“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.