Chapter 1 - Life Happens.

So, have you ever noticed that most of the really important things that happen to you in life aren't what you expected would happen? You can be the most organized, controlling person in the history of the world and yet, after all is said and done, you find yourself somewhere, with someone, in some situation you could never have anticipated, and your whole worldview shifts. At least that seems to be my experience.

I hated my life when I was a child. Everything always felt so out of my control. There were these people designated as your 'Parents' who assumedly knew what they were doing and were therefore allowed to dictate your life. They told you when to get up in the morning, when and where to go during the day. They dictated when you would eat and sleep. They told you to do chores. They told you when to go to bed. And, if you were me, these people who'd been put in charge of you also sometimes withheld your food, told you that you were worthless, punished you arbitrarily, and even, more often than not, hit you. But there never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to it. My life and my parents' decisions all seemed so arbitrary. I hated every minute of it.

So, as an adult, the one thing I always strove for more than anything else was control. I thrived on it. Everything in my life was planned. I worked hard to make it so. I liked my routine. I liked knowing that my life was on track. My career was going exactly as I'd planned. I controlled my destiny - both professionally and personally. Everything was neat, tidy, under control and going EXACTLY as I'd always planned.

Then, one night, I met Gus.

.:G:. .:G:. .:G:. .:G:. .:G:.

The trick Brian Kinney had picked up that night at Woody's was annoyingly vocal.

Granted, he was totally hot - taller than average, wavy dark hair, big dark blue eyes with thick lashes, that lightly stubbled look like he hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and a taut, toned body that practically begged to be taken home and fucked through the mattress. Those were the only criteria that Brian usually looked for in a trick. Which meant this guy easily qualified.

Unfortunately it wasn't until after Brian had blown off the gang, which right now was just Ted and Emmett, because Mikey was still on vacation with Dr. Dave, deciding to skip Babylon that night in favor of taking his time with Hot Boy, that he discovered the guy's fatal flaw: He was a talker. Not just your typical ‘let's have a conversation' talker, either. No, this one could be considered a sexual relations director.

"Yes! Yes! Right there! Yes, just like that. Harder. Fuck me. Fuck me harder! YES!"

The stupid fucker had been babbling nonstop like that for the entire time Brian had been trying to fuck him. It was really distracting. He hated tricks like that - it was like they thought they were in control of the fuck or something. Every time Brian felt like he was getting close to coming, the little shit would start moaning and yelling and directing him how to proceed. It completely ruined Brian's mojo.

Brian desperately wished he hadn't given up a night at the club to bring this guy back to his loft. It was actually getting to the point where he was ready to either restrain and gag this guy or tell him to fuck off. There was no other way Brian could block out his irritating demands long enough to get off.

So, when the buzzer from the intercom at the street door started making its usual racket, Brian was quite relieved to have an excuse to give up on the whole thing. He rolled his eyes as the guy almost whimpered when Brian abruptly pulled out. Pathetic! Brian grunted with displeasure as he padded off to answer the door.

"What?" Brian shouted into the intercom.

"Ere you Bri-an Kin-ney?" came an unknown, heavily accented voice, through the crackling speaker.

"In the flesh. Who the fuck are you?" Brian answered shortly, not in the mood for any shit after that disastrous fuck.

"Zere's a di-livry for ya," the unknown voice announced without further explanation.

"It's ten-thirty at night," Brian said with confusion. "What kind of fucking delivery arrives at ten-thirty?"

"Zere's a di-livry for ya," the obviously foreign voice repeated.

"Yeah, you already said that. What kind of delivery?" Brian repeated more slowly.

Brian couldn't tell if the guy spoke English or not. He didn't like not knowing what the hell was going on. This obviously wasn't your typical delivery. Brian made a mental note to tell the building manager that he needed to upgrade the security system to include a video camera on the front door.

When there wasn't any further explanation offered though, Brian didn't have much choice. "Fine. Come on up. Top floor," he ordered, pushing the door release button.

Since Brian didn't have a clue exactly what to expect from this 'delivery', he figured he'd better put on some pants before whoever it was arrived at the door. He jogged up the three steps to his bedroom to find the jeans he'd abandoned earlier. The stupid mouthy trick was still lying there, naked on the bed, stroking himself and looking up at Brian all needy. Brian just wanted the guy gone already.

"Ready for me again, Baby?" the guy simpered, looking up at Brian through those dark eyelashes.

It made Brian want to gag. "Yeah, ready for you to fuck off. Get dressed and get out!"

"But we were just getting to the good part," the Babbling Fuck whined.

"Exactly. And the good part is the part where you LEAVE," Brian snarled, not even pausing to give the guy a second look as he pulled on his jeans and a tee shirt.

Brian could hear Babbling Fuck grumbling as he fumbled around looking for his clothes, but at least the guy was moving. Brian stopped off in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water - mostly just to wash the taste of Babbling Fuck out of his mouth - on his way to the door. He heard the rumble of the old service elevator as it came to a stop on his floor just as he was pulling open the big sliding metal door of the loft.

The wheels that guided the heavy steel door squealed along rustily in their track above his head as Brian pushed it wide open. He'd expected to see some poorly dressed slob of a delivery guy waiting for him right outside his door, but there was nobody at all on the landing. Brian stepped out and looked around, now worried that he'd buzzed someone into the building that he didn't know, and who had seemingly disappeared. He was just about to head down the stairs to investigate further, when he saw a tiny blur of movement behind the still closed elevator gate. Cautiously moving towards the elevator, Brian peeked through the slats of the gate - there was definitely someone there.

"So, where's this fucking delivery, buddy?" Brian growled, as he grabbed hold of the gate and shoved it open.

There wasn't any rumpled, foreign-accented delivery guy waiting in the elevator, though. There was just a kid. A rather short, dark-haired kid, dressed in dirty, tattered jeans, a stained and wrinkled white t-shirt and an unzipped red cotton hoodie. On the floor of the elevator next to the boy was a beat up baby blue, child-sized, rolling suitcase that had a picture of Winnie the Pooh on the front. The boy stood there, mutely staring up at Brian, looking as if he was so scared he might faint.

"Uhhhh . . . Hey, kid," Brian stuttered, unsure where to even start in this particular situation. "Are you looking for someone?"

The kid stared some more, blinked and said nothing.

"Do you . . . Um . . . Do you live around here or something?" Brian tried again, this time getting a frown and a small negative shake of the head from the child.

Brian had no clue here - what were you supposed to do when a strange kid showed up in your elevator after ten at night? "Are you alone? Where are your parents, kid?"

The silent kid looked even more confused than Brian. He shrugged his shoulders and looked like maybe he was about to start crying. "Shit", Brian muttered under his breath, wiping at his face with one hand in exasperation. Taking two steps closer to the child, he hunkered down on one knee so he was on the kid's level. He knew how intimidating it was to have someone stand over you and didn't want to scare the poor kid any more than he already seemed to be doing.

"Where are you supposed to be, bud?" Brian asked as reassuringly as he could, trying to modulate his voice into a less demanding, more child-friendly tone.

The kid, still saying nothing, lifted up a plastic-laminated card that was dangling from a Toronto Maple Leafs lanyard looped around his neck. He offered it to Brian with a tiny nervous smile. Brian quickly scanned the little printed card. It read:

Child's Name: Gus Peterson Kinney

Delivery Address: Brian Kinney

6 Fuller, Apt #4A, Pittsburgh, PA

Phone: 218-555-3412

"Okaaaaayyy . . . Well, I AM Brian Kinney. And that IS my address and phone number but . . . That doesn't really answer my question about where you're supposed to be. I know for a fact that I didn't order any homeless, grungy, little boys. I don't do chicken, especially baby chicken." Brian was forced to laugh alone at his little joke since the kid obviously didn't get it.

"I'd say that one's too young even for you, Kinney," the Babbling Fuck intoned as he was leaning against the door jamb, nosily watching Brian and the kid. "Wait till everyone hears you tossed me out for that!"

"Why the hell are you still here? What part of ‘fuck off' did you not understand? Go already!" Brian demanded, almost shoving the trick down the stairs he was so eager to get rid of the asswipe.

Brian's loud, angry words and violent movements not only hurried the trick on his way, they also frightened the little boy so much he backed away further into the recesses of the small elevator. Brian watched to make certain the Babbling Fuck was truly gone for good, then turned back to deal with his unexpected delivery. He found the terrified boy cowering in the furthest corner of the elevator box, his face all screwed up in a mute cry and tears already escaping from the corners of his scrunched up eyes.

"Hey. Hey, I'm sorry, buddy," Brian kneeled back down and lowered the level of his voice. "I didn't mean to scare you, kid. Come on. Come back over here, kid - Gus, right?" Gus nodded his head in agreement but didn't move out of his corner. "So, Gus, I don't really know what's going on here. I wasn't expecting you. Um, I'm not sure what we're supposed to do now . . . Shit. Uh, I mean shucks . . . Well, I guess you'll have to come inside until we figure out what to do." Brian stood up, picked up the small suitcase and then gestured towards the boy, inviting him inside. "Come on in. Welcome to Chez Kinney, Gus."

The uncommunicative child hesitated a couple of seconds longer and then followed Brian's directions, walking into the loft with unsure steps. Brian trailed after his guest and then turned to tug the door closed. The loud metal clang as the door slammed into place caused the little boy to jump. The kid spun around and again just stared at Brian. He was clearly frightened, worried, and just about as confused as Brian himself. But somewhere beneath all that, the boy was also determined and, in a childlike way, incredibly brave. The combination endeared the kid to the normally hard-as-nails Kinney in a way nobody could have predicted.

"Gus . . ." Brian really had no idea where to start. "Want something to drink or eat?"

The kid nodded eagerly with wide eyes that looked just a tiny bit less tired at the mention of food. Brian strode over to the refrigerator and pulled open the spotlessly clean stainless steel door . . . only to find a spotlessly clean inside that was virtually devoid of almost anything edible. Other than the ubiquitous beer and poppers, the only other inhabitants of the fridge were a bottle of guava juice, some mostly dried out cheddar cheese, an avocado and half a loaf of wheat bread. Brian shook his head, and decided to offer the kid some guava juice to start with and see if that gave him any other ideas. As he poured two glasses and sat down next to Gus with his own, he remembered he had a jar of peanut butter in the cabinet.

The kid took the proffered glass of juice, sniffing at it with evident concern, then looked up at Brian to get a little reassurance that it was really okay to drink.

"That, Little Man, is guava juice. I know you probably haven't ever tried it before, but once you do, you'll never go back to plain old orange juice like the rest of the uneducated and unwashed masses. Only people with sophisticated tastes understand how truly superior guava juice is to the rest of the more mundane breakfast beverages." Brian bragged with a silly, really bad, British accent, attempting to get Gus to try it by making it seem like a game.

Gus tried a very tiny sip of the unfamiliar drink, sucked the flavor off his tongue inquisitively for a couple seconds and then smiled up at Brian. "It's sweet and thick," Gus said, then took another larger sip. "It kinda tastes like a flower smells," he tried to explain using his limited child's vernacular. "It tastes . . . pink."

"Exactly!" Brian grinned at the child's perfect description of the hard to explain flavor as they both savored another drink from their respective glasses, glad that he had finally managed to get the child to speak to him.

"Well, Gus, now that I've got you talking, we should maybe try to figure out where you're supposed to be," Brian decided to try again. "Who are your parents?"

"I only have a mommy," Gus explained in a very hushed little voice. "I don't have a daddy. My mommy said that he lived far away and that's why I didn't get to see him. But she said that he would always love me no matter how far away we were."

Brian wanted to scoff at the little fairy tale Gus' mother had invented for him, but he didn't think he needed to spread his own disillusionment to this little kid so soon. Gus would learn soon enough on his own not to believe in happy endings. But, to get back on point . . .

"What's your Mommy's name Gus?"

"Peterson?" Gus said, really unsure about what was being asked of him.

"That's her last name - just like yours - but what about her first name?"

Gus thought hard about it but ended up just shrugging, "It's just Mommy."

"Okay. Well, where do you and your mommy live? Do you know your address or your telephone number? We could call her and find out where you're supposed to be."

"We live in T'ronto," Gus said proudly, happy to finally know the answer to at least one of Brian's questions.

"That's a good start, Gus," Brian encouraged the child and then tried for more. "Now, what's your address - you know, the street you live on and the numbers of your house? Do you remember those?"

Gus' head tipped to one side and his adorable little face screwed up with great concentration for several moments - Brian could almost see the kid trying to delve through his memory for the requested information. But, after quite an effort, Gus' expression turned to one of defeat and he shrugged at Brian again.

"That's okay, Gus, we'll figure something else out," Brian felt oddly protective towards this little scamp of a kid who he could tell was really being heroically brave considering the situation. As bad as his parents were he couldn't imagine what Gus was feeling, being dropped off with a complete stranger in a place he'd never been before.

"So, how did you get here from Toronto?"

"Mommy and me gots to ride in a airplane," Gus started to explain enthusiastically about everything he'd seen, done, smelled, ate, and thought throughout the duration of the flight.

"Yeah, airplanes are fun, aren't they?" Brian finally managed to interrupt the boy's narrative, trying to stay on track. "But, what did you and your mommy do after you got off the airplane here in Pittsburgh? How did you get here to my loft?"

"Mommy put me in the back seat of this big yellow car. It smelleded funny," Gus' cute little nose wrinkled up at the memory. "There was some scary big guy driving. Mommy talked to the guy. Then she kissed me and told me I was going to get to go stay wif my daddy now. Den she closed the door, the guy droved off and left Mommy. She just smiled and waved at me. And then we droved a really long time and the guy was talking to me but I didn't un'erstand what he said real good and then we gotted here . . ."

Gus shrugged as his explanation tapered off and he looked up at the older man sitting next to him with hesitant awe. "Hey . . . Are you my daddy?"

"Noooooo! I DON'T think so, kid!" Brian immediately insisted, jumping up off the barstool, waving his hands and taking a couple steps backwards in disgust at the very idea of fatherhood. "I'm gay."

The little man just sat there, his face screwed up in confusion and sadness, obviously not understanding the term ‘gay' or why this man was so adamant about NOT being his father.

"Damn it! It doesn't matter. We'll figure it out tomorrow. Can you be a tough little guy until then?"

Gus nodded and made a face that Brian supposed meant he was tough.

.:G:. .:G:. .:G:. .:G:. .:G:.