The night before he was to conduct some kind of huge, daylong schmoozeathon with some prospective big-wig client or another, Brian had a meltdown.

First, he paced. Walk-stop-turn-walk-stop-turn-walk-stop-turn. Then he sat down on the edge of the sofa with his back straight and his hands on his thighs, staring into the middle distance. Then he started pacing again. Justin could feel the tension crackling through the loft, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end - and was that ozone he smelled? Then, in mid-pace, Brian froze, lay down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, splayed out as though he was making a snow angel in the rug. Justin tried to talk to him but received no response. Brian was catatonic; he didn't even seem to be blinking. And then, with no prior warning, Brian rolled onto his side, curled into a ball of misery and started to cry. Justin quickly realized that he was totally unequipped to deal with the situation.

What to do??

Should Justin approach him and try to calm him? He hoped not. The prospect was scary. Should he put on some soothing music and cover Brian with a blanket? Should he rub Brian's feet? Should he try to distract Brian with the smell of one of the foods he was currently craving? Should he pretend nothing unusual was happening and do his homework? Should he leave so Brian could meltdown without an audience? He honestly had no clue.

He went out into the stairwell and called Deb.

"Hey there, Sunshine!" she yelled.

"Ssshh," he whispered. "Can you keep it down?"

"What's going on?" she asked, suddenly sober.

"I don't know," Justin whispered. "Brian is freaking out, and I have no idea what's wrong. I'm really worried."

Deb started cackling. "I'll tell you what's wrong," she said. "Nothing."

"But you don't understand!" he whisper-yelled. "He was pacing, then he was catatonic and now he's crying. Deb, Brian is crying! I didn't even know he could cry."

"Hormones," Deb said. "That's all."

That's all?

"Does he have something stressful coming up?"

"Well, he's got to do some kind of schmoozy presentation-thingie at work tomorrow, but I don't see what the big deal is. I don't think it's any different from every other schmoozy presentation-thingie he's done."

"What's different," Deb said, "is that pregnancy hormones are coursing through his veins and turning EVERYTHING INTO WHOA-BIG-HUGE DRAMA! Poor kid. I feel sorry for him." She cackled again, not sounding sorry at all.

"So what should I do?"

"Beats me. Something that doesn't turn him into a homicidal maniac would be a good start - and, most importantly, something that doesn't sound like you're making fun of him. Hormones or not, he feels what he feels. Make fun of him and you're in deep shit-a-roo."

"What about . . . uhm . . . just leaving him alone . . . or you could come over . . ."

"Oh no, you don't, Sunshine!" she said. "No running away! You've got to stop that!"

"But what if . . . Deb, he's going to rip my head off."

"Yes, he may. But I think the Big Bad's gonna really start surprising you, and this may be one of those times. Now go in there and do your baby-daddy duty!"

She hung up. Justin took a deep breath and went back inside.

Brian was still crying - he wasn't making any noise, but his shoulders were shaking. Justin sat down beside him and rested his hand on Brian's side.

"Wanna talk?" he asked very quietly. It felt like asking the abominable snow monster if he'd like a hot bath and a mug of hot chocolate. He braced himself, repeating in his mind over and over that whatever Brian said or did wasn't personal, but it was little comfort. And then . . .

. . . Brian uncurled, blinked up at Justin with puffy eyes . . . and nodded.

Justin had a brief out of body experience - Deb wasn't kidding when she said Brian would start surprising him. Never, in the history of the world, had Brian wanted to "talk."

"What's going on?" Justin asked, smoothing Brian's hair off his forehead. "Tell me."

"I can't do it," Brian said. "I can't handle this client tomorrow. I've been practicing the presentation, and it's for shit. I keep stumbling over my words and forgetting stuff. I'm going to be asked questions I won't know the answers to and make myself look like a complete fuck-up in front of everyone. When they step out of the room for a break, they're going to all roll their eyes and be, like, ‘Wow, I thought Kinney was supposed to be amazing. What a letdown.' And then I'll take them to lunch and I won't know what to say and there are going to be a lot of fucking awkward silences that I won't know how to fill, and I won't be able to drink to make the whole thing more bearable. And you know what? I'll fucking deserve it. I've been wearing the fucking emperor's crown for years, thinking I'm so fucking great. It's Karma. Pride before the fall and all that shit. My ‘get out of jail free card' has expired. God, I can't think straight; I can't remember shit. I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm even tripping over my own feet! I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. Fuck - I'm going to call in sick, that's what I'm going to do. I feel like a failure, a fraud - a fucking bad joke. Have people been laughing behind my back all these years? Have I been a fucking punch line at Woody's? Am I a charity fuck . . . ?"

Justin had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing - of all the bat-shit stuff Brian had said, the "charity fuck" remark was hands-down the bat-shittiest of them all!

" . . . All my life I've acted like I'm the best fucking thing since sliced bread. I've looked down my nose at everyone. Everyone is a disappointing idiot in one way or another. I don't respect my clients; I don't respect my tricks . . . shit, I don't even respect my friends! Why the fuck haven't you guys dumped my ass or do you keep me around for the sake of amusement - ‘Oh, here's Kinney again; what predictably dickish thing is he going to say today?' Am I a fucking clown? A fucking sideshow? And here I've been thinking I'm the shit and instead I've been walking around with fucking toilet paper stuck to the sole of my shoe. And what the fuck are you doing here? Why haven't you found someone better - someone who treats you better and hasn't made a career out of being a fucking asshole? Or maybe you have, and I just don't know about it? Maybe you're fucking some fellow artist . . . or that guy who gave you that fucking CD that you were playing over and fucking over before we went to Vermont. I'm not an idiot - I may be a fucking joke, but I'm not an idiot. And now what? You've barely turned nineteen and you're saddled with a fucking nutcase who's probably going to lose his job and two fucking babies. There's your life shot to shit in the time it took you to shoot your load up my ass. Will I blame you when you leave? How can I? You'll just be saving your ass from a fucking lifetime of dirty diapers and soccer practices. You really want to be twenty nine with a fucking ten year-old - no, scratch that - two fucking ten year-olds? And what'll I be? In my fucking forties doing ads for juice boxes or dish detergent or some such shit because I suck and everyone knows it and I'm going to fuck up royally tomorrow and blow landing this account. How will I be able to hold my head up at the office? I treat the guys in the art department like shit; they're not going to take pity on me, they're going to rip me to shreds. They'll be laughing, and I'll walk in, and everyone will go silent, and they'll be looking down and biting their lips. And everyone's going to say I had it coming, and I did. I should just fucking quit. It'd be better than getting fired."

He started to cry again. Justin was at a complete loss as to what to say. At least eighty-five percent of what Brian had said was nonsense; the rest was true, but he was never going to be called onto the carpet for it. He was Brian Kinney. He'd always be worshipped and despised in equal measure. Coveted and reviled - often by the same people at the same time.

"I thought you didn't believe in Karma," Justin said.

Brian sniffled; Justin had managed to distract him momentarily.

"I didn't until it kicked me in the ass."

"Have you considered the possibility that your worries are all illusions created by pregnancy hormones?"

"And what if that's true? It doesn't change the fact that it's how I feel. You don't understand, Justin. Hormones or not, it's all an illusion. It's all smoke and mirrors, advertising, I mean. I'm trying to sell something to someone who's trying to sale something to someone else. It's like my whole life - nothing but illusions. Nothing but cheap tricks and sleights of hand - and relying on the audience to be distracted by shiny things like my clothes, my face, my body. What'll happen when I'm not shiny anymore?"

Justin wanted to assure him that he'd always be shiny, but stopped himself in time. The remark was glib . . . and untrue, and Brian would see through it.

"The babies aren't an illusion," he said. "They are shiny, but they're not an illusion."

Brian had been looking away while he was talking. At the mention of the twins, his gaze reconnected with Justin's. How was Brian going to respond? Was he going to say that the babies were an illusion too? Any conversation stemming from a statement like that was certain to suck . . . a lot.

Brian was quiet for a long time.

"No," he said after a minute, his voice steady. "The babies aren't an illusion."

Justin smiled at him. "See," he said. "Not everything is smoke and mirrors."

Brian's hand moved to his belly as it did every time anyone mentioned the twins. Justin supposed it was instinctive at this point.

"And we're not an illusion," Justin added, aware he was starting to tread on thin ice.

Brian didn't say anything. Justin supposed it was better than denying it.

"I think it might help if we had sex," Brian said earnestly as though he'd said they should order takeout. It was the same tone of voice.

"Okay," Justin said cautiously.

"And I think it would help if you topped."

"Okay," Justin replied even more cautiously. "Here or in bed?"

"Here."

They got undressed slowly, even taking time to fold his clothes. When they were naked, Justin noticed that neither of them was fully hard.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked.

Brian nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"On your front or back?"

"Front."

"Okay."

Brian rolled over onto his stomach and spread his legs. Justin started getting hard as it started to fully dawned on him that he was going to be fucking Brian. They hadn't switched since the night the twins were conceived.

"Are you hard?" he asked.

Brian shook his head. "Not all the way, but I will be. Don't worry about it. I'm not doing this for an orgasm. I just want to be able to think of something other than all this shit clogging my head and making me crazy."

"Can I rim you or do you just want lube so we can get on with it?"

"Lube. There's a tube under the sofa cushion."

Justin laughed. "You think I don't know that?"

"Condoms, too."

"I knew that as well."

"Aren't you clever? A gold star for Mr. Taylor."

Justin laughed again as he opened the packet and slipped the condom on his dick. He then squirted some KY on his fingers and massaged it into Brian's opening.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice rough. He couldn't wait to sheath his cock in Brian's body. They may not be having sex for sex's sake, but that didn't change the fact that Brian was offering himself to be taken.

"Ready," Brian replied. "Just go slow. Your cock is the biggest thing I've had in my ass since the stork brought the babies. Fucking bird."

Justin chuckled. "You don't mean that."

Brian didn't reply for a moment.

"Yeah," he said very quietly. "You're right. Now get on with it."

Justin entered him gradually, relishing the way Brian's body tensed and squeezed before relaxing.

"Go for as long as you can," Brian said.

Justin tried a couple different rhythms and finally settled on one that made Brian groan with pleasure but wouldn't push either of them over the edge. Slow and very deep, and then about four or five quick thrusts during which he didn't pull out more than a couple inches - more a kind of pumping than an actual thrust.

"Good?" he asked.

"Good," Brian replied.

They made love like that for a long time until Justin couldn't take it any longer.

"I need to come," he whispered against Brian's ear.

Brian nodded and pushed himself up onto his knees and forearms.

"Just be careful," he said.

"It won't take long," Justin gasped and began thrusting in a way that was going to get him off as quickly as possible. At the first hint of contractions, he yanked Brian's hips back and came deep inside him.

"Don't pull out yet," Brain said hoarsely and started to fuck himself. The previous two times he'd bottomed, he'd done it hard and fast, but not this time. He didn't go as slowly as they'd been going, but nonetheless the pace was anything but Kinney-esque. After a couple of minutes, his body shuddered, and he came with a broken, sex-saturated sound that made Justin's eyes roll back with sheer lust. Maybe they hadn't fucked like they usually did, but it was hot all the same. It was nice to take the time to really do it right.

Brian flopped onto the floor, and Justin lay down on top of him, kissing his neck and shoulders.

"I think I can sleep now," Brian yawned even though it was only nine o'clock. "Losing all faith in yourself is exhausting."

Justin pulled out of him and rolled onto his side.

"Thanks," Brian said. He stood up and stretched. "That was exactly what I needed."

Justin watched him walk up the stairs and in a minute heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on. He rolled onto his back and smiled up at the ceiling. Yes, indeed, the Big Bad had surprised him, alright.

The next day, Brian won the account just as Justin knew he would . . .

. . . but then later that night, at the fancy restaurant where they'd gone to celebrate, Brian flipped out at the waiter for no apparent reason and flounced out of the restaurant leaving Justin behind feeling mortified and wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Doctor Bernstein was thrilled with Brian's hormone levels. Bastard. He didn't have to live with Brian. Mostly the whole hormone thing made Brian volatile, but then again he was volatile even before he got pregnant, so it was sometimes hard to tell what were the hormones and what was just Brian being Brian. The hormones were like gas that'd been thrown on an already raging brushfire. It was impossible to distinguish liquid from flame.

Depending on the weather or the alignment of the fucking stars or whatever, Brian could be clingy and needy or downright despicable. He cried a lot and yelled a lot, often at the same time. Nobody could do anything right. The housecleaner Brian had been using for seven years just up and quit and couldn't be bribed to return even for twice her salary. One morning at the diner, Brian shocked everyone present by throwing his newspaper across the room and bellowing about some plot the crossword-puzzle creators had manufactured to torture him, Brian, personally. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, IT'S PLATO'S CAVE, NOT PLATO'S GROTTO! I HATE YOU!! BRING IT ON, MOTHERFUCKERS! I CAN DO YOUR LAME-ASS CROSSWORD PUZZLE IN PEN ANY DAY OF THE WEEK - AND IN PERMENANT INK TOO, YOU DICKLESS TWATS!!" Someone later asked Justin if he thought Brian was going to turn into the next Unabomber. Justin replied that he didn't think so but he wasn't entirely sure.

But Justin preferred the loud, paranoid maniac Brian to the Brian that clung to him like a baby sloth to its mother. That was the most disconcerting Brian of them all. Where was Justin going? When would Justin be back? Who was Justin going to be with? What was Justin going to do? Were there hot guys where Justin was going? Did they want to get in Justin's pants? Were the guys hotter than he, Brian, was? Was Justin going to fuck them? And, if not, did Justin want to? Was Justin still in love with him, Brian? Did Justin still want him, Brian, even though he, Brian, was starting to get "all fat and ugly"? Did Justin jerk off to the thought of other guys? Did Justin look at porn while he, Brian, slept? Why? Why did Justin feel like he needed porn? Wasn't he, Brian, good enough? Why did it take so long for Justin to come last night? Had Justin been with someone else earlier or was he, Brian, just too disgusting? Was Justin going to leave him, Brian? How could he, Brian, know Justin was telling the truth when Justin said he wasn't? Would Justin call him, Brian, on the hour, every hour? Why not? Class? Bullshit, Justin was seeing someone and didn't want to stop fucking long enough to call HIS PREGNANT BOYFRIEND WHO WAS FREAKING OUT!!!

During the "Baby Sloth" times, as Justin had come to think of them, nothing he could say could allay Brian's fears. Brian was convinced he was bloated and hideous and that Justin only fucked him because he felt sorry for him even though just the thought of Brian's baby bump drove Justin out of his fucking mind with lust. Brian was thinking Justin jerked off to the thought of other guys - he couldn't be more wrong. It's true, Justin wasconstantly jerking off these days, but he sure as hell wasn't thinking of other guys! He was picturing his and Brian's fuck the night before - Brian's skin, salty and sweat-slicked, the swell of his belly made all the more evident when he arched his back, straining for his release. Justin was actually a little bit embarrassed by how obsessed he was with Brian's growing belly. Just thinking about it gave him a hard-on, which meant he was spending a lot of time in the men's rooms at school jerking off like a fifteen year-old. God, he'd never even imagined being so turned on. If he looked at porn when Brian went to bed at ten o'clock it was so he wouldn't wake Brian up every half an hour needing a fuck. He'd always wanted Brian, but now ‘wanting' had inched into the realm of ‘needing.' If he could do nothing but fuck Brian every minute of the day, it still wouldn't be enough to sate him!

But Brian, his beautiful, brave, sexy-as-hell, hormone-addled Brian, could simply not be convinced, and he was hurting terribly because of it. It was driving Justin insane! Brian's perceptions were so fucked up, it was beyond belief, which was why Justin knew he needed to be extra careful. For instance, he never danced with other guys at Babylon, let alone go to the backroom with them like he sometimes used to. In fact, he never left Brian's side and never even looked at other guys, let alone speak to them. And he was constantly touching Brian. He laid his head against Brian's shoulder or stuck his hand in Brian's back pocket or rested it on Brian's lower back. Every chance he got, he kissed Brian's mouth, either a quick peck or a long, complicated, tongue-filled kiss. He tucked Brian's hair behind his ear and straightened the collar of Brian's shirt. He insinuated himself between Brian's legs when they were at the bar and listened avidly to anything Brian whispered in his ear. Then he'd pull Brian onto the dance floor if he saw Brian's gaze lingering longingly on the bottles of booze, and if he felt Brian get hard, he took the lead to the backroom where he sucked Brian's cock so loudly and messily, humming and moaning, that people around them asked for Justin's number. "Sorry, boys," he told them. "I'm a one-cock man." Seeing as said man was Brian Kinney, no one argued with him. They just nodded their acknowledgement that Justin was OFF LIMITS IN ALL CAPS! Justin loved being off limits. He'd wanted to be off limits since the first moment he laid eyes on Brian.

I love you, Justin told Brian over and over and over at every chance he got. I love us. I love the babies you're so courageously carrying. You're the only man I want - the only man I can even see. Stop worrying; stop hurting, Brian. It's so unnecessary, and it breaks my heart.

Brian would smile a tentative smile, and Justin would drag him off to bed - or to whatever handy location was available - for a mind-blowing blow-job. He'd found that using sex to distract Brian was the most surefire means of soothing Brian's ever-present anxiety.

Christ, he kept telling Dr. Bernstein. This hormone thing seems really counterproductive. There's no way that Brian's constant stress can be good for the babies.

Doctor Bernstein would merely shrug. Tis not our place to question why, he'd say.

It was a very unsatisfying answer.

After a while, things seemed to be improving . . . and then came the opening night gala at PIFA for an exhibit featuring that school year's exemplary student works. Five of Justin's drawings had been chosen. It was more pieces than any other freshman was exhibiting. Justin was extremely proud and invited his families - both blood and adopted - to attend. (Of course his father didn't even bother to acknowledge the invitation.) And his drawings weren't the only things he wanted to exhibit: none of his art school peers had ever seen Brian, and Justin was dying to show him off. Pregnant or not, Brian was going to be the most beautiful man there by a longshot.

The evening rode the coattails of the last week of Brian's first trimester, and his pregnancy was definitely starting to show. People who didn't know him might not notice, but Justin and the family certainly did. Every time Brian was around, everyone's gaze kept flitting back-and-forth between his eyes and his belly. Everyone was curious and excited, although Brian pretended not to notice. If he acknowledged their inquisitiveness, he'd feel the need to get annoyed, and Justin sensed that he didn't want to. Brian needed the family right now, and he knew it - if not consciously than somewhere in his belly - the same place where the babies lived and were growing despite the fact that every law of nature was hostile to them and dead set against their very existence.

Just thinking of things in those terms brought tears to Justin's eyes. His little ones were kicking Nature's ass - not a small feat for tiny, fragile creatures the size of plums!

Brian felt most comfortable in jeans, and Justin assured him it wouldn't be a problem if he wore jeans to the gala (not that Brian gave a shit.) Brian was using the dreaded "Belly Band" so he was still able to wear all his own pants - it was his shirts that were starting to be a problem. After another couple of weeks, Brian was going to have a hard time with button-up shirts unless he shed his pride and wore badly fitting ones. Justin just assumed that, like all the other bridges, they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

Black was the color Brian chose for the evening - a choice Emmett applauded when he saw him. Black jeans and a shimmery, black, silk shirt that didn't need to be tucked in. It wasn't sleeveless, but the sleeves were short enough that after looking at Brian's face, a person's gaze would travel naturally to his arms - a sublime sight upon which one's gaze could linger for hours before turning to look at Brian's abdomen and chest . . . and lower.

"You look stunning," Emmett said, examining Brian from his artfully mussed hair to the tips of his new Prada boots. "And my God, I love those boots," Emmett gushed. "You look like you're ready to ride the range . . . and Justin, too, of course."

Brian rolled his eyes, but Justin could tell he was pleased with Emmett's remarks. As much as Brian was trying to hide it, he was scared to death of looking pregnant. It was going to be tough on him when he could no longer conceal his condition.

Justin looked around. Everyone he loved was there . . . except his father. He squeezed his eyes shut on welling tears, and his mom placed a hand on his arm. God, it was amazing how she could read him! He prayed he'd be at least half as clairvoyant with the twins.

"Let it go," she whispered in his ear. "It's his loss, Justin. Not yours. Feel proud tonight. You've accomplished so much . . . even if you didn't intend to," she added with a nod at Brian's belly.

He smiled at her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You're going to be an awesome grandmother," he said.

"I hope so," she said with a small smile. "Although I so do wish this could've been planned and come ten years from now - I'd so wanted you to find and live your own life - but then again these things don't always comply with timetables. In fact, you, sweetie, were a surprise, so I know from firsthand experience that surprises can turn into the greatest blessings you'll ever have in your life."

He kissed her cheek and then went to Brian, grinning happily when Brian put his arms around Justin's waist and rested his chin on the top of Justin's head. He supposed it was an analogy for his life - he'd gone straight from his parents to Brian. Would he miss out on a life that included the knowledge of solitude? Who knew? And, at this point, who cared?

Daphne came flitting over in a pretty dress with butterflies all over it. She kissed Justin's cheek. "Congratulations," she said, and then took his arm and pulled him aside.

"That guy Ethan is here," she whispered.

Justin glanced in the direction her eyes indicted. She was right. There was Ethan. Great. Just great. But then why should Justin give a shit? He'd made his feelings known loud and clear the last time they'd seen each other. Besides it might be fun to let Ethan have a good look at his supposed "competition."

"Brian, sweetie," Deb said, giving Brian a lip-sticky smooch on the cheek that he wiped away with feigned irritation. "You're showing that famous pregnancy glow tonight. You positively shine, kiddo."

Brian scowled, but Ted clapped him on the back in congratulations anyway. "I agree, Bri. You do, indeed look shiny."

"Oh, for God's sake, Theodore," Brian grumbled perfunctorily. "It's the lighting in here." But he smiled a tiny reluctant smile. Deb saw that Justin had seen it and winked at him.

Even with Ethan's presence, things were going well. The food and wine were good, and Brian had scored a bottle of Pellegrino. The crowd was larger than he'd expected, and people were actually buying things!

But things started to unravel in ways that Justin could never have foreseen.

He'd noticed that his mom was avoiding Brian. He didn't know why and he didn't like it, but Brian didn't seem to notice, so Justin didn't say anything to her about it. Big mistake. While he was engaged in a conversation with Ben, Justin saw her take a deep breath, straighten her shoulders and walk right over to where Brian was standing talking with Michael. The look on her face must've been chilly because Michael melted away, leaving his mom and Brian standing alone, face-to-face. This was the first time they'd encountered each other since his mom had learned about the twins.

"Jennifer," Brian said with a stiff nod.

"Brian," she replied.

There was an awkward silence that Justin longed to go over and break but knew he shouldn't.

"This is awkward," Brian said.

"I suppose it is," she replied.

"Jennifer . . ." Deb broke in, but Justin's mom held up her hand.

"So, I hear you're carrying my grandbabies," she said.

Brian merely nodded, clearly not sure where all of this was headed and clearly not liking it. Justin resisted the urge to go to him, but only just barely.

"You're taking good care of them, I presume?"

Brian placed his hand on his belly probably without even realizing it.

"Doing my best," he said coldly.

Mom, Justin wanted to say. Be kind to him.

She smiled at Brian, but it was only a bleached ghost of a smile.

"I'm sure you are, Brian," she said and then turned to walk away.

"I know you think I can't do this," Brian said to her retreating back.

She turned to look at him.

"You're right," she said. "But I'm hoping you'll surprise me. For all of our sakes." She nodded almost imperceptibly at Brian's belly.

She came over to Justin. "Care to show me your pieces, sweetheart?" she asked. Justin looked over his shoulder at Brian. He could see in Brian's eyes that he was going to bolt.

"Mom!" he hissed under his breath when she took his arm.

"Justin," she said with a muted voice. "Please don't start with me. That's the best I could do. You know that there are things I like about Brian, and I know he's done some wonderful things for you, but I will never stop believing that he was one of the reasons - not the only one - but at least oneof the reasons you got bashed. I distrust his judgment, which is not the same thing as disliking him. I believe that he loves you, but loving someone and doing the right thing for them are two very different situations. He's proven to me that he loves you. He has not proven to me that he has the sense - or the character - to be a good partner . . . and even less so, a good father."

Justin was about to respond when a flurry of movement caught his eye. As he'd predicted, Brian was leaving . . . and Michael was following him. Justin heard Ben sigh and saw him shake his head wearily.

"Why did you have to do that mom?" he said. "Especially in public? You have no idea how touchy he is."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "Touchy? He really is pregnant, isn't he?" she said lightly, but then her tone turned serious again. "I said all I'm going to say to him about how I feel. I won't raise the topic again. I don't want to make an enemy of him. You two are going to need me, believe me. I don't want to alienate either of you, but I wanted . . . no, I needed to tell him truthfully how I feel. I think he and I have an understanding now, and that's what is important."

Justin wasn't so sure, but he kept his mouth shut and led her over to his pieces. This was neither the time nor place to discuss Brian any further.

He did his best to pretend that the evening hadn't been ruined for him. He stood by his drawings and made polite conversation with the people who stopped to ask about them. Some of the more genuinely interested ones he told about his bashing and how it'd affected his ability to draw. He hadn't meant to use the experience to sell his drawings, but nonetheless all of them sold.

"You're a very brave young man," one woman said. "I expect great things from you." She smiled kindly at him.

"Hear that?" Lindsay said, and he jumped. He had no idea she was standing right there behind him. "Another person other than me who thinks you've got a bright future ahead of you."

Justin turned to look at her and saw that she was giving him one of her warm, loving smiles. He smiled back at her - but with a slight wariness. Lindsay was tricky, and the last time he'd seen her, he'd been sure, that given a chance, she would rip off his head and suck out his brains with a bendy straw.

"Where's Brian?" she asked. She and Mel had arrived after Brian left. "He's not standing you up again, is he? I thought that we'd seen the end of that kind of behavior. Do you want me to call him?" She pulled out her cell phone. Justin was just about to plead with her not to call Brian when Mel came over

"Linds, hon," Mel said. "You're cornering the artist and preventing him from schmoozing up the big money-bags and wealthy patrons."

Lindsay put away her phone. "You're right," she said. "This is Justin's evening - there's no need to make it all about Brian."

Mel took her arm and led Lindsay away in the direction of Deb who was holding Gus. When they reached their destination, Mel turned around and winked at him. "You owe me," she mouthed. "Big time."

What the fuck?

The evening Justin had so looked forward to was turning into a nightmare. It was only half through when he started wishing it was over so he could go find Brian, who was almost certainly sitting in the Jeep out in the parking lot venting at his adoring audience of one. Yes, he was angry at his mom, but he was also annoyed with Brian. Hormones or no hormones, he could've stuck around for Justin's sake. At least the evening couldn't get any worse, right?

Wrong. Enter Ethan Gold stage left.

The second he saw that Justin was alone, he sauntered over bow-leggedly with a bullshit ‘Wow! Never thought I'd see you here!' smile on his face.

Justin's facial expression wasn't a smile. He knew it wasn't because, try as he may, he couldn't get the corners of his mouth to turn up.

"These yours?" Ethan asked, nodding at Justin's drawings.

Justin nodded stiffly. "Yup."

"They're really good."

"Thank you."

"Can I get you a glass of wine? I see your glass is empty."

"No, thanks."

Ethan looked around the room. "Your boyfriend here?"

Boyfriend. The word was so pathetically inadequate to define Brian's place in Justin's life that it was laughable.

"No."

Ethan snorted. "I don't even know why I bothered asking. Of course he's not here. Has he ever been there for you? It's just like you said - it's all about him all the time. You're not even a blip on his radar screen. God, Justin! You're an amazing person! You're talented, you're smart, you're fucking gorgeous! What are you doing with this asshole?"

Justin cleared his throat. He was ready to start yelling obscenities, but the WASP in him rebelled - especially when his mother was present. She'd be horrified. Instead all he said was a tepid "Ethan, I don't want to discuss this with you here." Or anywhere else, he wanted to add - and later he wished he had.

"So what would the right place be?" Ethan said too loudly for Justin's comfort. "Love doesn't fucking wait around for the right times and the right places. You love me, Justin Taylor! You all but told me so . . . no, let me rephrase that, your soul told me you loved me even if your mouth wasn't yet ready to. I'll never forget how tenderly you kissed me; how you trembled! How my touch made you melt in my arms. You wanted me, Justin. You know you did. You're a liar if you claim otherwise."

Justin shook his head and held up his hand. "I am not talking about this here," he said again. "Now, please respect my wishes and leave."

"Why? Because your ‘boyfriend' might hear us?!" Ethan yelled. "The man who you said treated you like shit. The man who you said couldn't stoop to give you an ounce of affection . . . do you recognize those words, Justin, because you should. They're yours, not mine. Don't you remember how you said you were starting to hate him? That you were ready to leave him? It was the same night we made love. That amazing, starlit night! I told you I loved you - I still do, Justin, and I know that you love me too. Why are you fighting this? How can you deny the truth to my face . . . ?"

"Because it isn't the truth . . . !" Justin yelled back.

"But you know it is," Ethan pleaded. "Search your heart. You wanted to leave him before you went to Vermont. You told me so - you even told your friend Daphne! So what's changed since that night that we became one body, one soul? Has he threatened you? Because if he has, I'll kill him with my bare hands! Has he bribed you? Has he brainwashed you? Justin, you said you love me! I heard it as clearly as I can hear my violin! Please, I'm begging you! Leave this man who's abusing you, and come to me. I'll protect you . . ."

Justin truly wanted the earth to devour him and spit him out in China. It didn't matter that he didn't know the language; he'd teach himself when he got there. People were listening; this probably seemed romantic to them - the plea of a lover to his beloved! How befitting an artist! A stormy, clandestine love affair! What could be more uplifting? More inspiring?

"Sunshine," Deb said. He'd never heard her speak in a normal voice in public before. It was unnerving. He tore his eyes away from Ethan and looked at her where she stood across the hideously quiet room.

She gestured with her chin, and Justin followed her direction. That's when he saw Brian. He'd come back. He'd come back, and he'd heard every fucking, Goddamn word that Ethan had said.

They locked eyes.

oh god.

Was it the crazy hormones that prevented Brian from donning his customary mask of disdain and indifference? Justin didn't know. All he knew was that Brian looked bewildered . . . and shattered.

"Brian," he said, but Brian had started shaking his head.

"Brian," he said again and started slowly, cautiously walking toward him, his hand held out in peace as though he was approaching a wounded animal.

Brian started backing away. His eyes were wide. Had Justin ever seen Brian's eyes so wide before? Oh, God! Ethan's words - half of them lies - fit seamlessly into Brian's hormone-polluted narrative.

Brian's hand seized his own collar as though it was choking him.

Why was no one doing anything?!

"Oh, Justin," Deb said. Had she ever before called him "Justin" instead of "Sunshine?"

"It's mostly not true," he said. "And the things that are . . . I said them before . . . it was before . . ."

Brian blinked. He knew what "before" referred to. Justin panicked.

"I was angry!" he yelled. "You were acting like you didn't give a shit about me!"

Brian didn't say a word. Justin watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Fight back! he wanted to scream. Yell, swear, make a scene, but just please say something!

"Brian," he pleaded. "Most of it is lies, and it was all a long, long time ago . . ."

"How long?" Brian said. "Twelve weeks?"

"Brian, stop this," Justin's mom said, but she was the worst possible envoy. Brian's expression went from bewilderment to cornered.

Michael went to him and took his arm. "Hey," he said gently. "How about you stay at chez Mikey and Ben's tonight, okay? We'll make you waffles for breakfast, yummy yummy."

"No," Lindsay said, stepping forward. "Michael, I really think he should be with me. He'll feel better around Gus, and it . . . it might convince him not to get an abortion because I know him, and I know that's what he's thinking right now. He needs to be with someone who understands what it's like. No offense to you and Ben, but you've never been pregnant. I know you want to help, but you have no idea what's going on with him. I do!"

Despite all the discussion about with whom Brian should go home and why, Brian and Justin's eyes remained locked on each other's.

"The CD," Brian said. "The one you were playing all the time. That's his." He nodded at Ethan. "Isn't it?"

Justin tried to approach him, but he stepped back again.

"Brian," he said as kindly and as gently and as soothingly as he could. "This was a long time ago, in another universe. I can barely even remember it now."

"So you don't deny it," Brian said.

"We never had sex!" Justin shouted.

"But you would have!" Brian shouted back. "Go ahead, Justin, lie to me! Lie to my face!"

"I was so FUCKING angry at you!" Justin yelled at him. "You blew off my birthday - a birthday that was a fucking miracle because by all rights I shouldn't have lived to see it! But you didn't give a shit. You threw my birthday on the ground and spat on it - and then you got me a hustler. A fucking hustler, Brian! So, yeah, I developed a little crush . . ."

"It wasn't ‘little,'" Ethan interrupted. Justin didn't even bother to look at him.

". . . but it was only that - a stupid crush! Nothing more! Jesus Christ, Brian! What did you fucking expect? Did you think you could treat me like shit and I'd never try to find someone who wouldn't? How pathetic did you think I was? You were the one who was pathetic! You were the one who didn't have the balls to say that you loved me! You still don't!"

"Justin!" his mother cried, running over to him and grabbing his arm. "Please stop!"

He turned on her. "Oh, so now you're on his side. Sure didn't seem like that an hour ago!"

When he turned back to look at Brian he expected to see him red-faced with his famous rage. He even expected to see Michael and Ben trying to restrain him from wringing Justin's neck. Instead, he saw neither.

Brian looked like there was no emotion in the world that fit the way he was feeling. His mouth opened and closed. "I . . . I," he stammered. "I think . . . I think . . . I need to sit down."

In an instant, every ounce of anger drained from Justin's body. He ran to Brian as he started to sink to the floor, but Brian shook his head . . . and instead reached out for Michael.

The room was silent. Mel walked over to Ethan. "I think you should leave," she said. "You've stirred up the mother of all shit storms, and believe me, you don't want to get splattered." Ethan nodded, clearly shaken. Mel escorted him out the door.

"Brian," Deb said. "Sweetie." She went over to him. "Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?" Justin had never seen her so calm. It's the mom in her, he thought fleetingly. At the end of the day, moms were always going to come to the rescue.

Brian shook his head. "Just some water," he said.

Michael grabbed a water bottle out of a waiter's hand. He unscrewed the top and gave it to Brian. Everyone watched Michael warily; Emmett and Ted even backed away from him. Michael was going to lose his shit in Biblical proportions. Michael's entire body was quaking with fury as he advanced on Justin.

"You," he said very quietly.

Shit.

"You are no longer welcome."

"Michael Charles Novotny!" Deb screeched. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?! This doesn't concern you . . . !"

"DOESN'T CONCERN ME?????" Michael yelled. "YOU'RE KIDDING ME, RIGHT? THIS IS BRIAN WE'RE TALKING ABOUT! YOU, MORE THAN ANYONE, SHOULD KNOW THAT I'M THE ONE WHO TAKES CARE OF HIM, WHO LOOKS AFTER HIM . . . WHO LOVES HIM . . . ! NOTHING HAS HAPPENED TO CHANGE THAT!!

Deb approached him slowly and when she was close enough, she drew him into her arms. "We know, baby," she said. "We know. But this doesn't concern you. It's between Brian and Justin, and nobody else."

"Brian," Justin said softly. "C'mon. Let's go home, okay?"

Brian just looked at him as though he was a dangerous stranger. And then he said it.

"Stay away," he said, covering his belly. "Don't come near us."

If Brian was getting his cold-served revenge for Justin's tackle, he couldn't have hit Justin any harder. No physical attack could hold a candle to the pain Brian's words had inflicted.

"Oh, Brian," Deb said sounding utterly heartbroken. "Why? Of all the things to say, why did it have to be that?"