The door clanged shut. Justin stood there for a long time just staring at it. He had this weird feeling that if he could only wish hard enough, Brian would come back. But, of course, he didn't.

Justin's feet felt leaden as he walked to the couch and sat down on its very edge. What was he going to do for the next God-only-knew how many hours?

Had he made a mistake? Should he have gone with Brian? Would knowing what Brian was doing be easier than not knowing? But Justin did know what Brian was doing. Brian's Friday nights were always the same. Come home from work; mellow out with a joint and a couple beers; go to Woody's to meet the boys, play pool and darts and drink more beer; then it's off to Babylon, which had its very own ritual. Drink a glass of Beam; take some E; go to the backroom for a warm up blow-job; drink another glass of Beam; hang out drinking and talking with the boys at the bar while choosing his prime target for the night; do some coke; drink another glass of Beam; dance; drink another glass of Beam; take some more E; hang out drinking and talking with the boys; dance; drink another glass of Beam; do a bump; nail his target and fuck him in the backroom; return to the bar to receive his congratulatory slaps on the back from the boys; drink a Red Bull and another glass of Beam; dance; get another blow-job; dance; drink another glass of Beam etc. etc. etc.

It was amazing that Brian could even get out of bed on Saturday, let alone do the exact same thing again Saturday night. Justin had always found it disturbing - not so much all the sex, but the drinking and drugs. Brian had turned getting completely fucked-up into an art form. The only drugs he didn't do were crack, heroin and crystal. Everything else, from prescription pills to hallucinogenic mushrooms, was fair game.

Justin didn't want to do it. In fact, he was sure it was only going to make the night more unbearable, but he couldn't stop himself. He was a fact-slut. Facts were his high (or, in this case, his low). He went to the desk and turned on Brian's computer, smiling, despite himself, at the desktop photo of Brian and Michael as teenagers hamming it up for the camera.

Then he got on the web and started reading . . . and reading and reading and reading. Even when his eyes were blurred with tears, he kept reading.

First he googled "Pregnancy, Drug, Addiction, Impacts" and immediately found information on what can happen to infants if their mothers abused drugs while they were pregnant. It turned out that infants can be born already addicted to the drugs their mothers were abusing.

Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome: Symptoms depend on the drug involved. They can begin within 1 - 3 days after birth, or they may take 5 - 10 days to appear. They may include:
Blotchy skin coloring (mottling)
Diarrhea
Excessive crying or high-pitched crying
Excessive sucking
Fever
Hyperactive reflexes
Increased muscle tone
Irritability
Poor feeding
Rapid breathing
Seizures
Sleep problems
Slow weight gain
Stuffy nose, sneezing
Sweating
Trembling (tremors)
Vomiting

The information was accompanied by heart-wrenching videos and photographs of infants who'd been born addicted to everything from cocaine to Xanax. The poor little things were screaming their heads off - not in a normal way, but in a way that suggested they were in agonizing pain. Justin tried to imagine starting out your life that way! It was so unfair! As he kept reading, he grew increasingly angry at the mothers who'd caused their babies torture and terror within days of their birth.

Then he googled "Ecstasy, Pregnancy, Babies."

Studies have found that infants born to mothers who used Ecstasy during pregnancy had worse motor control and poorer hand-eye coordination at 4 months than babies whose mothers didn't use the drug. Other problems among the ecstasy-exposed group included an impaired ability to balance their heads, sit up without support or roll from their back on to their side.

Not unlike their mothers, themselves, when they're on E, Justin thought angrily. Then he googled "Marijuana, Smoking, Pregnant, Effects." He skipped over websites that weren't from a known reputable source, sticking to the NIH, the CDC or the Mayo Clinic sites (although sometimes he'd take a peek at WebMD, but double checked any information he found there - he was an unapologetic web snob).

Any form of smoking can disrupt the supply of oxygen and nutrients to the fetus, which can result in restrictions in the growth of the fetus (including overall length, foot length, head size and body weight), and in rare cases premature birth, miscarriage and stillbirth.

There is some evidence that women who use marijuana during pregnancy are more likely to give birth to babies with lower birth weight, delayed commencement of breathing, an increase in features similar to those found in foetal alcohol syndrome, exaggerated startle response, tremors, poorer eye-sight, poorer ability to adapt to new aspects of the environment, and a "hole in the heart" (ventricular septal defect).

Other studies have found that in the first six months of life, babies who have been exposed to marijuana in utero are also at greater risk of developing asthma, chest infections, and other breathing problems such as wheezing. Research suggests that, at ages three to four years, children of mothers who used marijuana while pregnant have poorer verbal, memory and reasoning ability; poorer motor skills and shorter length of play; and are more likely to be fearful, impulsive, inattentive, hyperactive and delinquent. These difficulties appear to persist to age 10 years, when they may be accompanied by increased depression and anxiety, along with reading and spelling problems and general underachievement at school. Such deficits may also continue into adolescence and early adulthood, along with an increased risk for initiation of tobacco and marijuana use. In addition, there exists some evidence that mothers' marijuana use during pregnancy increases the risk of their children developing childhood cancers, including non-lymphoblastic leukaemia, rhabdomyosarcoma (a rare, highly malignant tumour that can occur anywhere in the body), and astrocytoma (a type of brain tumor).

Cancer?! Jesus Fucking Christ! Unable to stop himself even though he knew his brain was likely to explode with rage, Justin looked up each of the cancers mentioned and their accompanying pictures . . .

. . . after just a couple minutes, he had to get up and walk around, shaking out his hands and twisting his neck to get the cricks out. He must've been sitting all this time with his shoulders hunched up around his ears! He ached all over.

The babies . . . but there were no words. Tiny infants with enormous malignant tumors all over their bodies. Toddlers with shaved heads and big, wide, trusting eyes watching a nurse inject some sort of cancer-killing chemical into their thin, little arms. Grade-schoolers in wheel chairs or with deformed limbs and faces . . .

But he wouldn't stop. He hadn't even done the worst google search yet - the one that he was most dreading in light of Brian's lifestyle. He sat back down, took a deep breath and typed the words "Alcohol, Pregnancy, Effects." The mountain of results was overwhelming. He picked through them carefully, making sure each site met his standards for accuracy.

Fetal alcohol syndrome (FAS) is a condition that results from alcohol exposure during pregnancy. Problems that may be caused by fetal alcohol syndrome include physical deformities, mental retardation, learning disorders, vision difficulties and behavioral problems.

The problems caused by fetal alcohol syndrome vary from child to child, but defects caused by fetal alcohol syndrome are irreversible.

There is no amount of alcohol that's known to be safe to consume during pregnancy. If you drink during pregnancy, you place your baby at risk of fetal alcohol syndrome.

Fetal alcohol syndrome is a common - yet preventable - cause of mental retardation. The severity of mental problems varies, with some children experiencing them to a far greater degree than others.

Signs of fetal alcohol syndrome may include:

Low birth weight
Distinctive facial features, including small eyes, an exceptionally thin upper lip, a short, upturned nose, and a smooth skin surface between the nose and upper lip
Deformities of joints, limbs and fingers
Slow physical growth before and after birth
Vision difficulties or hearing problems
Small head circumference and brain size (microcephaly)
Poor coordination/fine motor skills and learning difficulties, including poor memory, inability to understand concepts such as time and money, poor language comprehension, poor problem-solving skills
Organ dysfunction, including heart defects
Mental retardation , delayed development and learning disorders
Abnormal behavior, such as a short attention span, hyperactivity, poor impulse control, extreme nervousness and anxiety
Poor socialization skills, such as difficulty building and maintaining friendships and relating to groups
Lack of imagination or curiosity
Failure to thrive

Failure to Thrive. Three little words that managed to encompass all of the preceding effects. Justin's heart broke when he read that children with FAS often lack imagination and fine motor skills; there was a chance that the baby Brian was carrying might be an artist, but the possibility might be obliterated before he or she was even born. But it was those three little words that finally broke him.

Failure to thrive.

If he didn't intervene now, in whatever way he could, it seemed to him that Brian would have to get an abortion. Being his mother's son, Justin was, of course, pro-choice, so he didn't have moral issues with abortion, but he sure as hell had emotional issues. He wanted this baby more than anything. He also knew he couldn't live with himself - or Brian - if Brian went ahead with a pregnancy that resulted in a human being who would Fail to Thrive. It was as though they were playing God, shaping a person into what he or she can or cannot be, shaping how their lives will go before they're even born!

He could picture it. His and Brian's baby convulsing and screaming helplessly, and nothing they could do could bring it comfort or ease its pain. His and Brian's baby slow to do (or even incapable of doing) things normal babies do like roll over and lift their heads and play with words and sounds. His and Brian's baby deformed in any number of countless ways, its lungs incapable of drawing a full breath, its body riddled with cancer, a mind listless, a heart already broken . . .

Failure to thrive.

Justin finally freaked the fuck out.

He lept up from the computer chair so abruptly that it rolled away and hit the wall. He shoved his sockless feet into his sneakers, grabbed his parka and ran to the door. His hands were shaking so hard that he had trouble activating the alarm. The fucking task seemed to take forever. Finally, the alarm was activated and the door locked. He fumbled to put on his parka as he rocketed down the stairs, bumping into the downstairs neighbors and almost knocking them over as he took the stairs two at a time.

And then he was outside running so hard that he thought he might puke. Woody's wasn't that far away, but every inch of sidewalk felt like a thousand miles of slogging through a swamp. He slammed shoulders with people left and right, not stopping to apologize (despite the wailing of the WASPy little voice in his head). The sidewalk was icy, and he slipped and skidded into mailboxes and lampposts. The colors of Liberty Avenue on a Friday night were smeared into streaks as though he was looking out the window of a speeding car. There was nothing in his head but the savage will to find Brian. He was possessed by the need to stop him some way or another and perhaps even by drastic means like jumping on the bar and announcing to the whole room that Brian Kinney was pregnant and please will you all stop giving him E and buying him drinks! Brian would be so mortified that he'd have to leave. True, he'd never speak to Justin again, but maybe it would be the jolt he needed to take things seriously . . .

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the tight knot of people blocking the sidewalk in a solid wall. He thought they were merely pedestrians that he could shove and push his way through, but when he tried, he found that he was impeded by the sheer number of people and their closeness to each other. He was just about to run out into the street and go around them when he heard his name. He wheeled around to find Ted trotting toward him without his coat.

Something was wrong.

Ted grabbed his arm even though Justin had stopped. His expression was serious and distraught.

"It's Brian, isn't it," Justin said.

Ted looked surprised for an instant, and then he nodded. He started trying to tell Justin something, but Justin was already elbowing his way through the crowd, battling to reach the center. Some people recognized him and let him pass, telling their companions to move aside. It nonetheless seemed like forever, but finally Justin saw Brian. He was curled in a ball, rocking from side-to-side. His face was pale and damp with sweat, and he'd obviously thrown up because there was a puddle of vomit not far away. He was moaning raggedly, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Michael was kneeling on one side of Brian, and Emmett was on the other. They were both frantically trying to comfort him and get him to talk, but Brian was apparently incapable of speaking. Michael was the closest to him, and Justin shoved him aside and dropped to his knees.

"Hey!" Michael yelled. "What the fuck are you doing?" He started pushing and slapping and hitting Justin like a maniac. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You weren't even here! You're nobody to him . . . !"

Justin didn't even look at him let alone waste time fighting back. Thankfully, Emmett stepped in.

"Here, honey," he said gently to Michael. "I'll go find Teddy. Take my place, although I do think it might be a good thing if people stopped crowding in. Brian needs space to breathe."

Michael seemed to snap out of whatever bat-shit state of mind he'd been in. He stood up and moved to where Emmett had been and then he knelt again, helplessly brushed Brian's sweat-soaked hair back from his face. He was suddenly blind to Justin - probably even to the rest of the whole world. All he seemed to see was his best friend in distress.

Justin gently shook Brian's shoulder.

"Hey," he said as calmly as he could. "What's going on here?"

Brian reacted to his voice but only slightly. He stopped rocking for a moment and opened his eyes.

"Fuck," he groaned, and then he said the most alarming words Justin had ever heard him say.

"I think I need to go to the hospital," Brian said. "Now."

Ted was nearby and heard Brain's words. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket to call 911, but Justin jumped up and grabbed his hand.

"Don't," he said in a harsh whisper. "Let me call."

Ted just looked at him for a moment and then nodded. Justin flipped open his phone. Thank God, he'd added Dr. Bernstein's number to his list of contacts! He didn't even hear a ring before the doctor answered.

"It's Brian," Justin said. "Something's really wrong. He asked us to call an ambulance . . ."

"I'll meet you at the hospital," Dr. Bernstein said and hung up.

Justin dialed 911 and then knelt down again. He reached for Brian's hand; Brian's grip was vicelike. He was groaning continuously, and his eyes were squeezed shut again.

"It's okay," Justin said, hoping that he was going to be able to handle this. He wasn't sure he could, but he knew he had to all the same. He looked at Michael who was rubbing Brian's back.

"What happened?" Justin asked him in a low voice so that only Michael could hear him.

Michael looked at him with eyes wide with fear. "I don't know," he said. "I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, he was gone. I thought he was . . . you know, getting blown or something, but Em said Brian had told him he wasn't feeling well and wanted to go home. Of course I thought that was weird, so I came out to see if I could catch up with him. That's when I saw him leaning against that railing . . ." Michael paused to point at the puddle of vomit. "He was throwing up, which was weird because he hadn't had that much to drink . . ."

"How much was 'not that much?'" Justin interrupted.

"I . . . I'm not sure," Michael replied. He looked up beseechingly at Ted. "I know he had a beer when he first got here and then another while we were waiting for the pool table . . ."

". . . and a couple more while you guys were playing," Ted jumped in. "And then he started hitting the Beam, but I only saw him drink two glasses. Then he left."

Justin covered his face and laid it on Brian's trembling shoulder. Only two glasses. Jesus, Brian drank so fucking much! One's got a real drinking problem if one doesn't have a sufficient buzz after drinking at least one beer at home, two glasses of whiskey, four more beers, followed then by more whiskey. He lifted his head and looked back and forth between Michael and Ted.

"Did he do anything other than drink?" he asked.

Michael nodded. "We smoked a joint in the bathroom . . ."

". . . and he did a spoonful of coke while he was playing pool," Ted added.

Justin bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to keep from crying. At least seven drinks, pot and coke, all within the space of about three hours!

Failure to Thrive. The words were a scream ricocheting around in his mind, slamming against his skull again and again.

Brian suddenly released his hand, rolled from his side to his front, raised himself up on to his hands and knees and started retching violently.

"Oh, baby," Justin breathed, knowing there was no way that Brian would hear him but needing to use the endearment anyway, for himself. He rubbed Brian's back, and Michael held Brian's hair out of the way. In-between retches, Brian groaned and whimpered. He didn't seem to notice there were people around, staring at him. He was obviously in that much pain.

Finally the ambulance arrived, and the EMTs started pushing through the crowd, demanding that people get out of their way. Brian had stopped vomiting, but he was still on his hands and knees rocking back and forth. Justin stood up and backed away so the EMTs could do their job, but Ted and Emmett had to drag Michael away as he screamed Brian's name over and over.

A question darted through Justin's mind: how could he be so calm and Michael so distraught? Did Michael love Brian more than he did? The thought was utterly unproductive; Justin threw it into one of his brain-closets and bolted the door.

The EMTs got Brian to roll over and lie down on his back. He was shaking all over, both hands clenching his shirt just over his sternum. He opened his eyes and looked up at the EMT examining him with an expression on his face that Justin had never seen before.

"Sir, can you hear me?" the EMT asked.

Brian nodded jerkily.

"What is your name?"

"Brian Kinney."

The EMT took his hands. "Squeeze my left hand if it's Tuesday," she said. "Or squeeze my right hand if it's Friday."

Without hesitation, Brian squeezed her right hand.

"Okay, who is the president? Squeeze my right hand if it's Bill Clinton, and my left if it's George W. Bush."

Brian squeezed her left hand before she even finished speaking.

"Actually," someone said from the crowd, "it's Al Gore."

People twittered, and the EMT's lips quirked for a moment in a smile. Justin's did too, but Brian was utterly oblivious that a joke had been made.

"Can you sit up?" the EMT asked.

Brian shook his head.

"Okay, then we're going to get you a stretcher. Just lie still."

The EMT checked Brian's pulse and covered his mouth and nose with an oxygen mask.

"Do you think you've broken any bones?" another EMT asked, rolling the stretcher behind him.

Brian shook his head.

"How about internal injuries?"

Brian nodded vigorous and then moved one of his hands to his lower belly. Justin bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut on the tears that wanted to fall. He glanced at Michael who was sobbing great big gulping sobs even though he had no idea that Brian's gesture indicated a pregnancy. But Justin would not cry. For the sake of Brian - and their baby - he would not come unglued.

"Have you drunk alcohol and/or done any drugs this evening?"

Brian nodded.

"Do you think you ODed?"

Brian shook his head.

"How many times have you vomited?"

Brian held up two fingers.

"Was there blood?"

Brian shook his head.

"Okay, we're going to put you on the stretcher now and take you to the ambulance. Is there someone you want to ride with you?"

Brian pointed at Justin, who breathed a gasp of relief. He looked up and locked eyes with Michael, willing him too please not make a scene. Justin shook his head ever so slightly. Michael could not be the one to accompany Brian to the hospital! The long, tense moment went on for fucking ever. When Michael suddenly started trying to struggle out of Emmett's arms, his eyes filled with anger, fear and hurt, Ted stepped in front of him, blocking Justin and Michael's twin gazes of animosity.

"Michael," Ted said gently. "Brian made a choice. You need to respect that choice. This isn't the time to feel jealous or hurt. This isn't about who Brian might or might not love more; this is about Brian and what he needs. Okay?"

Ted hugged Michael from the front while Emmett hugged him from behind, effectively forming a Michael sandwich. Michael sagged with exhaustion and resignation.

"Take care of him," he said pleadingly as Justin walked past him, following the stretcher.

Justin got in the ambulance and sat down by Brian's head. When he took Brian's hand, Brian turned to look at him with a frightened expression. "It's okay," Justin whispered.

Brian shook his head and reached up to pull aside the oxygen mask. "No, it's not," he said simply, frankly. He put the mask back on and closed his eyes.

The ambulance was met at the emergency exit by Dr. Bernstein and a solemn-looking assistance. The doctor talked briefly to the EMTs who looked back and forth between him and Brian several times. Then one of them nodded. Dr. Bernstein walked over to the ambulance.

"I'm going to ride with him, Justin," he said with the unflappable tone of a professional. "You can follow us. My assistant will drive you."

Justin was instinctively reluctant to leave Brian's side. During the whole trip to the hospital, he'd felt as though he could hear two hearts beating, both of them labored and uneven. But he knew he had to surrender everything into the hands of the doctor. He was the only one capable of treating Brian, and it was essential he remain by Brian's side.

The assistant smiled at Justin when Justin got in her car and introduced herself as Heather. They didn't speak on the way to Dr. Bernstein's office, but she seemed to sense that the silence was making Justin even more uptight than he already was. She switched on the radio and turned down the volume so that it was little more than background noise. Justin gave her a grateful little smile. He wondered if she knew that Brian was pregnant. He suspected that she did.

When they arrived at the building where Dr. Bernstein's office was located and got out of the car, Justin was surprised to see Brian getting out of the ambulance himself although with the help of Dr. Bernstein and an EMT who held his hands to assist him. They escorted Brian into the building and on to the elevator, followed closely by Justin and Heather. Justin reached out and laid his hand on Brian's arm, and Brian gave him a wan smile.

"Hell of a way to spend a Friday night," he rasped.

Justin returned his wan smile.

The EMT left when they got to Dr. Bernstein's office. Justin took over as Brian's support while the doctor unlocked the door. When they were all inside, he locked the door again. He led Brian and Justin to the examining table and helped Brian lie down. Brian helped as much as he could, but he was obviously in a lot of pain, and he looked like he might be sick again. When he was lying down, he locked eyes with Dr. Bernstein.

"So," he said unsteadily. "You're going to be the one to handle this. I know it seems suspiciously timely, but I still do not believe you that I'm . . . I'm pregnant or anything else remotely as asinine."

Dr. Bernstein merely nodded. "We don't need to discuss any causes at the moment," he said. "We need to address the symptoms."

Brian glared at him, but he let Heather sit him up and remove his shoes, shirt and jeans.

"Lie back down," Dr. Bernstein said. "Tell me if anything I do hurts."

"Everything already hurts, Doc," Brian said.

"Okay, then tell me if anything I do hurts even more."

He gently pressed Brian's chest with his fingers. When Brian didn't say anything, he moved on to Brian's stomach. Brian frowned for a moment and then shook his head. The doctor then pressed on Brian's lower belly, and Brian slapped his hand away. Hard.

"Ow!" he yelled. "Do that again, and I'll fire your ass!"

Justin bit back a smile.

Doctor Bernstein merely shifted his hand to where Brian's appendix was located. Brian tensed slightly but otherwise did not react. Same with his other side. Dr. Bernstein stopped poking and prodding and started writing in his medical log.

"I have appendicitis," Brian said.

"If you had appendicitis," Dr. Bernstein replied, "you wouldn't be in agony when I touched the middle of your lower abdomen. You would have been in pain if I touched your right side. You did not indicate you felt undue pain in that location.

Brian frowned. "Do it again," he said, and Dr. Bernstein complied with his request. Justin could hear the wheels turning in Brian's mind; he was considering lying.

"You don't have appendicitis," Dr. Bernstein said flatly.

"Then I have an ulcer."

"Have you had blood in your stool?"

Brian made a face and then shook his head.

"Then it's unlikely that you have an ulcer sufficiently problematic to cause the severe distress that you're in."

"I have food poisoning."

"Do you have diarrhea?"

Brian made another face and shook his head.

"Okay, then I have an internal injury."

"Have you recently experienced blunt trauma to your abdomen?"

Brian looked again like he was going to lie. Justin bit his lip; he didn't want to say anything. Brian would be pissed, but also it would undermine the process that was taking place.

Finally Brian shook his head dejectedly, but then he perked up. "I have liver disease," he said hopefully.

"Heaven knows you should," Dr. Bernstein said. "But you just had a check-up last month and blood work done this week; your liver is healthy."

"It's cancer."

"It's not cancer."

Justin suppressed an eye-roll. It said a lot about how freaked out Brian was over the prospect that he might be pregnant that he wished he had liver disease and even cancer instead.

"It's kidney stones."

"If it was kidney stones, you'd have already been in discomfort that would've gradually increased. You'd also have increasing difficulty urinating. Was this evening the first time you've experience pain in the vicinity of your kidneys?"

Brian closed his eyes in defeat and nodded.

"Then I've damaged my colon from too much fucking," he said.

"I thought you didn't allow yourself to be penetrated," Dr. Bernstein said.

Brian perked up. "Actually, I do," he said enthusiastically. "Justin here has fucked me twice, and you should see how big his dick is. Justin, show the Doc your dick. Oh, and I forgot to mention the anal beads. I love to have anal beads shoved up my ass as far as anatomically possible. My Thai Jelly beads are almost a foot long! Then there are the vibrators and dildos. I can easily take thirteen inches. I even have a dildo called The Destroyer. It's got a suction cup so I can stick it to the side of the shower and fuck myself, and believe me, I'm not afraid to take it all. One of my vibrators has the circumference of a soda can. . . . Or wait! I may have punctured my bladder as well! I sound like a fiend. I even sound with a vibrating butt plug in my ass. The largest sound I can take right now is the width of a pencil, but I'm practicing with a sound with the circumference of a Sharpie pen. It comes with an explicit warning about the possibility of serious bladder injuries . . ."

Brian had gotten so pepped up by his listing of his sex toys and their usages that he was actually sitting up and gesturing. Justin stared at him with an open mouth. He could not believe Brian was revealing all these things even if it was to a doctor! Holy shit! Justin didn't think Brian was lying because he'd witnessed - and even used himself - most of the toys. (It was a miracle that Brian was so tight! He must do hours of anal strengthening exercises every day!) Again, it astounded Justin that Brian would rather reveal this intensely private (even disturbing) aspect of his life rather than even entertain the prospect of being pregnant!

Amazingly, Dr. Bernstein looked neither condemnatory nor fazed in any way. He merely wrote down more stuff in his medical log. When he was done, he looked at Brian, his gaze steady and stern.

"I agreed we wouldn't talk about the fact that you are pregnant . . ."

Brian rolled his eyes and collapsed back onto the examining table with an exasperated sigh.

". . . but you must know that some of the practices you just described to me could very well cause a miscarriage."

Brian sat up again.

"A miscarriage?" he said.

"Yes," the Doctor replied. "In fact the risk is quite high."

"So, assuming I am pregnant, which I'm not, I could induce a miscarriage by getting Justin here to shove gigantic dildos up my ass and fuck me with them till I scream?"

"It's quite possible. I would be especially concerned about the use of vibrators. Your placenta is extremely delicate right now. In fact your pain this evening might derive from a rupture or perforation. I'll need to examine you further to ascertain whether that, in fact, has occurred."

"And sounding?" Brian asked. "That could really fuck things up too, right?"

"Right."

"What if I drown myself in whiskey, take coke, E, amyl nitrate, Valium, Oxycontin . . . fuck, what if I did crystal while getting fisted by a fucking bodybuilder? Would that cause a miscarriage?"

"I couldn't say for sure," said Dr. Bernstein. "Scientists don't talk in terms of absolutes. But I would say that you would probably lose your baby - if not lose your own life in the process. And if you didn't miscarry and decided to continue with the pregnancy without changing your lifestyle, there's a significant likelihood that your baby's health, growth and mental capacity would be affected catastrophically."

Failure to Thrive.

Justin must've said the words out loud because all three people in the room turned to look at him.

"That's precisely correct," Dr. Bernstein said.

Justin turned to Brian. "You CAN'T do this!" he shouted. "You CAN'T ruin a human being's life! I won't let you!"

"I wouldn't be ruining anyone's fucking life," Brian shouted back, "if I got rid of this fucking . . . thing inside me, which I'm still not entertaining the thought that I actually have! I don't want a fucking kid, Justin! How many fucking times have I told you! I HATE kids . . . !"

"Not Gus!" Justin shouted back. "You even told me you love him!"

"Because. He's. Mine!!"

Silence. Perfect, pristine silence.

"So would this baby be," Justin said softly, gently, consolingly. "You'd carry it yourself, not someone else. You'd nurture and protect it with your body. This is a miracle, Brian, not a curse . . ."

If looks could kill, Justin would collapse to the floor, dead on impact.

"I don't want to be pregnant," Brian said venomously. "I do not want to have a baby. I will do everything in my power to rid myself of the little fucker."

Justin grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a stack of empty plastic, urine-sample cups, and threw them straight at Brian's head. When Brian was hit and blood slowly filled a cut on the bridge of his nose, Brian said two words.

"Get out."

He didn't shout them; he didn't have to. The serious calm in his voice spoke louder and clearer than any shouted words ever could.

Justin looked at Dr. Bernstein and then at Heather. Both of them were looking down at their feet. Wasn't anyone going to come to his rescue? To the baby's? This was his baby too! Brian did NOT have a right to kill it - especially in such a shocking, evil way. He turned to look at Brian, pleading with him. But Brian clearly had said everything he was going to say.

Justin turned and walked in a numb trance to the door. Just as he stepped into the hall, he heard Dr. Bernstein tell Brian with his serene professionalism that Brian had every right to end the pregnancy and that there was absolutely no need to induce a miscarriage. It could be done quickly and safely right there in the office.

Justin stepped into the elevator before he could hear Brian's response.