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Author's Chapter Notes:

Justin's feeling left out - the twins are snubbing him in favor of Brian. And as for Brian? He's being a total dick as usual. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Btw: Doesn't Queen Maeve kind of look like Brian?

Five days after she entered the world, Brian and Justin walked into the diner for Maeve's official debut. Everyone gathered around to admire and fawn all over the newest member of the family. Everyone that is except Mel and Linds. Justin noted their absence. He was pretty sure Brian did too.

"If I wasn't their milk dispenser," Brian said, "and if Justin here wasn't their diaper changer, I would feel confident in saying that we are completely superfluous. These two are totally (and literally) gah-gah for each other. God help us if we separate them for too long."

Deb covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes. "Jesus, honey," she said. "Another stunning little baby girl." She threw her arms around Brian's neck but carefully so she wouldn't squash Maeve in her snuggie. "You are fucking amazing, kiddo! Can I hold her? Oh my God, if she wasn't bigger than Helen, I'd say they could be twins."

"They are twins, ma" Michael said. He peered apprehensively at Maeve's rosy little face, but when he realized that, yes, indeed, Maeve was an exact replica of Helen, he relaxed.

"That's right, Michael," Justin said irritably. "Just like Helen, she's Brian's mini-me. No need to worry; I haven't tainted her with my genes."

Michael scowled. "Like you should be complaining. Brian's only the most beautiful man in Pittsburgh. Any kid would be lucky to have his genes and yours do."

"Only in Pittsburgh?" Brian said. "Christ, Mikey, couldn't you set a higher bar? That's barely a compliment."

Deb cackled. "It doesn't really matter if the girls look like Brian in every way except their eyes," she said. "The eyes are the window to the soul. They're the first thing you look at when you meet someone; the twins' are sky-blue just like their daddy's. Dark hair and blue eyes - Jesus Christ, these two are going to be knock-outs!"

"Just wait till they're ‘knocked up," Ted said.

"My God, Teddy," Emmett said. "Brian only gave birth - or whatever he did - a week ago. I doubt all those icky hormones have gone away. He might take a swing at you. It's still not safe to poke the bear."

"It's never safe to poke the bear," Brian said. "But you guys shouldn't bother being afraid of me; I have officially passed on the title of The Big Bad to Maeve. Justin, you can fill them in on the details. Meanwhile, I'm going to eat some fucking egg whites. No more fried shit for me. I want to reacquaint myself with my dick. I haven't seen it in months with that damn bump always in the way. Thank God for mirrors."

"And firsthand accounts from the field," Justin added, kissing Brian's cheek.

"No more dawdling," Deb said. "Tell us the story."

"Well, basically, the Cliff Notes version is that Maeve should be dead. When Dr. Russell performed the caesarian . . ."

Emmett groaned. "Couldn't this have waited till I finished my breakfast?"

"No," Deb said and then turned back to Justin. "Go on, Sunshine."

"When Dr. Russell performed the caesarian, Maeve was completely crushed, and her umbilical cord had torn. She was blue when the doctor pulled her out. She would've died within a few minutes if the doctor hadn't performed the operation right away. It's actually kind of freakish that she survived . . ."

"It's not freakish," Brian said. "She survived because she's a fucking bad-ass. She pushed back against all my pushing."

"Bad-ass or not," Justin said, "she shouldn't have made it. If Brian hadn't unilaterally taken it upon himself to name her ‘Maeve,' I would've suggested we call her ‘Marvina' for ‘miracle.'"

"Marvina?" Brian said with an appalled expression. "The kids at school would call her ‘Marvin.' Jesus Christ, it's a good thing I did act unilaterally. I saved her from playground hell. Kids are little primitive shits. Haven't you read The Lord of the Flies? They roast wild pigs and push each other off cliffs."

Justin sighed. His mother was going to be super pissed off that Brian had once again named a baby with no input from him. He knew she was going to see it as symbolic of their whole relationship. He was dreading the conversation. At least "Maeve" was a beautiful name. If they had discussed it, Brian probably would've convinced him anyway.

"So who is ‘Maeve'?" Ted asked.

"She was the mythical queen of Connaught . . ."

"‘Connack?'" Deb said. "Sounds like a brand of cough syrup."

"Ma!" Michael exclaimed. "Brian wouldn't name his kid after a cough syrup!"

"God, can you imagine?" Ted said. "Little baby Nyquil . . ."

"Or Robitussin," Emmett chimed in. "She could be ‘Robby' for short - very hip and non-gender exclusive."

Justin glanced at Brian. He looked annoyed.

"It's a region in Ireland," he told Deb.

"Thanks, sweetie," she said and kissed his cheek.

"Can I continue?" Brian snapped. "As I was saying she was the warrior Queen of Connaught. Her pastimes were raiding Ulster and fucking a zillion lovers."

"WHAT?!" everyone exclaimed all at once, including Justin. This was news to him

"Brian Kinney!" Deb screeched. "You can't name your daughter after a whore!"

Brian shrugged insouciantly. "Like Helen, one of Maeve's sources of power was her beauty and sexuality. In Gaelic, ‘Maeve' means ‘she who intoxicates.' It's not like beauty and sex are bad things. We're just too hung-up as a society to admit it."

"Only Brian would name his children after famous sluts," said Ted. "What will you name your next daughter? ‘Jezebel'?"

"Ha ha," Brian said. "Not a chance. Jezzie caught religion. My girls are heathen queens, aren't you, my little temptresses?" He kissed them both on the cheek. "None of all that monogamy and celibacy bullshit. You're your father's daughters."

Great, Justin thought. He really wasn't more than a sperm donor. He definitely wasn't going to pass on the history of Maeve's name to his mom - she'd really freak if she knew Brian had chosen the twins' names as an echo of his own superficial, hedonistic values.

Sometimes he wasn't sure if he liked Brian very much. Love, of course . . . but not always like.

"Well, never mind all that," Deb said, waving her hand dismissively. "Both ‘Helen' and ‘Maeve' are gorgeous names."

"Just keep them away from Wikipedia for as long as you can," Ted said.

Brian laughed - he actually laughed. He almost never let Ted see that he found something Ted said amusing. For some reason, it bugged the shit out of Justin.

Without saying anything to anybody, Justin gave Helen and her snuggie to Deb, left the diner and caught the bus to PIFA. He had fucking classes to go to.

Founded in 1871, Slade School of Fine Art is one of the world's leading art schools. Based in London, England, it is a department of the University College London (UCL). The Slade currently has around 260 students all housed within its original site and a state of the art research centre and project space in Woburn Square. At the Slade School of Fine Art we approach the practice of contemporary art and the history and theories that inform it in an experimental, research-oriented and imaginative way. An art school with a world leading reputation, the Slade makes a significant contribution to the field of contemporary art both nationally and internationally. The Slade has a lively and dynamic studio-led research culture. All studio staff are practising artists with significant exhibition profiles, actively involved in research as well as teaching.

As part of UCL, London's Global University and one of the leading research universities in the world, there are many opportunities for Slade students and staff to develop collaborative projects and interdisciplinary research initiatives both within UCL and beyond.

We have links to art institutions and organisations nationally and internationally. As well as UCL's own museum collections (including the UCL Art Museum whose collection includes work by a number of distinguished Slade students), our location in the centre of London and London's art world, enables easy access to a wide range of unparalleled learning resources including many important galleries, museums, libraries, cultural institutions and theatres.

The brochure he'd requested hadn't come in an envelope. Justin spotted it the moment he stepped through the door of the loft. He'd been sure it would be in an envelope - in fact, he'd requested an envelope. But nope; there it was sitting on the top of a pile of mail Brian must've picked up.

"Brian?" he called anxiously. There was no answer. Where the hell was he? As far as Justin knew, he didn't leave the loft unless Justin was with him to help with the twins. He looked around for a note and wondered why he was surprised when he didn't find one. Where could he be? Not the grocery store because they were having their groceries delivered. Not at work; Brian was taking two months off. He opened his phone and called the diner. Deb answered. She'd been there all day and hadn't seen Brian come in. Could he be at the gym? No way, not yet. Now that he was no longer actually pregnant, Brian was extremely self-conscious about the state of his physique. He was working out but only at home.

Justin took off his coat and threw it over the back of the couch. The loft was eerily quiet. It was strange and kind of creepy - although not entirelyunwelcome. The twins were always making some kind of noise. Brian seemed like he was always nursing one or the other of them 24/7, and he'd started watching T.V. out of boredom, so the T.V. was always on all the time. Amazingly, Brian seemed fine with the whole thing. Yes, he got tired and appreciated it when Justin took the twins out so he could sleep, but he wasn't bitching and snarking. In fact, Brian actually seemed comfortable! Justin had been expecting melt-down after melt-down, but far from melting-down, Brian appeared content to let the babies nurse and squirm and snooze all over him in a big pile of blankets, bibs and drooled-on porn mags. At least Justin hoped it was drool sticking together the pages of Primitive Instincts.

It was so weird. And very disconcerting. Justin had set his clocks and compasses according to Brian's moods; without them he felt lost . . . and oddly unneeded.

He took the Slade brochure to the chair in front on the T.V. (the couch had turned into Brian's Baby Den - it appeared that Brian had "nested" after all) and ran his hand over the beautiful cover. He'd requested it because he was curious, that was all. He just wanted to pretend for just a minute that he really was going to accept the scholarship . . .

Well, in fact, he had. The time was running out, and he'd decided to start the process rolling. He'd been assured by everyone involved that if he decided to back out that there were students who'd snap up the opportunity no matter how late the date. He didn't want any doors closing . . . at least not yet. For just a couple weeks, he wanted to imagine he really was going to London, but that's all it was - just his imagination. Nothing more.

He closed his eyes. At Slade, he'd study with world renown artists. Yeah, sure, PFIA was a good school but it wasn't Slade. It wasn't even close to being Slade. And he'd be so close to Paris - close enough that he could pop over now and then for a long weekend! God! He could see it, that old cliché, Paris in the springtime. Maybe Brian could join him . . . .

. . . and that's where the train of his thoughts hit the brick wall of reality. Brian wasn't going to Paris. Brian was lucky if he could get to the diner these days! Jesus fucking Christ! What was he doing even pretending he could take the scholarship! He had newborn daughters, for fuck sake . . . !

. . . and a partner who refused to let him take care of them. They'd discussed bottle feeding, but every time Justin had tried to actually do it, Brian made some excuse or another ("My tits are too sore for that fucking pump;" "it'll be quicker and easier if I just let them nurse;" "I'm fucking leaking all over the place here! Just give me the bab(ies)!"). Yes, Justin changed their diapers, but that was hardly quality time. Brian did all the fun things: he gave them baths, he fed them, he lulled them to sleep. The only "fun" thing that Justin got to do was take them outside so Brian could sleep, but the cold and being away from Brian always made them scream bloody murder. Justin would find himself counting the minutes until he could bring them back to the loft and hand them over to Brian Kinney, the Love of Their Little Lives.

Stop being jealous, Brian said the other night. They're babies for Christ sake. It's not like they're snubbing you. They're little sucking-screaming-pooping machines. Get over yourself.

Justin didn't reply, but if he had, it would've gone something like this:

You are so full of shit, Brian, and you know it! If they really were no more than "little sucking-screaming-pooping machines," you wouldn't be playing with them and talking to them and snuggling with them all the time. You can't get enough of them! If they were "snubbing" you, you'd have an existential crisis, so don't put me down because I'm having a little bit of a hard time with the situation, okay, you fucking asshole?

Jesus fucking Christ! Who would've imagined Brian, of all people, turning into the fucking Mother Earth Goddess? It was bizarre. Justin was often tempted to make fun of him, but always stopped himself. Why did he want to hurt Brian when all he was doing was being the parent Justin had claimed he could never be? Christ, it was a fucking mess . . .

. . . suddenly he heard the door close, and it startled the hell out of him. He must've fallen asleep. He quickly shoved the brochure from Slade under his ass. He didn't have time to properly hide it.

"Hey," he said. "Where were you?"

Brian didn't answer. He had the twins in their stroller, and they were fast asleep.

Justin's heart started pounding with uneven, sickening thuds. He'd seen the brochure. How could he have missed it? Time to grab the situation by the horns.

"Brian," he said. "Don't be pissed, okay? I'm not going."

Brian pushed the stroller into the living room and sat down on the couch. His cheeks were just as ruddy as the twins' from the brisk December wind. He crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap.

Justin felt a surge of dread.

"You know, I've been thinking," Brian said. "With all the expenses associated with having two children, I'm not sure I can afford to pay your tuition any longer."

Justin's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it's true," Brian said. "I've been crunching the numbers. I mean there's that huge house you want me to buy, and Lindsay and Mel want me to pay for a top-notch day care center for Gus. Plus I've been thinking about only working part time. I'm just not going to have as much ready cash as I used to."

Justin boggled at him. "So . . ." he said. "So, you're telling me I have to drop out of school?"

Brian gave him an I'm-sorry-but-what-can-I-say look and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I certainly hope that it won't come to that. I mean you could get a better job and pay your way. Or maybe there's perhaps some kind of scholarship . . ."

Justin leapt up; the sudden movement caused the brochure to fall on the floor.

"You are a fucking ASSHOLE!" he yelled. "You are so full of complete, utter, fucking bullshit!"

Brian stood up just as abruptly. "Keep your Goddamn fucking voice down," he hissed.

Justin was so frustrated and angry that he actually stomped. "Okay, fine," he said, "well, then let's not buy that particular house. I know it's really expensive. Let's get a smaller one."

Brian had sat back down and crossed his legs again. The son of a bitch examined his nails lazily. Justin hated him for a moment.

"I don't know," he said airily. "You did an excellent job convincing me it was the perfect home for the twins. Like you said - over and over, I might add - there's a park right nearby and a K through 6 school within easy walking distance. And I agree that they should have their own bedrooms even if they end up wanting to sleep in the same room together. Every child, even a twin, needs space sometimes. So, that's three bedrooms, plus ours, which is four. And we, of course, need a spare room, and I want an office, and Gus needs a room so he won't feel like nothing more than a guest when he visits. Oh, and you were right about that glassed-in sitting room - it would make a perfect studio for you. Remember how you went gah-gah over it? And I really like the renovated basement where the girls can play. I really don't want kid shit all over the living and dining rooms. Anyway, the point is moot. I just bought it."

Justin dropped into the chair again. "What? he said.

"I said I just bought it," Brian said slowly as though he was talking to a really stupid person. "Lindsay came by the loft and we drove to the house. She loved it too, so I figured ‘why not?' So we went to the bank where I negotiated an excellent mortgage rate - as long as I put down thirty percent of the asking price, I can get 3.0 Apr. Not bad, wouldn't you say? I was quite pleased."

"You were with Lindsay," Justin said, his voice flat.

"Yes," Brian replied. "It was nice to be able to spend time with her so she'd have a chance to really meet the twins."

"You were with Lindsay."

"I believe that is what I just said."

"She told you about the scholarship."

Brian was still looking at his fingernails, but upon hearing Justin's words, he lifted his eyes and a nasty, mean little smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"Someone had to."

Justin swallowed.

"Not that I didn't know something was up. I found that fancy brochure," he nodded at the Slade brochure where it'd fallen on the floor, "when I picked up the mail this morning. Plus, there'd been an email I received the morning Maeve was born. Lindsay had kindly forwarded me the information about the scholarship. I've been waiting all of this time for you to bring it up."

Justin's upper lip was sweating; he wiped it dry with the back of his hand.

"I didn't bring it up," he said, "because I'm not accepting it."

Brian arched an eyebrow. "Lindsay told me that you did."

Justin stood up and started pacing. What a fucking mess!

"It's just a place-holder. I can still back out of it," he said. "And I will."

"I see. And then what? Drop out of school all together because you can't pay for it? What a waste."

"I'll figure something out!" Justin yelled and then hit his forehead with the palm of his hand when one of the twins started to cry - he didn't know which one and it didn't matter because once one started to cry, the other did too.

Brian sighed. "Great," he said. "Good job, ‘daddy.'" He used the dreaded air quotes. Justin wanted to slap him. Hard. Really really hard.

"Exactly!" he snarled. "Quote/unquote ‘daddy,' indeed. Jesus! I might as well just go to London. It's not like you - or they - need me."

Brian's nasty little smile turned into a beautifully hideous grin. "Now we're talking," he said.

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