Justin come like this – with Brian’s fingers in his ass – but when Justin begged for his cock, well, Brian couldn’t, and wouldn’t, deny him that pleasure.

They’d arrived on December 21st and after they’d rested (or in Brian and Justin’s case, fucked) in the hotel for a few hours, Brian, Justin, Lindsay, and Gus went to dinner. As with the last time he’d come to New York, Brian had hired a car to take them around. He wasn’t about to rely on cab drivers, and he knew Lindsay felt self-conscious and uncomfortable being in her chair anyway so why add to that with cabs. The hired car was just simpler. Brain did wish he could alleviate her nerves, but he knew better than most that no matter how helpful or how encouraging friends might be, she would only feel comfortable when she finally let herself feel comfortable and no one could make it better just by telling her it was better. She seemed to relax as the evening wore on, and Brian was glad to see it. She asked Justin a bunch of questions about the show, and the gallery, and his new manager. Brian just listened, content to bask in the excitement Justin exhibited as he talked about his art.

After dinner, Brian had the car take them to Rockefeller Center where Gus was immediately taken by the giant Christmas tree. He begged Brian relentlessly to take him out on the ice skating rink and Brian promised later in the weekend to take Gus skating. When Gus insisted that Justin come too, Brian agreed it was only fair that Justin skate with them, eliciting a smirk from the other man. What Brian wished he hadn’t seen was the brief look of disappointment that crossed Lindsay’s face. He thought he could recall a time, back in college, when Lindsay used to skate quite frequently. No doubt she was struggling with no longer being physically able to do it.

Later that night, back at the hotel, Brian didn’t let Justin rest, riding his ass three times, and letting Justin ride him once. When they finally succumbed to sleep around 4am, they were both well and truly sated, and Brian felt truly happy. The only thing that would make him even happier was if, after the show, Justin told him he was coming back to Britin to stay. No more back-and-forths to New York every month. He wasn’t sure how likely the chance of that particular wish coming true was, but he hoped nonetheless – perfectly aware that he might be nursing some severe disappointment at the end of the trip.

The gang, the rest of the extended family arrived just after lunch on the 22nd. Brian and Justin went to the house to greet them all, while the car took Lindsay and Gus to Macy’s so Gus could see Santa. Brian wasn’t lamenting missing out on that particular event. He loved shopping and he’d fucked a mall Santa once in his early twenties, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to brave Macy’s just three days before Christmas, or be surrounded by hordes of children waiting to see Santa Clause.

Plus, since Lindsay was going to start looking for a new place to live, he thought it might be better for Gus if Brian stopped being present at every turn. It would lessen the separation anxiety they were both likely to feel, if they were both used to not spending all day of every day together. At least it sounded like a good plan – Brian wasn’t necessarily too sure it would work out that way in the end.

The house Brian had rented everyone for the weekend was in Midtown Manhattan. It was a four story brownstone, only a few blocks from the Veritate Gallery, and belonged to one of Brian’s more elite clients, Arthur Updike. Kinnetik had boosted the sales of the Updike vacuum cleaning system, quite steeply Brian was all too happy to add, and when Arthur offered him the use of the brownstone, Brian had accepted with no qualms.

The basement, or first floor, was a living area and kitchen, both large and containing state of the art appliances. The other three floors held the five bedrooms, each with its own full, private bath. The second floor – just off the entryway – also had a cozy den with big comfy chairs and floor to ceiling bookshelves that were stuffed with all sorts of books. The place was just big enough for the entire gang and Brian felt only a small twinge of guilt at making Michael and Ben share a room with their kids. Jennifer, who had come alone as Tucker couldn’t get out of Christmas with his parents, would share with Molly.

Justin told Brian later that he thought his mother’s relationship with Tucker might be nearing its end. Brian didn’t respond – he’d noticed the string of pearls on Jennifer’s neck and when he asked her about them she proudly boasted they were from Tucker. Brian didn’t have the heart to burst Justin’s bubble that maybe Tucker was actually going to be around for awhile longer.

Everyone had been gracious and thankful to Brian as he’d shown them around the house and instructed them on the few rules of the house. Brian wasn’t worried, he knew Debbie would keep everyone in line.

As Brian and Justin left, needing to get ready for the show, Debbie had smothered Brian with kisses.

“You’re a good man,” she’d whispered in his ear before letting him go with a light slap to his cheek.

The Veritate Gallery was lit bright and colorful compared to the darkened storefronts and facades around it. Unlike some of the other well-known and respected galleries in the city, it wasn’t surrounded by upscale restaurants and other similarly themed galleries. It was located on its own, on a quiet street. There was a 24-hour market on the corner and a barber shop, and travel agency, and a small bookstore between them. On the other side of the gallery was another bookstore, a lingerie boutique, and a law office. Across the street was a row of brownstones that looked just like all the other rows, and streets, of brownstones in the area.

The bright lights of the Christmas season gave the street a festive feel, and though Brian had been to the gallery once before he still felt like he was seeing it for the first time.

When they entered, Brian was introduced to the other artists in the show (he wondered if the one that had sucked off Justin was among them – though he certainly wasn’t about to ask), and he met Justin’s new agent and manager, Jaelynn Husted.

“So this is the famous boyfriend,” she grinned at Brian, holding out her hand.

“I guess so,” Brian grasped her hand and immediately knew she was a dyke.  

She was young – Justin hadn’t been wrong about that. Brian guessed maybe 25 or so. She was also tiny; very petite in form, with a short pixie style haircut that was dyed black as night. She had a tiny silver stud in her nose, and thin hoop in her eyebrow. By all appearances she looked quite unassuming, but her voice was resonant and Brian could tell she had a larger than life personality. Brian immediately liked her.

“You are on hell of an inspiration man,” she laughed, “this kid does fucking awesome work and he says it’s all because of you. So. Thank you.”

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth and nodded. Glancing to Justin he saw the other man’s neck and cheeks were flushed pink and Brian wrapped his arms around him pulling him into his chest.

“Don’t get embarrassed Sunshine, I already know I’m your muse,” he growled, pressing a kiss to Justin’s hair.

“Fuck off,” Justin said playfully, squirming out of Brian’s embrace and lightly hitting his shoulder. “Asshole,” he laughed.

“Okay. You know what to do tonight so before the people start arriving just double check everything is set up how you want it,” Jaelynn’s demeanor shifted and Brian saw her go from friendly and playful to hard-core manager in a second. He was impressed. Yeah, he liked her quite a lot.

Justin grabbed Brian’s hand then and pulled him towards the far left wall where Brian could see Justin’s works all displayed and lit. He recognized most of them; the one of him under the streetlight, the one of the night sky from the bedroom window, the one Justin had painted in Central Park. There were also a few he’d not seen, like one of Brian’s profile. In it his eyes were a bright mix of amber and green and yellow while everything else was dark and shades of gray. Then there was one of a little boy and yellow dog, “Gus and Sunny” read the title card beneath it. And then there was the one of the two vaguely human shapes twisted and intertwined, one figure blonde and the other brunet. They were faceless and expressionless, the two bodies a blur of naked skin and it was impossible to tell what arm and leg belonged to what body. Still – the painting was laced with an eroticism that went straight to Brian’s dick, and he stared at it for a very long time.

“Do you like it?”

Justin’s voice was quiet, cautious, almost childlike as he seemed to yearn for Brian’s approval.

“I fucking love it,” Brian said, wishing he hadn’t promised not to buy any more of Justin’s works, taking note of the sold stickers on both the Central Park and the streetlight paintings.

“It’s not for sale,” Justin said and Brian looked down at him with an arched brow.

“I’m keeping it for myself,” Justin smiled softly, turning his eyes back to the painting, “it’s my favorite one I think.”

Brian nodded and turned back to it again. He could see the tenderness and the love in the strokes of the brush – the figures made up of long, fluid lines while the background was a cacophony of short strokes and dabs in muted, dull colors. The two figures were most certainly the focus and by the lines of their impressionistic bodies being uninterrupted your eye was forced to focus on them.  

“Okay everyone, doors are opening in five minutes!” Heath called out as he strode through the gallery with a glass of wine in hand.

“Do you want a drink before the masses descend and fight each other to the death over owning one of your works?” Brian smirked.

“Some soda water and lime please,” Justin replied with a slight eye-roll.

“As you wish,” Brian lifted Justin’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to the palm, taking a moment to inhale the scent of him before he moved towards the bar.

The appeal of the Veritate Gallery to most people was that it wasn't pretentious. The staff didn't look down their noses at tourists who might wander in, curious, and they didn't pretend the art was more important than it was, that there was some secret hidden within that the general public just couldn’t understand. Some of the pieces Heath liked to show were supremely simple, while other pieces were so complex and abstract that they became nearly unrelatable to most people. But that was what kept him in business, and what made his gallery one of the most successful in the city - because an art lover, whether casual or intense - could visit and undoubtedly find something to their liking. This carried over into the shows that the Gallery hosted including the one Justin was taking part in. It was reflected in the choice of decor the food and drink being served, and the music that played.

The first people to arrive were the press, the critics. Heath had set aside the first hour of the show for those art critics who chose to attend. As such, the night started off rather slow with a few notable (according to Justin) names milling about and asking him many of the same, fairly inane questions. Brian hung back and watched Justin work the critics. Most of them took to his natural charm right away – smiling at him and touching his arm and laughing a bit too loud and long at his dry sense of humor. And all of them, even the ones who couldn’t seem to remove the sticks from up their asses, praised his works. Brian couldn’t have felt prouder.

The doors opened to the public at 8pm, and as the clock neared that time and the critics started to take their leave, Justin decided to check out the other works in the show and Brian followed behind.

Brian found a lot of the other stuff pretty good - but in his opinion none of it held a candle to Justin’s work. He was certainly biased, but none of the other artist’s works stirred any emotional response in him - only Justin's pieces did that.

As they stood looking at a wall of landscapes and portraits that all looked somewhat the same, Brian cringed as a violin solo piece started playing on the sound system. He actively avoided Justin's look, and smiled to himself when something much more his style came on next, some Miles Davis jazz. Justin led him to another artist’s area as the Davis song ended and an Usher song began. Brian had to suppress a laugh. This really was a show for all types, and all tastes.

"This one's really fascinating," Justin looked at Brian with a sparkle in his eye. "See how the artist layered the watercolor over the charcoal? The shadows look darker and deeper yet the lightness of the color brings some brightness to it. The emotional turmoil is certainly amplified. I have wanted to try this technique myself but haven't found the right inspiration."

Brain smirked, lowering his head to Justin's shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him from behind.

"I'll be happy to give you all the inspiration you might need, for as long as you might need it," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the spot just behind Justin's ear.

Brian didn't care for the piece in question; the shadows were too dark, too foreboding. There was no hope in it, not that Brian could see. And it wasn’t that all of Justin’s pieces were upbeat or colorful either because they weren't. He actually had a particularly troubling painting of blacks, grays and reds that made Brian extremely uncomfortable to look at. It was violent in its presentation, the angles too sharp and the red too bright against the dark background. For Brian, the shapes were too reminiscent of the night of the Prom and he had to wonder if somehow maybe Justin's subconscious was remembering, and channeling things from that night.

"I'll take you up on that later," Justin turned his head and kissed Brain softly.

The song changed then, and it took Brain several seconds to realize why it was so familiar to him but when he did, he felt his whole body react to the unexpected memories. His heart rate climbed rapidly as his breath caught in his throat and his stomach turned, threatening to empty its entire contents onto the Gallery floor.

“you can dance, every dance with the guy who gives you the eye and let him hold you tight,

you can smile, every smile for the man who held your hand 'neath the pale moonlight,

but don't forget who's taking you home, or in whose arms you're gonna be,

so darling, save the last dance for me”

"Brian?"

He heard Justin, and he could see him as he turned to face him. His face was no longer grinning and carefree but pale and concerned. Brian wanted to answer, to tell him he was alright but he couldn't speak. He opened his mouth to talk and no sound would come out. All he could see was Justin as he had been that night, so happy and joyful and full of life and love – and then bam. He was nothing but a lifeless form on the pavement. He just shook his head, trying to clear the images in his mind's eye.

"Brian? Shit!"

Brian felt Justin’s hands on his arms, gently shaking him before they started moving up and down in what must have been an attempt at comfort.

Justin didn't remember the song, Brian knew that for a fact. He'd only heard it once, on the day Brain and Daphne had tried to jog his memory after the bashing. Brian was certain he would not recognize it now and even if he did he'd have no reason to react to it. Why would he? He had no recollection of the dance and only a vague recollection of what came after. But Brian remembered it all – and after battling with his dreams of that night for the last few months, hearing the song was like a sucker punch to the gut, stirring too many emotions. It was too fucking much.

There were people starting to stream into the gallery, the sound of chatter and laughter growing louder by the minute and Brian was thankful. As the noise level increased the song faded further into the background.

Justin led him over to the bar where Brain heard him ask for a Chivas-Regal. Then Justin was pressing a glass into Brian's hand and telling him to drink. So he did. Warmth spread through him like wildfire as the whisky slid smoothly down his throat. Finally, he felt his body start to relax.

"Are you okay?" Justin was touching his face, pressing his hand to his cheek, his neck, carding his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah," Brain nodded, regaining more of his composure as the song ended and the music changed again to something classical and Beethovenish in style.

"Yes," he reiterated with a shaky smile.

Justin cocked his eyebrow, "Want to tell me what that was all about?"

Brain laughed humorlessly, "No. not really."

"Brian," Justin sighed but Brian just shook his head, he could hear Debbie coming in the door, her laughter and exclamations preceding her, echoing through the entire gallery.

"Later," he smiled again, more confidently this time. Turning Justin by his shoulders towards the growing throngs of people he gave him a gentle push.

"Your public awaits."

"You're going to talk to me one way or another you know," Justin said over his shoulder, heading across the gallery to where his pieces were on display.

“Yeah,” Brian murmured, watching as Debbie and Jennifer smothered Justin with hugs and kisses, and as all of their friends praised his works. The lad really was a fucking genius.

Lindsay rolled over to Brian with a smile on her face.

“This is amazing, isn’t it!” she exclaimed, asking for a white wine from the bartender.

“Sure is,” Brian replied a little more stiffly than he’d intended.

“Is everything okay?” Lindsay looked up at him with a questioning expression.

“Everything is great,” Brian smiled broadly, “why wouldn’t it be?”

Molly, who had come with Jennifer just to see Justin’s works, left roughly an hour later to return to the brownstone. She and Hunter were taking turns watching Gus and JR and going to the art show. Brian, bored with standing around and watching Justin make small talk with strangers, decided to walk Molly back to the brownstone. Truth be told, he was still reeling from hearing the song and could use some fresh air and to stretch his legs a bit. Plus, Molly was far too young to walk the streets of New York City by herself at night.

On the way to the brownstone they talked a little about the art, and then Molly proceeded to ask Brian’s advice with some boy trouble she was having. Brian wasn’t sure how to handle the situation – his way of dealing with boy trouble was certainly not right for a young teenage girl. He didn’t think either Jennifer or Justin would thank him for telling Molly to just fuck the asshole and then dump him. So he told her she should ask Justin – he was better at that sort of thing. Which was very true – he’d dealt with Brian all this time after all.

Seeing Molly safely to the door of the brownstone, he waited outside for Hunter and the two of them turned and headed back to the gallery. Hunter, in his first year of college, gave Brian the low-down on college life. Brian could recall how carefree and wild his college years had been, and it was only after he remembered Hunter’s HIV status that he stopped himself from giving the kid a hard time for studying more than fucking around. So they talked business classes, and Brian found himself advising the littlest hustler, who was no longer a hustler, on what classes he should take and avoid at Carnegie-Mellon.

It had been roughly thirty minutes since Brian and Molly had left the gallery, and Brian expected the show to be in full swing when he and Hunter got back. The wine and champagne should be flowing freely and the people should be singing Justin’s praises up and down the sidewalk.

He was not prepared to come back to the gallery and see an NYPD police car with its lights flashing parked in front of the place.

Heart leaping into his throat, Brian rushed towards the gallery, pushing through the small crowd that had gathered outside and barely hearing Hunter calling after him. As he burst through the crowd and came up on the entrance of the gallery he saw two cops manhandling out the door a short, graying, older man who was crying and yelling over and over, “but I just want to be close to you!”

It took only one glance inside the front window of the gallery where he saw Justin, with Drew and Ben on either side of him, all three wearing somber expressions, before Brian lost all semblance of control.

“You fucking piece of shit!” he yelled as he lunged forward, hands clenched in fists that swung wildly and landed solidly against soft skin. He thought he heard people yelling his name but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was he had to make this fucker pay – and it wasn’t until Brian felt strong hands grasping his arms and pulling him back that he saw several of his punches had landed on his intended target. The man was sporting a bloody nose and was hunched over gasping for breath. One cop still had his hands on him, but the other cop had his hands on Brian.

“Settle down now or you’ll be going in with him,” the cop growled at Brian who was struggling to get out of his grip.

“Brian, stop,” Ben’s steady voice came from Brian’s other side and when he looked over and saw the gentle blue eyes of his best friend’s husband all the fight went out of him. The adrenaline rush faded and Brian staggered for a moment, unsure on his feet before he felt Ben place his arm around him to help hold him up.

“I’ve got him officer, thank you,” Ben said and Brian watched as the cop nodded once before letting go of Brian and helping his partner put the other man into the back of the car.

The gathered crowd dispersed as the cop car took off, and after a few minutes Brian shrugged out of Ben’s grasp.

“I’m fine,” he said acidly, to which Ben just nodded.

Inside the gallery Justin was still standing by the window, looking out at Brian with a concerned look on his face. Opening and closing his fists to gauge how much damage he’d done to himself (none, it would seem), Brian looked to the ground as he slowly walked back inside.

“You are going to tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” Justin said as Brian approached him.

Nodding, Brian pulled Justin into an embrace and he didn’t let go for nearly five minutes.

The man’s name was Tim Parks. Apparently he lived in Midtown and had seen the posters for the art show and recognizing Justin from his photo on the poster. He had come in just moments after Brian had left, and no one had noticed him until he threw a full glass of red wine on Justin’s Central Park painting. That was when Drew and Ben had grabbed him, and Heath had called the police. When Justin saw him and explained it was the same man who had broken into his studio and trashed all his works and supplies, it took Michael, Ted, and Emmett to restrain Debbie and Jennifer.

The painting wasn’t ruined, thankfully. Heath had removed it immediately following Tim’s arrest, and it was being sent to a restoration house that night. He’d told them all they were lucky it had been red wine as there were a lot harder stains to clean than that.

The party continued for a few more hours, but for Brian, Justin and their friends and family things had taken a downward turn. It wasn’t long after all the excitement that Debbie and Carl called it a night, followed quickly by Michael, Ben, and Hunter. Emmett and Drew, and Ted and Blake stayed a bit longer, as did Jennifer. Of all of them, she was the most horrified about the events, and Brian thought she was even more shaken up than he was that the guy had found Justin yet again.  Of course she was his mother so it made sense. Still, Brian and Jennifer stayed glued to Justin’s side the rest of the night.

As the night started to wind down, Jaelynn lamented the fact that the press and critics had already left, saying drama like this could add to Justin’s mystique and allure as an artist. Brian bit back scathing words – she couldn’t know the torment they’d both endured over the years; all in the name of drama. She didn’t know that attention like that was the last thing either of them wanted, or needed, or sought.

Later, Brian saw Lindsay talking to Jaelynn and when the younger woman looked over towards where Brian stood, only feet away from Justin, she had a horrified look on her face. For once, Brian wasn’t upset at Lindsay’s meddling – he was glad she was there to explain what he couldn’t. Because if he talked about any of it he was afraid he’d fly off in another fit of rage. At that thought he almost laughed – it would seem the likeness was accurate this time.

At the closing of the show, Justin had sold all but one of his paintings, and had gotten offers from two other galleries to put up some of his works. Even with the incident, Justin had had a successful night. Saying goodbye to their friends, Brian, Justin, and Lindsay took the hired car back to their hotel. Gus was staying over at the brownstone with his sister and everyone, so Lindsay had her suite to herself for the night. Telling Brian she was looking forward to a long, hot shower she bid them goodnight in the hallway.

Across the hall, Brian opened the suite door and gently guided Justin inside. Since they’d left the gallery Brian hadn’t been able to stop touching Justin. As they’d stood outside and said their goodnights he’d kept his hand on his back. On the short car ride he’d rested his hand on Justin’s knee, and as they’d come into the hotel he’d once again kept his hand pressed against Justin’s back. It was his way of reassuring himself that Justin was okay – that no one had hurt him.

When the door shut behind him, Brian breathed a sigh of relief. Sliding the security bolt closed he turned to follow the hallway into the living room, sliding his jacket off his shoulders in the process, but an upset blonde stood in his way.

“Okay. Now is when you tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” he said.

“Let me get a drink,” Brian tried to push past Justin but the other man would not have it. He grasped Brian’s bicep and spun him back around.

“Brian-,”

“I said, let me get a drink first,” Brian snapped. He immediately regretted his tone as Justin dropped his hand and took a step back from him.

Opening his mouth to apologize, Brian just sighed. Turning he entered the suite, throwing his jacket onto the sofa and pulling open the mini-bar he twisted the top off a Jim Beam shooter and downed the thing from the bottle, forgoing the glass altogether.

Brian heard Justin hang his coat up in the closet by the door before he came into view. He paused just inside the room, watching him with a look Brian couldn’t place, but it made him nervous. After a few seconds Justin moved into the room and Brian heard him sit down on the sofa.

“Will you talk to me, please,” Justin said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper and Brian was thrown back in time to just before his surgery, when Justin had once before asked him to talk to him – to tell him what was wrong. He hadn’t done it then and though he really, really didn’t want to do it now, he also wanted things to be different this time. He wanted things to be better – to be honest. And if he were truthful with himself, Brian thought he just might need Justin’s support to get over his fucking guilt issues.

“I know that Tim showing up was a bit awkward-,” Justin added, but was cut off when Brian spun around and laughed bitterly.

“Awkward? That’s a fucking joke. That was more than awkward, Justin. That guy is a fucking nutcase, and he could have and maybe would have hurt you,” Brian twisted the lid off another Jim Beam shooter.

“You know those bottles are like twenty bucks each,” Justin said blithely.

“So fucking what,” Brian shrugged, setting the empty shooter down and pacing the room. He needed to loosen the fuck up if he had any hopes of trying to explain to Justin how fucked in the head he felt.

“You’ve been acting strange for months now,” Justin said after a long silence. “It’s like you’re you, but not quite you. I can’t help thinking that something’s wrong and you’re not telling me. Like before.”

Brian shook his head, “I told you there’s no cancer. I’m fine. Physically.”

“Okay. And what does that mean? What’s wrong? Just fucking tell me, Jesus!” Justin stood and spoke slowly, enunciating every word, ending with an exasperated sigh that caused Brian to smile.

Brian had wanted to avoid this. At all costs he’d wanted to avoid this but he’d known in the end he wouldn’t be able too. He couldn’t hide something like this from Justin – obviously – since he’d already noticed Brian was a little bit off, a little bit different. He simply didn’t want to have to tell Justin that for months he’d been dreaming, almost every night, about the bashing, or the bombing, or the stalker. He didn’t want to have to tell Justin that a new nightmare had started recurring – one in which Justin is kidnapped, raped, murdered, and left naked in the streets for the crows to eat. That one was the worst because it was what Brian feared most every time Justin came back to the city alone. It wasn’t a rational fear, but one brought on by that fucking stalker and now it was at the forefront of Brian’s mind every time Justin left their home for New York. Brian couldn’t help but imagine dangerous men who would want to hurt him lurking in every fucking shadow.

“I’m just…I’m not…shit,” Brian raked his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Fuck it!” he yelled, seeing Justin jump a little at the outburst.

Brian stopped pacing and stared at Justin, willing his frayed nerves to relax. It wasn’t Justin’s fault – none of it. Brian had no right to get mad at him for asking. He had to calm the fuck down.

“I don’t like asking for help,” Brian started and Justin just raised his eyebrows slightly as if to say, ‘no shit, Sherlock’.

“I don’t like admitting weakness,” he continued, drawing strength from the man staring back at him with no judgment or ridicule in his expression, just concern and love.

“I’m not okay,” he finally admitted.

“No kidding,” Justin said, but there was no meanness in his tone; just worry and concern.

“So tell me what it is,” Justin moved a few steps closer to Brian, his eyes pleading.

“Shit,” Brian sighed, staring at the ceiling.

A long silence stretched out between them.

“Nightmares,” Brian finally said, still staring at the ceiling.

“Still?”

Brian grinned, meeting Justin’s gaze. Little did he know…

“Yeah. Still,” he nodded.

“The bashing?”

Brian shrugged, “and other things.”

“Other things?”

“They started in Toronto,” Brain said flatly.

“Toronto? You’ve been having nightmares since Toronto? Since March? Jesus, Brian,” Justin moved closer, like he wanted to put his hands on Brian but for whatever reason, Brian didn’t want to be touched. He felt defective and weak and undeserving of any kindness or affection. He should be stronger than this for fuck’s sake.

“They got worse after…,” Brian slowly closed his eyes, “after Sam and the HIV scare. And then when you came back to Pittsburgh because of that fucking psycho trashing your studio-,” Brian stopped himself.

Justin was looking at him with a slightly surprised, wide-eyed look on his face. But there was no pity in his look and for that Brian was grateful. He didn’t want Justin’s pity – he just wanted the fucking dreams to stop.

“Then, when you started coming back here on your own…,” Brian shrugged, “they got worse.”

Justin smiled gently, “Do you remember what I said to you when Mel and Lindsay were broken up that first time? When Linds was going to marry that French guy?”

Brian shrugged and shook his head – that was almost five years ago, how the hell would he remember anything that was said?

“I told you, you can’t control everyone in your life, no matter how much you’d like too,” Justin slowly approached Brian, but keeping his hands at his sides.

“Shit happens. Sometimes really, really bad shit,” Justin was standing in front of Brian now, but he didn’t make any move to touch him for which Brian was thankful. He didn’t deserve to be touched or loved and he wondered, not for the first time, why Justin put up with him and why Justin even loved him at all.

“We deal with it, and move on. You have no reason to be afraid for me – believe me I battle my own fears every day and that’s enough,” Justin held Brian’s gaze.

“I’m constantly wondering if the group of guys looking my way are going to grab me and drag me into an alley and beat me senseless, or maybe kill me. I’m constantly battling the paranoia that every time I go into a gay club or a gay bar that there might be a bomb waiting to go off,” Justin reached out, grasping Brian’s forearm and sliding his hand down until he had a hold of Brian’s hand.

“But I can’t dwell on it because then it would paralyze me and I’d never leave the house. But it’s always there, in my head. All we can do is be aware of it and protect ourselves as best we can.”

The fact that Justin still struggled with fear was complete and total news to Brian. He had thought Justin was impervious to fear – immune to anxiety. He had thought Justin infinitely stronger than him, and infinitely more capable of handling tragedy.

“That’s all well and good, but all those things that happened to you? They were my fault. Imagine being responsible for causing pain and hurt and near-fatal injury to the man you love more than anything. And imagine doing it over, and over, and over again,” Brian tried to make Justin see the truth – that he had reason to feel bad, reason to be punished. He’d escaped injury every time, always the one standing on the sidelines and watching while Justin was the one to suffer.

“What? That’s not true,” Justin shook his head, squeezing Brian’s hand tighter when Brian tried to pull it away.

“You aren’t responsible for the actions of other people. You’re only responsible for yourself and to take on the guilt of everything bad that’s ever happened to me, or to anyone in your life, is counter-productive.”

Brian was guilty – but he had felt guilty for so many things and for so long he wasn’t sure he even knew how to feel differently anymore.

“Do you hear me?”

Brian stared at Justin, slowly coming to a very obvious realization about himself, and finding his anger and hatred for his parents increasing in the process.

“Yes,” Brian answered softly.

“Do you believe me,” Justin pleaded, his face and his voice begging for Brian to accept he wasn’t responsible for every bad thing that had ever happened.

But Brian could only shrug. Years of conditioning, being told your worthless, and unwanted, and unloved couldn’t be undone in one night – but Brian finally realized why he accepted all the guilt anyone would place on him – it’s what he’d done since he was a child. It was his role in the family.

“Marty said I should talk to someone,” Brian cast his eyes over Justin’s shoulder. He didn’t want to see the horror in Justin’s expression at the revelation.

“Oh,” Justin replied.

There was a long silence in which Brian stared into the room, unsure of what to do next while Justin simply held on to his hand, his thumb softly stroking the back of it.

“Are you going to?” he finally asked and Brian shrugged.

He hadn’t intended too, Marty’s words of advice had faded as time had passed. But maybe it’d be a good idea. If he couldn’t hear a damn song without freezing up; and if he couldn’t control his rage impulses maybe he did need some professional guidance.

“I’m here for you whatever you decide,” Justin said softly, moving closer until his body was pressed against Brian’s.

“Me. And Lindsay. Gus. We all love you,” Justin guided Brian’s hand up to his shoulder before he wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist, holding him tightly and pressing his face to Brian’s chest.

Brian instinctively pulled Justin closer to him. He already felt better – admitting to his fears and not getting rejected by Justin for having them. Not that he thought that was a possibility, but Brian had lived his whole life burying his fears and insecurities so admitting them now was pretty fucking huge. Plus, coming to the realization that his parents had fucked him up far worse than he’d ever thought possible had also given him a new kind of clarity. Still, Brian desperately wanted to move past this part of his life – he just wanted to feel like himself again.