"Mom," Justin said into the phone, his voice broken like a dropped china plate. "I need you. I did something terrible, and if bad things happen because of it, I think I might kill myself. I'm serious. I'll have no choice. I'm so fucking scared right now. I've never been so scared in my life . . . please, I need you."

"Justin, sweetie, where are you, honey?"

Justin closed his eyes. He'd never so appreciated his mom's concerned, loving voice. Maybe he was being a child - no scratch "maybe" - he wasbeing a child. But all he wanted at that moment was to be in her arms, clinging to her like the little boy he once was - and felt like again, helpless, afraid and in desperate need of comfort.

If they survived, Justin knew the twins would one day feel the same about him. Even though Brian was the one who carried and gave birth to them, Justin just knew that he'd be their "mom," and when things looked the most hopeless and they were in despair, they'd always come running into his arms - no matter if they were five or fifty - and he would love and protect them as fiercely as his mom loved and protected him.

"The hospital," he said and heard her breath catch. "It's okay," he continued. "Well, actually it's not okay, but it's Brian, not me. Please, mom. Get here as soon as you can. I'm in the emergency wing's waiting room."

"I'm leaving right now," she replied and hung up. He could picture her dropping whatever it was she'd been doing, grabbing her purse and keys, and running out the door. He knew because he'd seen her do the same thing when Molly needed her.

Justin couldn't sit down; he was too agitated and restless. What was going on with Brian? Thank God, Dr. Bernstein had told the critical care doctors about the twins or they might've inadvertently hurt or killed them - after all, who expects a man coming to the emergency room to be pregnant?

"They took it completely in-stride," Dr. Bernstein marveled.

"But you're going to be in there with them, right?" Justin asked. The thought of Brian being separated from his treating physician was upsetting. "He needs you."

"I'd just be in everyone's way," Dr. Bernstein replied. "But I'm not leaving the hospital."

"Do you know anything?" Justin asked, trying to keep from grabbing Dr. Bernstein's shoulders and shaking the information out of him like pennies from a piggybank. No one had come out to talk to him. He was actually starting to wonder if anyone would. How would they know he was Brian's partner and the father of the babies? It wasn't like he could walk up to the nurses' station and explain the situation. He could just imagine it. Hi, the man in the emergency room is pregnant with twins, and I'm the one who knocked him up (and then tried to kill him). Can you please have someone come out and tell me what's going on?

"Not yet," Dr. Bernstein replied.

Just that moment, Justin saw his mom come running through the doors. She didn't even acknowledge Dr. Bernstein's presence and went straight to Justin. He threw himself into her embrace and started sobbing the tears he'd kept prisoner until they could broke free now that he was in his mother's arms.

"I'm going to sit in the doctor's lounge," Dr. Bernstein said, letting mother and son be alone - well as much as someone can be alone in a busy waiting room.

His mom cupped the back of his head and just let him cry it out for as long as he needed. When his sobs turned into hic-cups and sniffles, she led him over to a quiet corner and sat down. He sat down beside her. She took his hand, never losing physical contact, and waited for him to speak.

Finally, Justin could catch his breath long enough to start talking.

"Brian's unconscious," he said.

"What happened?" his mom asked.

"We . . . we got into an argument that turned into a fight."

She didn't say anything and merely nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

"I . . . well, basically, I tackled him with my head in his stomach, and he fell down . . ."

His hic-cups turned into sobs again. His mom took his other hand and waited quietly until he was ready to resume talking.

"I hit him really hard," he said after a couple of minutes. There were tears and snots all over his face, and his sleeve was already too damp to wipe them away. His mom reached into her purse and pulled out a little package of Kleenex. She handed it to him, and he blew his nose. It was nice to be able to breathe again.

"He was in a lot of pain," he said.

"But it seems like a relatively benign thing," his mom said. "Lots of people get tackled. I mean, look at all those football players you see on T.V."

Justin bit his lip - hard - and looked away. He needed to tell her. Yes, it was Brian who'd been revealing his pregnancy to people, but Justin was going to have a breakdown if he couldn't talk to his mom. He took another deep deep breath.

"The thing is," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "The thing that makes it so terrible is that Brian is two months pregnant - with twins. I hit him right in the stomach. You should've seen him . . ." Justin started to cry again. "He was rolling around, screaming in pain."

He turned his head to look at his mom. She looked stunned; her mouth was even hanging open.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Can you say that all again? All I heard was that Brian is pregnant."

Justin nodded. "It's true . . . at least I hope it's still true. I might've killed one or both of the babies! The doctors could be removing them right now and throwing them away in the garbage! If he survives, Brian will never forgive me. He might even try to kill me, and I wouldn't blame him."

His mom was silent. Her hands had loosened their grip on his. She was obviously in shock.

"I need you to believe what I'm saying," he pleaded with her. "If everything turns out okay, I'll explain everything - I'll even get Dr. Bernstein and the critical care doctors to talk to you. But right now, Brian and the babies' lives may be on the line. Please help me through this! They're my babies. I'm their father, and you're their grandmother. Please think of them - you can yell at me until the cows come home later - if everything turns out okay - but right now you have to believe me! Please, mom!"

She swallowed. Her face was pale and looked lined and older than her years. He'd never seen her so pale, even when he'd been having his terrible nightmares after the bashing. He squeezed her hands hard and didn't let go.

Suddenly she shook her head as though she was surfacing from a long, bewildering daydream.

"Oh, sweetie!" she cried. "Justin! It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay. Brian is as tough as they come. Look how he stopped drinking and smoking overnight! And now I know why. At the time, it had seemed strange . . . but not now. He did it for . . . for the babies."

Justin released her hands and threw his arms around her neck. "Thank you, he said.

She stroked his hair. "Don't you know I'd do anything for you?" she said. "I'm your mother, and you're my baby, and you will always come first. Have you heard anything?"

Justin shook his head. "Not yet."

"Do . . . do the doctors know that Brian . . . that he's pregnant?"

"Yeah. Dr. Bernstein told them, and I hope to God he told him that, if possible, Brian wants the babies to be saved . . . no matter what."

His mom drew a short, surprised breath. "He said that? Brian is actually willing to sacrifice himself if need be? My God! He must be pregnant!"

Justin pulled away and frowned at her questioningly. "Well, yeah, he is, but why does that matter so much?"

His mom's eyes filled with tears. She reached out and cupped his cheek. "Because that's what happens when you're pregnant," she said. "Your own well-being is secondary to the baby's - well, in this case, babies. He's aware of them in a way that's impossible for you to understand. There aren't words to describe it. Only women - uhm, I mean ‘people' who've been pregnant can understand what I'm saying. It's like . . . it's as though your life has become both more important and less so at the same time. More important because your life, your survival, is essential to the baby . . . babies, I mean. Brian is fighting right now with everything he has, with every fiber of his being, to stay alive and healthy for his babies. But your life is also less important because now you cannot live for yourself alone. Your goals and desires have to yield to the needs of the baby. Brian is learning that, and, God, I never would've believed he could do it except for the fact I was one of the people watching over him while he detoxed. He did that for his babies. He'll do anything for his babies, just you wait and see."

There was a lump in Justin's throat ; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't dislodge it.

"Does that mean he'll leave me?" he asked. "I've demonstrated loud and clear that the babies aren't safe when I'm around . . ."

"Oh that is ridiculous," his mom said fiercely. "You are their father. Maybe you're experiencing things that are different from Brian's experiences, but my bet is that you'd lay down your life for both him and the babies. I know you, Justin. I've known you since you, yourself, were in my womb. For God's sake, don't start doubting yourself . . ."

"But I hurt him!" Justin cried. "I may've hurt the babies! In fact, I was so mad at Brian when I hit him that I'd forgotten they even existed! It was as though my brain shut off and all I could feel was anger at him! That could happen again!"

His mom reached out and grabbed his chin, giving it a stern, little shake. "Don't go down that road unless you need to. My guess is that if Brian and the babies come out of this whole thing unscathed, he's going to be so happy and relieved that all will be forgotten and forgiven, because there's another thing about being pregnant - there's a strong, primal need to keep the father nearby. Pregnancy makes people vulnerable. Brian needs you to stand beside him, to protect him and the babies . . ."

Justin leapt up from his chair. "Don't you think I know that?" he said wildly. "That's why what I did is unforgivable!"

His mom reached out and took his hand. "The only one who can call your actions unforgivable is Brian. If he forgives you, you must forgive yourself. He'll forgive you - I know he will because he knows that not forgiving you is not in his babies' best interest. He will forgive you and when he does, you have to forgive yourself. Beating yourself up can only make things worse . . ."

Their conversation was interrupted when Dr. Bernstein trotted over to them.

"Good news," he said breathlessly. Everything's okay. The babies are both still alive. A surgeon performed the operation that allowed the exposure of the ‘uterus' where they live to ascertain that they'd survived. I was actually able to touch and feel them through the uterine wall! They're a little larger than grapes. It was amazing! I have to confess that I'd felt a certain amount of disbelief despite all the obvious signs of pregnancy, but no more. Being a scientist, I am loath to call events ‘miraculous,' but this one truly is. What's happening in Brian's body is a Goddamn miracle!"

Justin was greatly relieved, but there were still important questions that needed answers.

"How is Brian? Is he going to be alright? And, okay, the babies are alive, but have they been injured or impacted in any way?"

Dr. Bernstein's smile faltered. "There's no way to answer that question until we can do an ultrasound, and it's way too early. There was discussion about actually opening their enclosure and examining them directly, but it was agreed that that was far too dangerous for them. They're very fragile, and they'd already endured too much trauma . . ."

Justin turned away and went over to the window where he stood looking out blindly at a lit parking lot. He wanted to bang his head against the glass until he'd finished Hobbs' work and bashed his brains out. ‘Trauma!' Dr. Bernstein said the babies had been traumatized! And now Brian had a scar! And it was because of him! He hated himself! With all of his heart, he just wanted to die. God knows, he deserved to!

His mom intuited what he was thinking and came over to wrap her arms around him from behind while he broke down again. Oh God, what if the babies were injured and in pain?! The thought was unbearable, and it was even more unbearable because, after what his mom had told him, Brian probably would be able to feel their pain, and it would drive him mad.

"I . . . I think I need to be admitted to the psych ward," he said, his voice quiet but not halting, sure of the rightness of his decision. "I'm worried that I might kill myself . . . I can't bear what I'm feeling right now . . . I literally can't bear it."

His mom rested her cheek against his shoulder and started silently crying. "Okay," she said. "If that's what you feel like you need, we'll make it happen." She must've signaled for Dr. Bernstein because suddenly he was there, and his mom was telling him what Justin had just said. He didn't turn away from the window to look at the doctor, but he heard him tell his mom that he'd been about to suggest the same thing, that the stress was overwhelming and would be for even the strongest person, let alone a nineteen year-old!. He said he'd personally make sure that Justin was seen by the most skilled psychiatrists.

"What's going to happen?" Justin asked.

"You're going to be placed in a safe lockdown environment where there's nothing you could use to hurt yourself," Dr. Bernstein told him. "And I imagine they'll probably sedate you until they think you've stopped having active suicidal ideations. Once they stop the sedatives, they'll assess what should happen next."

"I feel so weak," Justin said brokenly.

"You're not weak," Dr. Bernstein said fiercely. "You're traumatized - anyone in your shoes would be - and if we don't address this right now, I fear it'll add to your serious preexisting PTSD. People who ask for help are the bravest people there are. You're being very wise and brave, and you're doing the best possible thing for Brian and the babies. They need you to be as healthy and strong as you can be; the months ahead are not going to be easy for all three of them. Now let's get a psychiatric assistant down here."

Everything after that was a blur as Justin surrendered his pain and fear and unbearable guilt into the hands of the professionals. The relief from the burden felt like survival. He was taken to a private room and sat down on the bed while a doctor injected a sedative, which took effect almost instantaneous.

Justin fell into the unequaled blessing of a dreamless sleep.

On his fourth day in the psychiatric ward (where he was either asleep or in private therapy sessions), Dr. Bernstein came to ask if Justin felt well enough to visit Brian.

The thought rode a wave of horror - both for (and at) himself and the whole situation - but it was time. Even though everyone was telling him that he wasn't hiding, he felt like he was. He felt like he'd been evading responsibility.

Brian was sitting up surfing T.V. channels when Justin walked slowly and gingerly into his room. He looked pale but otherwise fine. Was Brian going to think less of him for admitting himself? Justin knew he thought therapy was a load of shit.

"Hey, Sunshine," he said as though Justin had been at classes and just walked through the door of the loft. "Heard you're staring in a remake of ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.' A little drama-queen-esque, don't you think? Did they give you any fun drugs?"

Justin smiled and sat down on the chair beside his bed. "Not really," he said cautiously, not daring to hope that Brian actually meant the casual, insouciant tone he was using. "They just made me sleep a lot. What're you watching?"

"Nothing. It's all total shit, and I'm bored out of my fucking mind."

"When are they saying you can go home?"

"Tomorrow, thank fucking God."

"That's good," Justin replied. The one hundred million dollar question was whether Justin would be accompanying him.

"So they gonna spring you from your padded room? I really need a blow-job."

Justin started to laugh and then couldn't stop.

"Jesus," Brian said. "They're obviously given you something more fun than Haldol up there."

"It was Risperdal," Justin said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "But that's not why I'm laughing."

"Really?" Brian said, continuing to channel surf and not looking at him. "They gave me Haldol."

Justin's breath caught.

"Why were you given Haldol?"

Brian shrugged. He still hadn't looked at him.

"Kinda lost it one night when I was sixteen. Trashed my bedroom and threatened Jack with a knife - or at least that's what I was told. I have no memory of it. They put me in a straitjacket and pumped me full of Haldol until I was fit to be returned to the bosom of my loving family."

Jesus fucking Christ!

Justin didn't know how the respond; he never did when Brian revealed an occasional nugget of information about his childhood. So, he remained silent, hoping it conveyed his unwavering acceptance and support.

Brian didn't look at him, but he did move to place his hand on his belly. "Hope I don't turn out like fucking Jack Kinney," he said.

"You won't," Justin said fiercely. "Brian, you're not . . ."

Brian held up the hand that wasn't resting on his belly. "Don't say anything if the only thing you can think of to say is ‘of course, you won't be like your father, Brian!'" He mimicked a simpering voice. "You don't know that . . . and neither do I."

"Can I at least say that it's good that you're aware of the possibility?"

Brian turned to look at him. "Yeah," he said. "You can say that," he said. "C'mere."

Justin stood and approached the bed. Brian took his hand and replaced the hand on his belly with Justin's. Justin fought a valiant - and this time - successful war against tears.

"Bernstein told me he got to see them when the surgeons slit me open . . . well, almost. He said he saw two little bumps and even touched them. They could hear their heartbeats. I wish they let you into the room so you could hear them too and tell me about it."

Brian fell quiet and turned to look back at the T.V. "They're not injured," he said, his voice calm and even as though he was stating the obvious fact that the earth circles the sun.

"How do you know?" Justin whispered, not wanting to awake the side of Brian that would treat his question glibly in a thinly disguised ‘fuck you.'

Brian shrugged. "I just know," he said, "and don't fucking ask me how. And as for your worry that they're in pain, they're not. I've been assured by multiple doctors that they can't feel pain until the twenty-eighth week, and they're only nine weeks old. Although even so, they're chatty little fuckers. Been keeping me awake at night."

Justin boggled at him, and Brian smirked.

"You'll never know if I'm full of shit," he said smugly. The fact seemed to make him oddly happy even though it was kind of a dickish thing to say. But whatever. If something made Brian happy, even taunting Justin, then Justin was fine with it. He leaned down and kissed Brian's belly through the blanket.

"Fuck that," Brian said. He threw aside the blanket and sheet and opened his hospital gown. Justin gasped at the stapled wound that eclipsed Brian's delicious happy trail. It was his fault!

"Stop being a twat," Brian said, "and give the little buggers a kiss."

Justin chuckled and then proceeded to kiss every inch of Brian's teeny tiny baby bump.

Later he'd cry by himself with relief and gratitude that Brian had clearly forgiven him, but right at that moment he just laughed and kissed and laughed and kissed some more. He'd never felt so relieved - or so happy - in his entire life.

To Justin's great relief, no one in the family had heard about what happened. He'd been dreading facing them - and even wondered if he'd be able to do it. But when he and Brian showed up for the following week's Sunday dinner, everything was as it always was - lots of food and people talking over each other - except for one person. Lindsay. She didn't say one single word the entire afternoon unless it involved asking for dishes or complimenting Deb's cooking. Mel kept glancing at her. It was hard to tell if she was angry or worried that her wife might suddenly have a cataclysmic meltdown. If it was, indeed, the latter, Justin would be astonished. WASPs didn't "meltdown" in public. In fact that was Rule Number One in the "How to be the WASPiest WASP You Can Be Handbook."

She was even more proper than usual, sitting straight-backed with her ankles crossed demurely. She wore a pink cardigan sweater and a tasteful necklace of delicate, uncultured pearls. Her nails were buffed and her hair was held in place by barrettes inlaid with gentle rainbow-gleaming shells. Her slacks were pressed and her brown loafers were polished. She was . . .

. . . utterly terrifying.

Justin watched her warily. Brian hadn't mentioned seeing or talking to her since the previous Sunday, so he assumed that this was the first time since then that they'd been in each other's company. Brian, himself, seemed completely unaware of anything strange - at least he seemed like he was. Justin knew that he and Lindsay had an odd relationship. Her obvious desire for Brian was the ever-present elephant in the corner, and there was simply no way an observant man like Brian couldn't see it. He was all she could see when they were together - even if they were in a crowded room - and Brian milked it shamelessly. Whenever she was present, his legs were always spread wider, his smirk was always sexier, and his eyes glinted with perpetual amusement - not at Lindsay, but for her. He was her Peter and she was his Wendy. Justin was even pretty sure they'd fucked, although when and how often, he had no clue, and Brian would never discuss it. His allegiance to Lindsay was even more ironclad than his allegiance to Michael. Justin suspected that it was because Lindsay was smarter on a bad day after taking Nyquil than Michael was on his best, smartest day ever in the history of the world.

After dessert was served and consumed and while people were having their cups of coffee, Lindsay pivoted (and ‘pivoted,' not ‘turned,' is the most apt word for her action) so that she was facing Brian who was sprawled in the arm chair, picking his teeth with a toothpick, and reading a copy of "What To Expect When You're Expecting" that Deb had given him.

Lindsay cleared her throat. Melanie almost jumped out of her skin; she was obviously very tense.

"So, Brian," Lindsay said sweetly (Justin wondered if anyone else noticed she didn't use her nickname for him). "I know it's perhaps early to be discussing this, but I would really like to throw a baby shower for you and Justin. I brought some registry catalogs; go through them and decide what you'd like and give them back to me as soon as possible, although don't forget that Mel and I still have most of Gus's things that you can borrow. "

The room fell so silent you could've heard a mouse fart. For a moment, Brian didn't look up, and Justin had a fleeting glimpse of hope that he hadn't heard her - a hope that was quickly dashed.

"Throw me a ‘baby shower,'" he said evenly, "and I will never speak to you again."

Lindsay's laugh was brittle, and the color was high on her cheekbones. How long, Justin wondered, had she been preparing for this moment. "You say that now," she said, "but wait until you're so huge that you can't see your feet or bend down to tie your shoes, oh and don't forget, you'll start lactating before the babies are born. I had to start wearing a special bra to handle the leakage."

Emmett made a retching dry-heave sound; Ted rubbed his back soothingly.

"Oh, for Christ sake," Deb said. "Brian won't need a special bra; he can just carry a washcloth with him. Smaller boobs don't leak milk as much as large ones like you and I have - or at least I've been told. I wouldn't know, of course, these babies . . ." she cupped her breasts and jiggled them ". . . were more than enough for Michael, weren't they sweetie?"

Everyone's heads turned to look at Michael. His face had frozen in a look of horror. "MA!" he screeched. "Why'd you have to tell the whole world? Christ, how would I know? I was like two weeks old or something."

Lindsay tried in vain to conceal a small gasp - or maybe the small gasp was just part of her whole well-practiced charade. "Two weeks?" she said. "You have to nurse an infant for at least six months. Certainly you're intending to nurse for six months, Brian, and if you asked me . . ."

". . . which I haven't," Brian said coldly

". . . it would be best to nurse for a year. That's what I did with Gus. And not only will it be good for the babies, it'll cement your bond with them. There's nothing in the world like the feel of a tiny, perfect, little mouth drinking from your breast. I'd never felt so at peace as I was while nursing Gus; just the knowledge that he was drinking milk from my breast - milk I'd created just for him! I'd never felt so happy to be a woman in my whole life. For the first time I felt like an earth mother goddess."

"Oh God," Emmett groaned and started to sway, his face was a pale, sickly green. "Please," he said, "for the love of Saint Joseph and all things holy, please don't say the word ‘milk' again."

Everyone except Justin had turned to look at Emmett, thankful for an excuse not to have to look at Brian, who'd locked eyes with Lindsay. Lindsay smiled sweetly at him.

"This is so exciting," she said. "I just wish you and I had been pregnant together at the same time. I would have had someone to talk to who was going through the same experience. Oh, I wanted to tell you. I started taking a wonderful class in the middle of my second trimester from a mid-wife who's been in practice for over thirty years. I'll email her contact information to you. Anyway, she believes that women should swaddle their babies against their breasts in a way that will allow the babies to feed at any time. She believes very much that modern women should look back to the ancient past when mothers didn't use schedules and time-tables to decide when to nurse their babies. They did what just came naturally, although it will be a challenge for you to swaddle because you'll have two little ones, but I think you should try it. It will help with that whole issue of leaking milk, and it will keep your milk flowing so you might not need to use a breast pump as often as you would otherwise."

"Oh God," Emmett moaned. "Why why must you torture us so?"

Lindsay turned to look at him with an innocent, wide-eyed expression. "I'm sorry, Em," she said, "but Brian needs to know these things or he won't understand what his body is doing and why. He needs to be educated, and I doubt he's been doing it on his own . . ."

Brian cleared his throat. Justin held his breath. How was Brian going to respond to Lindsay's blatant taunting? She'd never felt more like a true woman then when she breast fed Gus??? Dear God. There was nothing worse than that! Why was she doing this? Why was she so pissed off at him that she'd lecture him about breastfeeding in front of everyone like she'd done? Justin had been able to see that beneath the sweet, innocent exterior, she was clasping her hands into fists under the table and shaking almost imperceptibly. She was radiating pure, unadulterated WASP-style rage! How was Brian going to react? Was he going to get furious and call her out? Would he just stand up and walk out the door? Would he ignore her knowing that she wouldn't go any further in company and let her swing in the breeze? What was he going to do? Justin knew he wasn't the only one wondering. Lindsay most surely was too.

Brian, with exaggerated calm, put aside "What To Expect When You're Expecting," placed his tooth pick on his empty dessert plate, sat straighter in his chair and crossed his legs.

Oh shit! Justin thought. Batten down the hatches. Brian rarely crossed his legs, and when he did, it meant he was about to cut someone to ribbons. But would he really do that to Lindsay? And in front of their friends nonetheless?

Then slowly, idly he began unbuttoning his shirt. Forget fart, you could've heard a mouse blink! When he was done, he opened his shirt and slid it off his shoulders with clearly intended eroticism. God, he was so fucking beautiful! Of course, Justin already knew that, but somehow seeing Brian expose himself like that in front of a roomful of people made his body look even hotter. Every eye in the room - even Mel's - was glued to Brian's chest.

"Alright," he said with unflappability, "here's how it goes, and Sunshine can correct me if I'm wrong or miss anything: So right now, my tits are really fucking sore." He paused to trace a large circle around his right nipple that covered nearly all of his pectoral muscle. "The pain sometimes wakes me up when I roll over in bed, and God help the poor bastard that bumps into me. In fact, my chest is now off limits to tricks, which, believe me, pisses them off because my pecs have swollen and tightened as though I was a juice pig working out ten hours a day. In other words they're hot as fuck, but if someone bites or pinches my nipple, it's no blow-job for him. I zip up my jeans - well as far as I can - and walk away. Not my fucking problem; they'd been put on notice. Which isn't to say my tits are off-limits to Justin here, in fact he can suck my tits all night, and I won't ask for anything more. Makes me as horny as hell. He claims I don't yet leak colostrum, but apparently he won't have to wait too much longer. He's told me the idea that he can suck on my tits and get a mouthful is fucking hot, and how am I to deny anything to the father of my babies? Oh, and if you're wondering what colostrum is . . . Justin care to jump in."

Reading Brian seamlessly, Justin turned to look at the room with his best school-teachery expression. "Colostrum is like milk . . ."

". . . deal with it, Honeycutt," Brian cut in.

". . . and it's what the babies are going to drink for the first few weeks. It's really good for them and kick starts their immunity to disease and infection."

"Apparently it tastes sugary," Brian said, "but we're going to have to wait until Sunshine gets a mouthful for confirmation. Now back to my tits - apparently one of the reasons they're so sore is they're developing a shitload of milk ducts - you'll survive, Honeycutt. Men already have them, but they suck - pun intended - so I've got to make more; and I also have to make something call alveolar buds (ask Justin for more details - I've forgotten the details, which apparently is not uncommon when you're pregnant). And you know what's kind of cool? My tits can forecast changes in the weather; they get all tingly and prickly. And the areolas are getting bigger and darker so the babies will be able to find them more easily. Oh, and speaking of finding my tits, Sunshine dug up some pretty cool information about some funky glands at the very tips of my nipples that secrete oil to keep my nips nice and moist. Apparently, every pregnant person's tit oil smells different so my babies will know it's me. I'm just hoping my . . . Justin, what's that oil called again? . . . doesn't smell like Thai takeout."

"I can't remember the name of the oil," Justin replied, "but it's produced by the hypertrophic sebaceous glands."

"Thank, Sunshine. Am I missing anything?"

Justin merely shook his head because if he tried to speak, he would completely crack up and die laughing. Everyone's expression was different - from confused (Michael) to queasy (Emmett) to beaming and proud (Debbie) to impressed (Vic) to interested (Ted) to zenly pleased (Ben). And then there were Mel and Linds . . .

. . . Mel's mouth was literally hanging open, and her eyes were bugging out of their sockets with shock. Lindsay, however, was paler than Justin had ever seen her before. She was clearly teetering on the edge of tears; he could see her trying to swallow the lump that must be caught in her throat. No one watching her could not feel sorry for her. Her heart was breaking on CNN prime time.

Brian smirked a truly unpleasant smirk. As he slowly buttoned his shirt again, his eyes were still locked on hers as they had been the entire time he was talking. He'd done the most devastating thing he could do. He'd taken her practiced aim at his manhood and blown it away like dandelion fluff and, in doing so, proved he was very much the man he'd always been. Unflinchingly honest and cruel if he wanted to be; the Hercules to the Gordian knot of passive-aggressiveness - something that Lindsay excelled at. He'd basically warned her not to fuck with him about his pregnancy, and made it clear that if she did, their long friendship was over. Forever.

Brian stretched and yawned loudly. "My sore tits and I are tired. Being a dude growing two babies with a weird, makeshift uterus is hard work. Ready, Sunshine? Grab the leftovers that Deb's kindly packed for us, and I'll bring the Jeep around. See everyone at the diner sometime this week - I have a craving for super greasy fries these days so I'm sure to bump into you. Linds, give Gus a kiss from me . . . and don't ever ever do something like that again."

When he walked out the door, Lindsay broke down in hitching sobs. Justin would've tried to comfort her, but he still wasn't sure he understood what had gone on. She was clearly deeply hurt and angry but over what and why, he had no clue. And from the hate-filled glare she leveled on him it appeared that he fit in the whole picture as well.