“But I guess this time I’m just gonna have to tell them that once in a while, we could all use a little help, and… they’re just gonna have to swallow their fucking pride and say… thank you.”

*****

Brian felt like he was floating. It was nothing like how he’d felt earlier in the morning. That had been this morning, right? How long ago had it been? Brian wasn’t sure. He opened his eyes just a little, and immediately felt disoriented, but he also felt too mellow to be startled by it, which was odd. Where was he? He didn’t recognize this place.

It took him a moment to realize it was a hospital room. He looked down at his right hand, where an IV needle was taped down.

Ah, the good stuff, he thought, as his eyes fluttered closed again. That was probably the source of the floaty, mellow feeling -- much more than he’d ever been able to achieve with pot.

Slowly, the memories started coming back to him. Being awakened in the middle of the night by Justin. How hot he felt. How sick. How much his head hurt. His back. The dampness he’d been lying in, and how he’d known exactly what it was. How embarrassing that always was on the rare occasions when it would happen, even though there was nothing he could do about it. How uneasy Justin had sounded, but how Brian hadn’t been able to bring himself to the surface to respond to anything Justin said.

He sort of felt that way now -- like he was underwater -- but in a much more peaceful sense, rather than the unsettling sensation of being held under by some unseen force.

His brain felt foggy, his presence and sense of time blurred by the drugs.

But at least he wasn’t in pain anymore.

Vaguely, he remembered being down in the emergency room. It was noisy. His head had hurt so badly that he’d wanted to scream or cry just from that alone, but with the noise and the bustle it had felt almost unbearable.

Almost.

Unbearable came later, when he was trying to push words out around the pounding pain in his head so he could respond to the questions he was being asked by the people around him. He hadn’t been quite sure who was who. All he knew was he was hot and he was thirsty and he was wet and uncomfortable wasn’t the right word to describe how he’d felt.

Then, someone’s gloved hands touched his stomach, pressing down firmly and strategically while a far away voice asked him if it hurt and he could barely process their question because it hurt like fucking hell. But unbearable happened when they shifted their fingers just a little farther downward and visceral pain blended with nerve pain and produced something the likes of which he had not felt in more than a decade. Not since his first few hours of living with a spinal cord injury.

Brian was fairly sure he’d cursed somewhere in the agonized part-scream-part-moan that came out of his body of its own volition, but whether it had been decipherable or not would remain a mystery. He guessed it didn’t really matter.

Apparently it got him the good drugs, because he didn’t remember much else after that.

He didn’t remember arriving at the hospital, either. The first thing he remembered was someone shining a bright light in his eyes and asking him if he knew where he was. The last thing he’d recalled was being in bed with Justin, so this was new. And it was a little scary.

And where was Justin? He hadn’t been there.

Brian tried to open his eyes to see if Justin was with him now, but his eyelids felt too heavy. It was a strange sensation. He felt like he was sinking lower beneath the surface of the water, but again, it was peaceful, not panicked. Like warmth was cocooning around him, enveloping him, inviting him back down into its depths.

He accepted the invitation to become one with the nothingness for a while longer, although he wasn’t sure he had much choice.

That was how things were for a while -- brief bouts of semi-consciousness, some without pain, some with. He just wanted to sleep, but people kept waking him up to turn him from one side to the other and then onto his back. A couple of times he was awakened by a needle stick as someone filled a vial with blood.

Eventually, he became aware that Justin was there. Holding his hand, usually. Talking to him. Rubbing his arm or his back.

The fog lifted slowly, and, little by little, the water began to feel less deep. The sun was shining brightly through the window by the time Brian managed to bring himself into what felt like full consciousness, albeit tempered by pain. The ache in his back had deepened, and the pain in his head continued to pulse with each beat of his heart. He still felt unbearably hot. He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt. And his mouth was so dry.

“Brian?” came Justin’s voice. He sounded hopeful. Relieved.

“Close the blinds,” Brian grunted out, his tongue feeling like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth as he spoke.

Justin got up and did that, then came back and took his hand again.

“How are you feeling?” Justin asked.

Well, that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?

“Like shit” was the answer.

“I’m sorry,” Justin said.

“Water,” Brian rasped.

“Oh, sorry, here.” Justin let go of Brian’s hand and poured some water from a small styrofoam pitcher into a cup with a straw in it, then held the straw up to Brian’s lips. It was hard not to drink it too fast, because he was so fucking thirsty. He probably did drink it a little too fast, because the next thing he knew he was coughing and Justin was saying, “Careful, not too much.”

The coughing hurt too. Fuck, was there anything that didn’t hurt? Even his legs hurt, although he knew that wasn’t “real.” Well, it was, but it wasn’t.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked, his voice sounding strained. Rough.

“You have a kidney infection,” Justin said as he set the cup back down and took Brian’s hand again. “It’s pretty bad.”

“Fuck. Jesus Christ.” Brian pressed his hands down on the bed and shifted his position a little, but it did absolutely nothing to change the pain in his back.

“Are you okay?” Justin asked. “Do you need to roll over? I think it’s almost time.”

Brian was about to say, “I need this pain to stop,” when a particularly strong wave washed over him. He closed his eyes and tensed his body, feeling his fingers tighten around Justin’s hand. He managed to nod when Justin asked if he was hurting. That wasn’t the word he would have used to describe it, but he supposed it would do, since at the moment, he wasn’t sure he could speak.

“I’m going to call the nurse,” Justin said. She showed up about a minute later, but Justin did all the talking. Brian was thankful for that, because at the moment he felt like he’d lost the ability to speak. The nurse, however, still addressed Brian directly, as if he’d been the one asking for more pain medication.

“I’ll go see if there’s something else I can give you, Mr. Kinney. I’ll be right back.”

She left the room right as the worst of the wave passed, and Brian was able to open his eyes again.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain,” Justin said.

No sooner had Brian said, “Stop apologizing,” than Rob and Adam appeared in the room. Adam was holding an overnight bag, presumably for Justin.

Rob asked him the million dollar question again. This time, Brian answered, “Like a fucking truck ran over me.” Hyperbole, perhaps, but still an accurate description. He hoped they wouldn’t stay long. He was getting tired again, and could barely hold his eyes open.

Fuck, how long had he been sleeping?

The nurse came back in a second later. She had a syringe in her hand, and injected something into his IV line that felt cold. She did promise it would help with the pain, though.

She rolled him over onto his left side, propping him up with pillows behind him and in front of him and cushioning his legs so that his knees and ankles weren't resting on one another. It made him feel like an invalid. He hadn’t felt that way for a long time. Not since the early days of rehab. It wasn’t a feeling he was particularly fond of.

The pull of sleep was strong. He knew he had visitors, but staying awake felt impossible at that moment. When she told him to rest, he stopped fighting it and let himself be pulled under once again.

And so the cycle of sleep and semi-wakefulness and turning and poking and prodding continued, all the way into the night.

He didn't know when Justin had started shaking his arm and urgently whispering his name.

It took Brian a while to fight his way back to the surface, but eventually he got there -- at least, close enough to hear what Justin was saying and open his eyes for a brief moment.

Justin was asking him if he was okay. If he needed more pain medication. No, not really, but he was just far enough underwater that he couldn't tell Justin that.

Somehow, he was even hotter now than he had been all day. Justin's hand on his arm felt oddly cool. He felt Justin's hand brush his forehead, which was damp with sweat. He heard Justin call the night nurse. He kept trying to speak, but nothing he said in his head seemed to be coming out his mouth.

“He’s been really restless,” Justin said. “I think he’s uncomfortable. I’ve read that fevers can climb at night, but… isn’t that really high?”

“It is, but it’s not dangerous,” another voice said. A woman. They both sounded so far away. “It’s his body fighting the infection. It’s a good thing. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

Her words and her tone were obviously intended to reassure Justin, but Justin couldn’t have sounded more unsure when he said, “Okay,” and tightened his grip on Brian’s hand.

Brian flexed his fingers, squeezing Justin’s hand back. He knew his grip was weak, but he could tell from the way Justin moved his own hand that the younger man felt it. Then, he fell back into unconsciousness once again.

When he awoke the next time, he was drenched in sweat. The hospital gown he was wearing was damp and seemed cold against his skin. But he felt quite a bit better. Still not good, per se, but better. Better was relative. And the basis of comparison had been fucking awful. So, only feeling shitty was an improvement.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. There was a small amount of filtered light coming through the slats in the blinds -- it must have been early morning. How long had he been here? A full day, maybe? Hopefully not more than that. Although he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t even know what day it was.

Justin was curled up in the recliner under the window, his knees pulled up to his chest, asleep. He had a small, hospital-issue pillow under his head and was covered by a cotton blanket.

How many times would they be in this same position? Watching one another sleep, with one of them in a hospital bed.

As much as he didn’t want to be here -- and didn’t want Justin to have to be either -- he knew he was lucky. Lucky to have someone who cared enough about him to sleep right there alongside him, without question, no matter how uncomfortable it was. That sort of unconditional love had been difficult to accept and hard to trust for so many years, but now, it felt secure.

They loved each other. Nothing had every really changed that -- not time, not distance, not violin-playing art school students or hurt feelings or mismatched desires. And, at this stage, he knew nothing ever would.

They'd been through so much together, and still, their connection had never wavered. Even when they were apart, it had always been there.

Even before Brian had been willing to admit it to himself, he’d known on some level that he loved Justin. That Justin was different.

Sometimes it had felt like a free fall, but Brian was glad he'd taken the jump.

Although he felt better than he had, Brian still felt exhausted. Like he hadn’t slept in days, which made no sense given that his most recent memories were all mostly of being asleep or almost asleep or falling asleep.

He gripped the side of the mattress and pulled himself over onto his side, then reached down and pulled his legs up a little. Maybe that would save him from being awakened yet again to have someone turn him over, but probably not. He pulled the blanket up to lessen the chill being introduced by his damp clothing, settled back down into the pillows, and let his eyes close once again.

Brian woke up again a couple of hours later. He felt sticky and sweaty -- he didn’t think he’d ever wanted a shower so badly in his life. But they probably wouldn’t let him take one at this point. If he got lucky, maybe he could get a sponge bath from a hot orderly. Although he wasn’t sure he gave a fuck if they were hot or not at this point -- he just wanted to feel clean and wear some of his own clothes again. Hopefully there was something for him in the overnight bag that was sitting in his wheelchair in the corner of the room.

Justin was still sleeping. Good, Brian thought. He probably needed it.

Someone came in to draw more blood, and a few minutes later, the nurse he remembered from the day before came back into the room.

“Looks like your temperature is almost back to normal,” she said quietly, so as not to wake Justin. “That’s great. Hopefully it stays that way. Do you feel up to trying to eat something?”

He hadn’t thought about it, but now that she mentioned it, he was hungry, so he agreed to try. He wasn’t expecting it to be anything to write home about, and it wasn’t, but it satisfied his hunger and it did make him feel a little bit better.

Justin didn’t wake up until a doctor came into the room. Brian had been dozing, but he came back to full consciousness when he sensed someone standing next to the bed. Brian could see Justin out of the corner of his eye, trying to shake off sleep, which always seemed to take him a little while longer now, as this doctor that he didn’t remember but was probably supposed to know introduced herself. She was Dr. Gibson, and she was a urologist. He felt a little bit strange about discussing any of this with a woman, but he apparently didn’t have a choice.

“I see your fever’s down,” she said. “That’s a very good sign. Your blood tests this morning look much better. You’re very lucky. I think you got here just in time. This was a very serious infection. Another day, maybe less, and you would have been dealing with a life-threatening blood infection.”

Shit, Brian thought to himself. He’d known it was bad, but that thought was particularly sobering.

“How have things been going with your bladder management routine? Any problems that you’ve noted? It seems strange for something this severe to pop up out of the blue.”

Brian wasn’t sure how to answer that question, considering that it probably hadn’t popped up out of the blue -- he’d missed it because he’d been so busy that he hadn’t been paying a whole lot of attention. And he knew he hadn’t been keeping as good of track as he normally did of when he’d cathed and how much water he’d had to drink.

“It’s seemed okay,” he said, realizing that wasn’t 100% true. “I probably haven’t been as mindful as usual lately. I’ve had a lot going on at work.” He knew that was just an excuse, but it was true.

“Keeping up with your bladder routine is important, Mr. Kinney,” she said. “Infections like this can cause permanent kidney damage. We still don’t know yet if this one has. Hopefully you’ll get lucky this time, but if there’s a next time, you might not be so lucky.”

He knew all of that. He really didn’t need or want a lecture, much less on one of his least-favorite topics, so he sort of tuned her out and started to let fatigue take over again.

Justin was probably listening to every word, though. He even had a conversation with the doctor that Brian didn’t really pay much attention to.

Brian didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep again until he heard Justin’s phone make a noise. He recognized the notification sound as the one Justin used for his calendar, which had become Justin’s lifeline in a lot of ways after his accident, helping him keep straight all of his appointments and everything else he needed to do, without having to rely on memory.

Brian blinked his eyes open and saw Justin hurriedly dismissing the reminder.

“Sorry,” Justin said. “Go back to sleep.”

“What was it?” Brian asked sleepily, fighting the urge to yawn.

“I forgot I was supposed to have my check-in with my neurologist this morning. It’s okay though, I’ll reschedule it.”

“The hell you will.” Brian tried to sound intimidating, but it didn’t really work. He was still too tired. And he already knew Justin wouldn’t buy it. “What day is it anyway?”

“It’s Monday. And I don’t mind. Really, it’s okay. I’ll go in a few weeks.”

“No, you’ll go today. I’m fine, I promise.” Brian knew he didn’t sound particularly convincing, but no way was Justin skipping this appointment on his account.

“I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

“Justin, I’m fine.” Now he was starting to get agitated. The last thing he wanted was Justin setting his own health aside for his sake.

“Maybe I could call Rob, and he could come sit with you. Yes, I’ll do that.” Justin was already dialing the phone by the time Brian got his next sentence out.

“I don’t need anyone to sit with me.” Brian did at least manage to sound irritated, if nothing else. “And you’re going to your appointment. I’ll be fine. If you don’t go, it’ll take you months to get back in. You’re going.”

“Okay, I get it,” Justin said, still holding the phone. “I’ll go. Just let me talk to Rob and see if he can come over.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

Justin ignored him and started talking to Rob on the phone instead, apparently making plans for Rob to show up before Justin needed to leave for his appointment. Justin reiterated that he didn’t want to leave Brian, and Brian reiterated that he’d be fine and would probably be asleep anyhow. But Justin still wasn’t listening. It was a lost cause by this point.

Brian didn’t necessarily mind the idea of Rob coming over, it was just that he didn’t want his friend to have to upend his entire day unnecessarily. But it looked like that was happening anyway, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Brian’s request for a shower was denied, as predicted, but they did send a nursing assistant in to help him clean up a little bit, and put on some of his own pajamas. It wasn’t as good as a shower would have been, but it did help him feel better. Little by little, he was starting to feel human again.

The pain still wasn’t gone, though, and the painkillers he was on were making him feel slightly high. Still a little bit floaty.

He fell asleep at some point while watching television, and when he woke up, Justin was gone and Rob was there.

It turned out that Rob had an ulterior motive in agreeing to babysit Brian -- he wanted to have a serious talk. One that Brian wasn’t sure he was up to, but he apparently had no choice in the matter.

Rob had a lot to say that Brian didn’t particularly want to hear, and Brian ended up saying some things he didn’t particularly want to say and had never intended to share with anyone. Like the fact that he was tired of trying to hold everything together. That was really the kicker. Some days he’d felt like he was hanging on to his own sanity by a thread, but he’d pushed through anyway, for Justin. Apparently to his own detriment in the end. And maybe even Justin’s as well.

He almost cried. He didn’t want to cry. But this shit that was flowing through his veins and taking away his pain was also making him feel emotional. Vulnerable. He was better than he used to be at dealing with emotions, but he still didn’t like feeling vulnerable. It made him uncomfortable, even with people he trusted.

But in the end, he’d told Rob everything. And he’d known that every word Rob said to him was absolutely right. Even if he didn’t want to admit it.

If Brian hadn’t been sure how sick he was, the level of exhaustion he felt just from having that conversation told him exactly how much. He barely remembered Rob saying they could talk later, but when he woke up, Rob was gone and Justin was back. Brian felt a bit like a spectator in some sort of bizarre game of musical chairs.

“How was your appointment?” Brian asked, reaching for the cup of water that sat on the rolling table by the side of the bed and taking a drink. His mouth still felt dry, and his lips were chapped, and the simple action of picking up the cup and putting it down seemed to consume all of his energy.

“Fine,” Justin said, setting his book aside. “Everything looks normal. Nothing new to report.”

Brian knew that this supposedly-good news wasn’t necessarily good, because nothing new to report also meant that nothing had improved since Justin’s last visit, at least not significantly. And that was disappointing, because he wanted so badly for things to keep getting better for Justin, and he knew Justin wanted that as well.

Brian knew exactly what it was like to have to wrap your brain around the idea that improvement might not come -- that you were already as far as you’d probably ever get. And it wasn’t easy, by any means. He hadn’t wanted Justin to have to encounter that for a long time, but that was water under the bridge at this point. He’d encountered it and was working on muddling his way through it, just as Brian had all those years ago.

Brian didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, really. He just reached his hand out, palm up, for Justin to grasp it. When he did, Brian gave him a reassuring smile and simply said, “I love you.”

Brian spent the rest of the day sleeping off and on. Lunch wasn’t any better than breakfast, and dinner was about the same. People kept coming in to turn him, which was starting to get irritating, even though he knew why they were doing it and why it was important.

In the morning, he finally got his shower, even though it wasn’t quite as private as he would have liked it to be. He needed the help of the nursing assistant pretty much from start to finish, save for the part when he was actually in the shower. And as soon as the guy -- who’d introduced himself as Brent -- started helping him transfer to his wheelchair, Brian realized how weak he felt. He wondered how long that would last. Brent helped him undress and move to the shower chair once they were in the bathroom, and then stood outside to at least give Brian some semblance of privacy, with the promise that if he started feeling lightheaded or unsteady at all, he’d say something immediately. Brian wasn’t willing to risk falling or making any aspect of his recovery take even longer, so he’d agreed without a fight.

It felt so good, though. Just letting the warm water run over his body. He sat in there for so long that Brent knocked on the door to make sure he was okay, so he figured he’d better wrap it up, as much as he didn’t want to.

He also really hated needing help getting dressed. He hadn’t needed that since rehab, but the truth of the matter was that he was too weak to do it himself right now. And that sort of sucked.

But everything else was looking better. The fever hadn’t returned, his kidneys appeared to be working well, the pain was lessening little by little, and the antibiotics were continuing to do their job. If that trend continued, he’d probably be able to go home sometime on Wednesday. But he still had the rest of Tuesday to get through first.

He was starting to get bored, which he knew was a sign that he was feeling better, but that didn’t make it any less maddening. He wanted his laptop, so he could at least do a little work, but he knew better than to ask Justin for that, because he knew what the answer would be. Still, the thought of three or four days worth of work piling up was stressful.

He knew that Justin had sent a message to Ted and Cynthia to let them know he would be unavailable for the next several days and why, but he also knew that he would still have a lot that needed to get done as soon as he was back to work.

He did get Justin to bring him a newspaper, which he read in much more detail than he ordinarily would have, while Justin was taking a nap. Normally, he’d just skim the headlines and only read the things he was truly interested in, but he had a lot of time on his hands. When he was finished with the newspaper, he tried television for a while, but there was nothing interesting there either. He played around with his phone -- resisting the urge to check his work email -- until he started feeling sleepy again himself. All of these naps were another thing he hadn’t done in a long time and had no desire to go back to.

But, there was nothing else to do, so he rolled over and checked out for a little while.

As he came back to consciousness an hour or so later, the first thing he heard was the scratch of a pencil on paper. It was familiar, but he hadn’t heard it in so long that it seemed almost foreign. When he opened his eyes, he saw Justin, head down, sitting in the chair, sketching with his left hand. He was totally absorbed -- tongue pushing into his cheek at one side of his lips as he focused on moving the pencil across the sketchpad he had resting on his thighs, holding it steady with his right hand. He was moving much more slowly than his usual sketching speed, and it seemed to take a lot of his concentration, but he was doing it. Brian couldn’t help but smile.

A second later, Justin looked up from the sketchpad, his face quickly going from total concentration to surprise, coupled with the tiniest hint of embarrassment, like he’d been caught red-handed.

“Haven’t seen you do that in a long time,” Brian said, still smiling.

“Yeah.” Justin put the pencil down and scratched behind his ear like he always did when he was nervous. “I’ve been… experimenting.”

“Can I see?”

Justin looked back down at his work and bit his lip. Brian hated that Justin seemed so unsure -- he used to love showing Brian his work. Why should he be ashamed of it now? After a few seconds of internal debate, Justin turned the sketchpad around so Brian could see it.

It was a sketch of him, sleeping -- his hair messy, the sheet partially pulled down, revealing his arm and shoulder. The strokes were a little unsteady, but the drawing wasn’t bad at all. It was good, in fact. And he wasn’t just saying that because it was Justin and he’d been through a lot -- it really was true. Brian moved his focus from the drawing to Justin, who was looking at him shyly, his cheeks pink as he continued chewing on his lip.

“I was just working on adding some muscle definition in your arm,” Justin said, studying the drawing once again. “I wanted to accentuate that. You’re so strong… It’s really sexy.” Justin’s cheeks flushed a little bit more. “I forgot how easy you make it. When I draw you, it just flows. It always has. I’ve been practicing with drawing small things, but with this, I just wanted to try more. When I draw you, it’s like I quit thinking and it just… happens.”

“It’s great,” Brian said.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No, not at all. Looks like your ambidextrousness is coming back.”

“I guess so. Maybe when you’re forced to, it’s easier.”

“Maybe.”

Justin was quiet for a moment, running his fingers idly over the edge of the sketchpad, before he spoke again, sounding almost wistful. “Do you ever wonder how we make it? I mean, we’ve had so much trauma in our lives. But we just keep making it.”

“I don’t know,” Brian said, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice. Justin wasn’t wrong, but Brian wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this right now. His quota for deep, serious conversations in a 24-hour period had already been filled.

“I think maybe we’re the reason we keep making it. We came into each other’s lives, somehow -- by fate or kismet or whatever -- and we’ve saved each other more than once. I guess we’re just meant to be. We’re lucky.”

“Yeah, Sunshine,” Brian said. “We are.”

Justin was certainly right about that. And Brian was grateful that they did “just keep making it,” even though he really didn’t know how they did it. Maybe it really was just fate. Maybe it didn’t really matter.

Maybe it was just a fact of life.

He scooted himself sideways several inches on the bed and motioned for Justin to come up there with him. Justin carefully climbed in beside him, as if he was afraid Brian would break. Brian chose not to say anything about that. Clearly, he’d put Justin through some trauma in the last few days, and he felt incredibly guilty about that. He didn’t want to put anything else on Justin. He knew they needed to talk, but not right now. Right now, he just wanted to hold Justin. So he did. And it just felt right.

Brian was discharged on Wednesday, with a handful of prescriptions and a whole list of things he was and was not supposed to be doing, the most important of which was that he was to be on strict bed rest for the next several days. As the nurse was saying those words to him, he realized that he wasn’t sure how he was going to do that without going completely insane. He just wasn’t the type of person to spend all day in bed, resting. He wanted to be doing things. Being productive.

Even when he’d had cancer, he’d still gone to work. That was just who he was.

However, Brian’s eagerness to go home and get back to his life was quickly eclipsed by the exhaustion that had settled in before they even made it to the front door of their apartment. Just getting in and out of the car, even with Justin’s help, had taken every ounce of his energy. Normally, he would have hated showing this level of weakness to anybody he did business with, his car service included, but he was too tired to give a shit. He just wanted to go home.

After all of that struggle, bed rest sounded pretty damn good. Assuming he could gather up the energy to get in bed at all.

“Brian?” He felt Justin’s hand on his shoulder and heard Justin’s voice and opened his eyes. Christ, had he nodded off on the elevator? He really had fucked himself up this time. He wasn’t sure he could remember the last time he’d been this physically drained -- probably back when he’d been dealing with the side effects of radiation treatments. Although this was certainly giving that a run for its money.

If he needed any confirmation that he’d just put his body through the wringer, this was it.

Now he had to find the strength to push himself out of the elevator and into the apartment. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure he had it. Justin seemed to pick up on his internal struggle and helped him. Brian normally hated being pushed by other people, because it made him feel off balance -- something about not being in control made it harder to compensate for bumps and turns and sudden movements. But Justin was only assisting -- he wasn’t doing it all -- and he knew not to suggest to Brian that he just relax and let him do it.

The apartment smelled vaguely of garlic, signifying that someone had been here cooking something or had brought food in -- probably Rob or Adam, or both of them.

Justin picked a note up off the counter and read it while Brian fought to keep his eyes open.

“Rob made you his mom’s famous vegetable soup,” Justin said. That answered the question that Brian was too tired to ask. “That was nice of him.”

“I’m not really hungry right now,” Brian said, even surprised himself by how weary his voice sounded. He definitely wasn’t hungry. If anything, he felt a little nauseous, and he was ready to take some of his pain medication and pass out for a few hours.

“Oh, right, let’s get you into bed.”

Justin had to help him even more this time than he had the night that this whole ordeal had started, because he wasn’t just shaky this time. This time, he felt like he had no strength at all. The transfer board was a lifesaver, even if it was something he hated to have to fall back on again. It was a wonder he even still had it, he hadn’t used it in so long.

It was temporary, he reminded himself. He’d be back to normal soon. And he never intended to repeat this chain of events ever again if he could help it.

This was certainly a wake up call. He had to take better care of himself. He had to start keeping better track of things again. He had to stop using his work as an escape.

He had to talk to Justin, too. But when? And could he do it? He didn’t know, but he had to try.

Justin brought him a glass of water and asked if there was anything else he needed, but aside from a time machine so Brian could somehow make all of this not happen, there was nothing. It was nice to be back in his own bed, though.

Brian nodded off so quickly that when he awoke, he realized he didn’t even remember Justin leaving the room. Justin brought him everything he needed and made it so that he hardly had to lift a finger, which for right now, was nice, but he knew it would probably get tiresome quickly as he started feeling more like himself again. God, he hoped that would be soon.

The rest of the night went pretty quickly. Brian ate some of the soup and a sandwich that wasn’t at all the way he would have made it if he’d done it himself, but he ate it anyway. He hadn’t eaten much the last few days, so it would probably be fine. He drank what felt like a gallon of water and probably was somewhere close to that, and increased input meant increased output -- to a level that was irritating and inconvenient when all he wanted to do was sleep. But it had to be done, and he’d have to deal with it. Justin was attentive to that as well, making sure he had enough water and all of the supplies he needed. But mostly, Brian just slept.

It was late when Justin finally joined him in the bed, but the slight dip and bounce of the mattress as Justin climbed in was enough to rouse Brian from sleep.

“Sorry,” Justin said softly. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” Brian reached over and took hold of Justin’s hand. He’d missed this over the last few days that he’d spent sleeping alone.

“I was drawing, and I lost track of time.”

That hadn’t happened in a long time either. Brian was thankful for it. One more piece of the “old” Justin was back -- hopefully for good.

“Oh, Ted called,” Justin said, as he snuggled in closer to Brian. “He wanted to check on you, and told me to tell you that everything is fine at the office and not to worry, even though he knows you’ll probably worry anyway.”

Brian let out a small chuckle. Ted did know him really well. It was funny how, over the years, the man he would have thought he’d be least likely to form a friendship with had become a really good friend. And an excellent right-hand man in business as well.

“He said you got the account,” Justin said. “Mr. Cortez’s assistant called yesterday and gave the green light. They faxed the updated contracts today.”

“Good,” Brian said. “At least this was all worth it.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

Justin rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow so that he was looking at Brian’s face. “What did you say?”

“I said, at least this was all worth it.” Brian wasn’t being 100% serious, but he knew there was still a shred of truth in what he’d said. He’d made a significant sacrifice to get everything right for that presentation -- more than he’d bargained for, in the end.

“Brian, no it wasn’t,” Justin said. His bright blue eyes were pleading in the dim light from the single lamp on his side of the bed. “How could you say that?”

Brian shrugged and said nothing. He really didn’t know how to answer that question.

“You really scared me,” Justin said. “I thought I was going to lose you, and it would be all my fault.”

“What? How would it be your fault? I did this to myself, and I know that. I take full ownership of it.”

“You can’t keep working like that,” Justin said, running his left hand over Brian’s chest. It would have been arousing if he didn’t still sort of feel like shit.

“I know.” And he did know. He’d already spent a lot of time thinking about it during his time in the hospital. It was one account. If they lost it, so what? Kinnetik wasn’t going to fold over one account. He couldn’t sacrifice his health for one account. He knew that now. All too well.

“If you know, then why did you do it?”

There was a new million dollar question. And Brian knew the answer, but he wasn’t ready to share it with Justin. Not yet.

“I’ll do better, Sunshine,” he said, stopping the motion of Justin’s hand by laying his own over top of the younger man’s. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Good, because I don’t want to ever have to go through anything like that again.”

“Me either.” Brian pushed himself up a little so he could kiss Justin on the lips. “Now, let’s go to sleep. I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

They settled into their normal sleeping positions -- limbs tangled, bodies touching. Brian lay there for a while in the dark, feeling Justin’s breathing even out and gradually become deeper as he fell into sleep, before allowing himself to do the same.

Every day, Brian felt just a little bit better than the day before. And every day, Justin seemed to become just a little bit more confident. He was drawing more, and seeming more like his old self. Bed rest -- which had morphed into bed and couch rest as his stamina slowly returned -- was getting annoying to say the least. Brian was itching to do some work, but Cynthia put him in his place with a single phone call after he sent her an email about the Eyeconics account.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” was the first thing she said when he answered the phone.

“Hello to you too,” Brian said, smiling to himself. Cynthia’s no-nonsense attitude was exactly the reason he’d handpicked her to be his assistant when he’d first acquired a need for an assistant during his days at Ryder. And it was the reason that she made a fantastic partner in the company now.

“You’re supposed to be resting. That means not working, in case you needed a translation.”

“I’m going fucking crazy.”

“Well, then you’re going to have to go even crazier, because you’re sure as fuck not working, and if I have to have Justin take your laptop and your phone away to make that happen, I’ll do it. You worry too much. We have it handled. I even averted a crisis in the art department the other day.”

“There’s always a goddamn crisis in the art department. What happened this time?”

“Well, you know, Nate--”

“Christ, he’s fucking useless.”

“Are you going to let me tell you, or not?”

“Sorry, continue.”

“Anyway, Nate was out with the flu.”

“Probably better that way.”

“Brian. As I was saying, Nate was out with the flu, and we were on a tight deadline, and everybody was just passing the buck on the artwork he had half completed before he went home. Nobody wanted to touch it.”

“It probably sucked anyhow. I have to poke him and prod him to get anything I like out of him. I’m not sure why he’s still a lead artist.”

“Because the clients like him, and they like his work.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot.”

“So I go down there, and I see one of the interns, Christina, working on it, by herself. And Brian, it was fantastic. You would’ve loved it. She’s great. I asked her to do a couple more things, same result. She’s quick, she has a great eye, she gets her job done without me having to hold her hand. And the client loved it. No missed deadline, and I’m pretty sure that Nate better watch his back because Christina is after his job. But my point is, we got it done. You know we love you, but we can survive without you. Business goes on. You’re allowed to take some time off when you need it. How long has it been since you took a vacation anyway?”

“Taking a vacation is the last thing I’m thinking about right now. I’d just like to leave the apartment at this point. So when are you going to let me come back to work, since I’m apparently no longer the boss? I have a meeting scheduled for later this week.”

“No, you don’t. I’m flying out there for it. And the one the following day.”

“And you were going to tell me this when, exactly?”

“I didn’t think I had to. I figured you’d be doing what you’re supposed to be doing and taking care of yourself, while we took care of the business. I moved those meetings from your calendar to mine last Tuesday. You should have seen that, at least.”

“So you just thought you’d poach my accounts?” Brian said teasingly.

“I’m not poaching your accounts, Brian.” Brian could practically hear her rolling her eyes, even from 400 miles away. “We’re a team. We’re not competitors. And you have too many accounts in New York now to handle them all on your own.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it an easy thing to admit. He was too used to having a finger in every pot when it came to Kinnetik. It was just what he did. But he also knew that his staff was perfectly capable of running his business smoothly even when he wasn’t there -- they’d proved that ten years ago, and they’d proved it again back in December and January. And Cynthia had proved it again just now.

“Besides, I’m sick of Pittsburgh,” Cynthia said. “I think I’ve exhausted my dating pool of eligible bachelors here in the Pitts. Maybe I’ll have better luck in New York.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that there might be a common denominator here, and it isn’t Pittsburgh?” Brian stuck in his tongue in his cheek and waited for the response he knew was coming.

“Brian!” He knew she would have smacked his arm if they weren’t separated by an entire state. “Anyhow, the point is that it might be time that we opened a branch in New York. Just something small -- a couple of graphic artists, a copywriter, you, me. Some food for thought.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“As opposed to continuing to do almost everything yourself?”

“I’m also thinking your reason for wanting to move to New York has less to do with helping me and more to do with shopping on Fifth Avenue,” Brian teased.

“That’s not a bad perk, no,” Cynthia laughed. “But think about it. We can talk more next week.”

It was a lot to think about, indeed. And it would be a lot of work to set up. But in the end, it could be worth it. It would certainly allow him to delegate more tasks when it came to his New York accounts, because there wouldn’t be the time delay or the physical limitations of sending everything back and forth electronically to Pittsburgh. That was inconvenient, and sometimes it put them in a tough spot, like it had a couple of weeks before.

Maybe he did worry too much.

Maybe it was time to change some things.

Right now, though, the thought of setting up a satellite office felt a little overwhelming. They were set to close on the house in Pittsburgh in less than a week, and he still needed to get contractors lined up to start on the work that would need to be done so he could even get into the house, rather than only viewing it through video calls and pictures like he had so far. He needed to call Ted and have him get started on looking for a construction company that could handle this project and meet his demands without cutting corners, and without argument. Hopefully he could at least make that phone call without Cynthia having his balls.

Brian sighed and leaned forward to set his laptop down on the coffee table. He was worrying again. He leaned back into the pillows and reached behind him to adjust the heating pad that had been bringing with it more relief for his aching back than he’d thought it would. He pulled it upward and checked to be sure it was staying exactly where he needed it to be, remembering the lecture he’d received from nurse Nancy when she’d recommended using it for pain relief: “I don’t want you using it anywhere that you don’t have full sensation -- we don’t want to see you back here in a few days with second degree burns.” He certainly didn’t want that either. He’d seen enough of the inside of hospitals to last a lifetime now.

Brian was stretched out on the chaise lounge at the end of the sofa, alone in the living room while Justin was in the shower. He was supposed to have had an appointment with Rochelle today, but he’d already called to cancel it. He was feeling quite a bit better, but knew that would likely be very short-lived if he tried to do too much, and venturing out right now would probably be too much. He was going stir crazy though -- so much so that he’d rather spend an hour reliving painful memories than spend that hour sitting or lying around, trying to fend off boredom. But, he was stuck at home, so boredom it would be.

He’d at least convinced Justin to go to his own therapy appointment, which had already been rescheduled once because of the crisis Brian had caused for both of them. It had taken a lot of convincing, and Brian could tell he’d created a lot of anxiety in Justin over whether or not he was going to be okay. He knew that was his own fault, and he’d have to live with the consequences of his actions. But he hated that he’d done it at all.

When Justin finally emerged from the shower, he was a lot calmer than Brian expected him to be. He’d been a little bit keyed up over the idea of leaving Brian alone when he’d gone to get in the shower, so Brian was glad to see that he’d let go of some of the worrying. Brian wasn’t sure what to do to assure Justin that he’d be fine; that he really was feeling a lot better.

Justin left less than an hour later, with minimal fussing over Brian, which surprised him. He’d just turned on the television when he heard a knock on the door.

His transfer to his wheelchair still wasn’t back to being as fast as usual, so it took him a moment to get to the door. Whoever was on the other side was apparently patient, though, because they didn’t knock again. When Brian opened the door, he saw why -- it was Rob.

“Ah, now I know why Justin was so calm before he left,” Brian said. “He’s still booking babysitters for me, only this time he had the good sense not to tell me, and to try to make it look like a coincidence.” Brian backed up so Rob could come in.

“Nah, we both know you don’t need a babysitter, but I did figure you could use some lunch.” He set the brown paper bag that had been in his lap on the table and started unloading containers. “I brought your usual.”

“You can’t tell me you two didn’t plan this out.” Brian went into the kitchen to grab some silverware and a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator.

“He texted me a little while ago. I was planning on stopping by later anyway -- I just decided to come over at lunch instead, since I had a couple of hours free. It made Justin feel better. I figured even you would be in support of that. And I haven’t seen you since last week. You look better.”

“I feel better. God, that was awful.”

“I know. I’ve been there. It wasn’t quite the same thing, but the experience was pretty similar. Hopefully you got as lucky as I did and managed to escape without permanent damage.”

Brian wouldn’t know that for a few weeks yet, but he hoped Rob was right and he’d dodged that bullet. He had no intention of putting himself in the position to have to dodge it ever again. He’d been scared straight this time, through one of the most miserable experiences of his life.

“I fucking hate this shit,” Brian said, as he poured dressing over his salad. “Having to depend on other people for things.”

“I get that. Been there too. Spent two months in bed in my 20s with a pressure sore, having my mother wait on me hand and foot because I wasn’t allowed to sit at all. It sucked.”

“I especially don’t want to have to depend on Justin. I want him to be able to live his own life, and not have to spend it taking care of me. He didn’t sign up for that.” Brian liked being independent, and he never wanted to lose that. This little taste of losing quite a bit of it had been sobering, to say the least.

“No, but he’d do it. Just like you’d do it for him. That’s what partners do. ‘In sickness and in health,’ remember? But let’s hope that he won’t have to, because you’re doing everything that’s in your power to keep yourself healthy. Speaking of Justin, have you talked to him yet?”

“About what?”

“You know what.”

He did know. He'd only been stalling.

“I’ve worried him enough,” Brian said. “He texted you because he’s anxious. I caused that and I'm not sure how to fix it, other than with time. The last thing I want to do is make him even more anxious about anything to do with me.”

“That’s not what this is about, and you know it. You have to talk to him. Let him in. Let him help you, so you don’t feel like you’re barely hanging on.”

Christ, this again? Brian wasn’t sure he had the patience or the emotional reserve to deal with this line of questioning today.

“And how the hell do you suggest I bring it up?” Brian said derisively. He was putting his defenses up. “‘Hey, let’s talk about the day some homophobic asshole took a bat to your head?’”

“Probably not like that, no. You also know your powers of sarcasm don’t work on me, so don’t try. You told me last week that you know you need to talk to him. Do it. Give him an opportunity to support you in this. You owe it to him to be honest with him. If you try to keep handling everything by yourself, you’ll be right back where you started before much longer, maybe with worse results.”

“Christ, I’ve got people telling me that from all sides about every fucking thing now.”

“Maybe you should listen to us, then. We might be onto something. At the very least, we all care about you and don’t want to see you wreck yourself again. This could have been a lot worse. You know it and I know it. So let’s keep that from happening. The surest way to unhappiness is to keep living in the past or fearing the future, instead of keeping yourself in the present, which is really the only moment you can do anything about. Don’t do that to yourself.”

“Can we talk about something else? I don’t really need any more yoga wisdom today.” Brian was getting tired -- physically and emotionally. For once, he didn’t mind sounding weary.

But Rob was undeterred.

“You can’t run from this forever, Brian. I know you don’t like to talk about things like this, but sometimes you have to. Or else it’s just going to keep eating at you. This has been eating at you for over a decade. And it’s going to eat you alive if you don’t deal with it. It almost has already.”

Brian knew Rob was right. But Rob also didn’t truly know. He didn’t know what it was like to hold your lover’s lifeless body in your arms with his skull smashed in and more blood than you’d ever seen in your life pooling on the concrete around him -- around both of you. To struggle to dial 9-1-1 because your hands are shaking so hard. To wish like hell that they would just get there, before he fucking dies in your arms. To taste his blood on your lips when you kiss him because you're afraid you might not get another chance.

What it was like to close your eyes and see that blood all over again, even fifteen years later. What it was like to sit in a cold hospital hallway, waiting to find out if he was going to live or die. What it was like to feel like it was all your fault -- that even though he lived, a part of his young life had been stolen, and the blood was on your hands, in more ways than one.

It almost has already.

Rob didn’t understand why it was painful to talk about. To think about. To know that those memories were yours and no one else’s and you could never truly get rid of them.

It almost has already.

Just thinking about it again was making Brian feel sick. All of the emotions he didn’t want to feel -- the ones he’d been pushing down for more than a decade -- were rising up in him, fighting for space with the exhaustion that was already starting to creep up again. He needed to end this conversation, before being tired and upset led him to do something he didn’t want to do or say something he didn’t want to say. He needed to get out of this room before he suffocated.

It almost has already.

“I think I’m going to lie down,” Brian said, trying hard to keep the emotion out of his words. To keep control. He really wasn’t upset at Rob. He was mad at himself. Mad at how weak it made him feel to know that he still couldn’t deal with his feelings and his memories of prom night, even after all these years. Mad that he couldn’t bring himself to just do this one simple thing and talk to his husband. Why did it feel so overwhelming?

It shouldn’t. It was Justin.

Justin, who loved him always, no matter what.

Who loved him even when he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“I’ve been up for too long,” Brian said. He kept his voice flat. Disengaged. “Thanks for lunch.”

He could see Rob out of the corner of his eye, looking at him, trying to read him, as he backed up from the table and left the room without saying another word, still fighting to keep his emotions in check.

Brian closed the bedroom door and sat there for a moment, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, regaining his composure. Several seconds later, he heard Rob’s voice from outside.

“Brian, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” It was a lie, but it was what he needed to say. It was also what he needed to be true. “I think I just overdid it. I’m going to take a nap.”

“Okay.”

Brian could tell from Rob’s tone that he didn’t quite believe him, but he wasn’t going to challenge him either. Good. It was better that way.

“I’m going to clean up a bit, then I’ll head out,” Rob said. His voice was muffled by the door. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

Christ, he was tired of feeling like an invalid. Like no one trusted him to be able to do anything for himself.

As if to prove a point, Brian practically flung his body from his wheelchair to the bed, using the last of his quickly waning energy. Much more slowly, he pulled his legs up, one by one, then leaned back into the pillows, took a deep breath, and let it out gradually.

If only it were that easy to let go of everything Rob was imploring him to let go of.

How could he even begin to think about talking to Justin about any of this, when he couldn’t bear to talk about it with Rob? Couldn’t even stand to have the thoughts in his head?

It almost has already.

Why, after all these years, did this one event still have so much power over him? Why did he feel powerless to stop its pull?

It almost has already.

Why was it eating him alive?

He had to stop it. He had to stop these thoughts.

What he craved was darkness. Nothingness. The peace of a dreamless sleep.

So he closed his eyes, and let himself fall in.