As she always did when he showed up at her apartment at ungodly hours of the night (or morning), Daphne merely opened the door, took his hand, led him to her room, pulled back the blankets, turned off the light and got into bed. He stripped to undies and a t-shirt (it didn't matter if he wasn't wearing one; he kept a few at her place for nights like this) and crawled into bed beside her.

"Want to talk?" she asked into the darkness as they both lay on their backs, elbows touching, staring up at the glowing star stickers someone had left on the ceiling when they moved.

God, did he ever! But he remained silent. He had to respect Brian's privacy. Right? Brian would never forgive him . . . .

. . . . but would Justin ever forgive himself if he just gave up? Yes, it was Brian's body, and he had the right to decide whether to carry and give birth to a baby, but somewhere in the mix, shouldn't Justin at least be able to plead his case - and the case of their child? And that was in the case of an abortion. But an abortion wasn't the only thing at stake. What if Brian decided not to terminate his pregnancy but refused to change his lifestyle? Justin owed his child an inherent human right to be born free of its parents' addictions and destructive behavior. Right?

"The gears in your head are grinding so loudly that you're probably keeping my roommate up," Daphne said. "Even if I don't like her, we should let her get some sleep. She's even bitchier than usual when she's had a bad night. Do you want to try a hypothetical?"

A hypothetical was the way they sometimes talked about difficult things without actually naming names or revealing incriminating details.

Justin took a deep breath and then another. "Say there's a woman," he said slowly, uncertainly, "and she conceived a baby about three weeks ago. And say you're the guy who'd impregnated her . . ."

He heard Daphne gasp, but he kept going. "Say the woman doesn't actually believe she's pregnant because she doesn't want to be, and because she doesn't believe it, she keeps drinking and smoking and doing drugs. Say you, the father, believe that she is, in fact, pregnant, and you're terrified that the baby is being slowly poisoned. And say, too, that if the woman were to actually believe she's pregnant, she'd get an abortion without letting you have a say - and maybe even induce the miscarriage herself by doing terrible things to her body. What would you do? Would you try to stop her? Do you have any right at all to have a say in whether she chooses to abort, and if she doesn't, do you have some kind of right to make sure she doesn't harm the baby during her pregnancy by drinking and using drugs? Can you get a legal injunction of some kind?"

Daphne was quiet for longer than Justin believed necessary even given the weighty subject matter.

"Does this have anything to do with what you said earlier when you were talking about Brian being the father of your child? Have you guys hired a surrogate mother to carry either yours or Brian's child?"

Perfect!!!

"Add that to the hypothetical," he said. Did he hear her sigh with relief? Had she'd worried that he'd slept with some girl and got her pregnant and was upset? He didn't want to know, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't want to discuss it.

"Well," she said slowly. "I'm not a lawyer, so I don't know if you can get some kind of restraining order or something. But I have taken a class concerning neonatal health, and the evidence is pretty clear that doing stuff like drinking and smoking a lot and taking drugs during a pregnancy can be harmful to the baby . . ."

"Yeah," Justin replied. "I did the google searches. What I want to know is whether a father has any kind of right to try to stop the mother of his child from doing things that might kill it or cause it to be born with possibly zillions of health and cognitive problems?"

"God," Daphne said. "Why the hell did you guys choose an alcoholic druggie to carry your child? What were you guys thinking? Or did you not know ahead of time that she was so fucked up?"

"This is still a hypothetical, Daph. Pretend Brian and I didn't know, and by the way, I'm not saying your guess about a surrogate is even correct. Don't forget we're being ‘what-if' about all of this."

Another long silence. The only things Justin could hear were the ticking of Daphne's bedside clock and the hum of the fridge in the cramped, little kitchen.

"Daph?"

She sighed into the dark. After another couple minutes, she started talking.

"There's something I've never told you about," she said. "And don't be pissed off that I haven't. It's not like it's affected my life or anything, so it's not like this is, like, a huge, big, defining thing for me, okay?"

"Okay," he said. "And it goes without saying that this stays between the two of us. I won't even tell Brian."

"I know that," she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "Anyway, so here's the story. My mom has a sister who lives in Baltimore, and she has two daughters. I know you already know that, but what you don't know is that one of her daughters - my cousin, Severina - is a drug addict and an alcoholic. She has been since she was in high school. My aunt has tried everything to help her. She'll go to rehab and be sober for a few months, but then something stressful will happen, and she'll fall back to her old coping mechanisms. It's heartbreaking on so many levels; she's smart and funny. She got into the University of Maryland but dropped out the middle of her sophomore year. She's since studied hair and make-up and is a licensed beautician. She's really good, but she can't hold on to a job because of the drugs and drinking. It's broken my aunt's heart . . ."

"Let me guess," he said. "She got pregnant."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Actually, she got pregnant a couple times and had abortions. But this last one she decided she wanted to keep. She was working at the time, and the father was this guy she'd been living with for a while, and he was really nice and supportive of her attempts to get clean. Anyway, things fell apart almost immediately. The salon she was working for went out of business, and her boyfriend's mother came down with an inoperable kind of cancer. He went to live with and take care of her in St. Louis. Severina would've gone with him except she wanted to stay near her mother and sister until she had the baby."

Justin sighed. "I can see where this is going," he said sadly.

"Yup. She started drinking again. At first it was just a little, but it kept increasing to the point she was regularly blacking-out. And then the drugs followed . . ."

"What kinds of drugs?"

"A lot of different things; basically whatever she could get her hands on. Pot, coke, pills. Everyone tried to intervene in many different ways. Some people pleaded with her; some people offered to pay for rehab; others tried to make her feel guilty. Nothing worked."

Daphne fell silent again. He could hear her sniffling.

"You don't have to go on," he said.

She took a deep breath. "No, I do," she said. "I haven't talked about this with anyone. It's hush-hush because . . . because it was so awful."

Justin's stomach dropped. Did he really want to hear this? He wasn't sure, but he encouraged her to continue anyway.

Daphne sat up and reached for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand and blew her nose. She didn't lie back down and instead leaned against the headboard. Justin sat up and joined her, not releasing her hand.

"Does this story have a happy ending?" he asked although he was pretty sure that it didn't.

Daphne shook her head. "Nope," she said with a sigh. "Actually, the ending couldn't have been worse. Severina's boyfriend heard about what was going on, and he returned to Baltimore. Everyone was thrilled and hoped his presence would help Severina to dry out. God, were we wrong. Instead of helping her, he locked her in a room with boarded up windows. There was nothing but a bed in the room and bucket for her to pee in. He brought her all her meals, and they were large and healthy, probably because of the baby. That's all he really cared about - the baby. She pleaded with him to let her out, but he refused, saying that if he did, she'd go back to drinking and drugging. He didn't want his baby harmed by her behavior . . ."

". . . was that actually such a bad thing?" Justin interrupted. "I mean this was his child too. How could he just sit around doing nothing while she slowly poisoned it?"

Daphne didn't reply for a long time, and when she started talking again, it was without answering his question; she merely continued with her story.

"It got to a point where Severina no longer wanted to continue with the pregnancy. She wasn't so far along that it would be illegal to get an abortion. She just felt that she couldn't bring a baby into the life she was living. Even if she was released, she suspected she wouldn't be able to stay sober after everything that'd happened, and she also knew she didn't want to bring a baby into the world whose father was capable of doing the things he'd done. But what could she do? Her boyfriend wouldn't let her out for fear she'd use drugs; he definitely wouldn't let her out if he thought she wanted to get an abortion."

"Oh, shit," Justin breathed. "Fuck. Did she try to induce a miscarriage or something?"

"She tried, but she failed. She punched herself in the stomach and tried starving herself, but there was no place to hide her uneaten meals. Nothing worked. Anyway, I wouldn't go on and on about that. It's too upsetting."

"What happened?" Justin asked. "Please tell me that despite all odds, she and the baby survived and both are healthy and happy."

He hadn't known what to expect, but he certainly hadn't expected Daphne to leap out of bed, cross the room and start yelling at him, the box of Kleenex still clutched in her hand.

"No, of course not!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "That's not how life works out, Jus!"

"It worked out okay for me. I'm still alive," he said quietly. "Sometimes things do turn out okay, but I'm guessing they didn't for Severina."

Daphne blew her nose and went to the window. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just . . . this raises so many questions I don't have answers to . . . and don't know if I ever will. So, you wanted to know the end. The end is that the baby died, and Severina's back on the streets. She's basically beyond hope now."

"What . . . what happened to the baby?" Justin asked.

Daphne shrugged. "No one knows. He had serious heart problems, and something was wrong with his lungs. I can't remember. Maybe he died from natural causes . . . and maybe he didn't. He was premature and very small. Labor and birth didn't take long. It all happened between dinner and breakfast. When her boyfriend came to deliver her breakfast, he found Severina huddled in a corner, holding the dead baby. Apparently, he had a total breakdown and had himself admitted to a psychiatric hospital. We later heard that he did it because he was afraid he might kill Severina. He was still in the hospital when Severina moved to New York. She's called my aunt a few times, but my aunt has never seen her again. This all happened three years ago."

Daphne turned to rest her forehead against the glass of the window. It was clear she was done talking. What, Justin thought, was the moral of Severina's story? Did one even exist? Who was right, and who was wrong? Yes, the boyfriend acted in an extreme way, but it was his baby Severina was carrying, and she didn't seem to care that she was killing it by getting high all the time.

"Did I answer your hypothetical?" she asked wearily.

Justin looked down and picked at a loose piece of yarn in her afghan. "No," he said after a minute. "In fact it raises even more questions than I already had."

Daphne came back to the bed and sat down beside him. "Maybe that's the whole point," she said after a minute. "Maybe there are no answers . . . but that doesn't mean I don't have opinions."

"What are your opinions?" he asked.

She smacked his hand. "Stop pulling my afghan apart." He laughed a little, exhausted laugh. "My opinion," she continued, "is that it comes down in the end to a woman's right to choose whether or not to have a baby. It's not her boyfriend's decision - or her parents' or anyone else's. It's her body, and her life. End of discussion."

Now it was Justin's turn to be angry. "So, that's it? Okay, I guess I understand why it's a woman's right to have an abortion, but what if she decides not to have one, but she continues drinking and drugging anyway? Does the father have the right to intervene somehow to save his kid?"

"And do what exactly? Severina's boyfriend intervened by imprisoning her."

"What about the courts? Could he have gotten some kind of injunction? Shouldn't the law have anything to say?"

She didn't even pause before she answered. "No, even if the imprisonment is safe and ‘benign,' it's still imprisonment. Jus, you can try to reason with the mother; you can do everything you possibly can to help her dry out. But that's it. I guess you could always back out of the contract though if you knew you couldn't deal with a special needs child, assuming the child will actually have special needs. Maybe it won't, but from what you've told me, I'd say it's definitely possible, if not likely. Like I said, I'm not a lawyer, so obviously I don't know if you can back out of the contract, but it seems to me you guys should be able to."

Back out of the contract. Justin laughed ruefully. Even if he broke up with Brian, it wouldn't change the fact that Brian was going to do somethingwith their baby: abort it, carry it without changing his lifestyle, or carry it clean and sober (or at least try to) and hope the stuff he's already done while pregnant didn't harm the baby.

Daphne took his hand and squeezed it, jolting Justin out of his thoughts. "I need to go to sleep now," she said. "Tomorrow's my hell day. I have to work from eight to four."

She slid down under the covers, and Justin joined her. He'd thought there was no way he'd be able to sleep but somehow he did, which was a very good thing. He suspected he'd need to have a clear head in the morning, no matter what happened.

Brian was not at the loft. Nor was he at the diner. No one had seen or heard from him since he'd collapsed in front of Woody's the night before.

The boys were at the diner when Justin stopped by in his search and understandably peppered him with questions. He told them that Brian was treated by his personal physician, but that he'd asked Justin to leave. He told them that by the time he left, Brian seemed to feel a lot better. He was able to sit up and have an animated discussion with the doctor. They asked if he knew what was going on and where Brian was that morning. When Justin answered both questions in the negative, he wasn't lying.

"Maybe he's at work," Michael said. "I know he's feeling a little overloaded at the moment. I'll go check."

Justin interrupted him. "I really don't know if that's a good idea," he said. "Brian was in a REALLY bad mood when I last saw him."

"I don't give a damn," Michael replied. "He scared the shit out of us, and we deserve some kind of explanation for what happened and an assurance that he's okay now."

Goddamn it! Michael could be unbelievable sometimes! Both he and Brian thought they were entitled to crawl up each other's ass with a microscope any old time they thought they deserved to know something. How either of them put up with the situation, Justin would never know . . .

. . . but then he was struck by an idea.

"I'll come with you," he said. "I have my mom's car." Having Michael with him made it at least slightly less likely that Brian would go postal on him.

Michael glared at him, but it was obvious that the offer of a nice, warm, dry car in the shittiest weather imaginable was very tempting.

"Okay," he said grudgingly.

Justin smiled at him in a way that he hoped conveyed his gratitude, but Michael's glare didn't fade even a little bit. He walked out of the diner, and Justin followed him with a quick turn to wave at Ted and Emmett. Both of them fondly rolled their eyes about Michael, and Justin gave them the biggest smile he was capable of.

As they drove into the parking garage for Brian's office building, they found Brian walking out. To say that he was not psyched to see them was probably the understatement of the century. He sucked in his upper lip, obviously trying to stop himself before he started spewing invectives at them.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" he snapped.

"What do you think, asshole?" Michael said. "We wanted to find out how you're doing."

"I'm doing just fine and dandy," Brian replied. "Now if you'll both excuse me, I'm off to the baths."

He gave Justin a mean, nasty look. Go ahead, it said. Try and stop me.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," he said. "Don't look for me at Woody's or Babylon tonight . . ."

Justin's heart suddenly soared. Was it true? Was Brian changing his ways, even though he was pretending not to? That would be so like him . . .

"Why not?" Michael asked, frowning with suspicion.

Brian smiled one of his unpleasant smiles. "Because," he said. "I've been invited to a party."

"A party?" Michael said. "Can I come?"

"Were you invited?"

"Well, no. I just figured that I could be your ‘plus one.'"

"Well, you figured wrong," Brian said.

"Why?" Michael yelled. "Because you're taking him?" He pointed at Justin with a look that suggested Justin was a giant, walking slug with leprosy.

Brian bit his upper lip again. Justin could tell he was doing his best not to laugh.

"Mikey, Mikey, Mikey," he said, throwing the arm that wasn't carrying his coat over Michael's shoulders. "Jealousy doesn't become you. It gives you the look of a constipated gnome."

Justin couldn't help it. He laughed, and watched as Brian's beautiful eyes betrayed his amusement.

Maybe our baby will have those same expressive eyes, Justin thought. Just like Gus's except their child would have hazel eyes instead of brown . . .

Fuck!!! Why was he thinking about stuff like that? Things were already difficult enough without trying to picture the baby Brian was carrying . . .

. . . or at least he might be. What if he'd gotten an abortion! Would Brian even bother to tell him? And if so, when?

"What's going on at the party?" he asked, suddenly desperately needing to know. The answer might tell him more than it seemed like it could on the surface.

Brian's unpleasant smile returned, but this time it was accompanied by an air of indifference.

"Well, hmmm, let me see. What is likely to go on at the party? My guess is there will be a lot of drinking of ridiculously expensive wine; the snorting of the finest coke north of the border - no doubt pure and uncut. I can also imagine there will be some excellent scotch and brandy and any number of other tasty hard liquors. Oh, and perhaps there might even be some pharmaceutical grade crystal . . ."

"Crystal!!" Michael shouted. "No. Fucking. Way! What the fuck, Brian . . .?!"

". . . oh and don't forget the sex. I know some of the guys from the baths; they're sexual athletes - almost as good as me, which is, as you know," he winked at Justin, "saying a lot. A few are 'experts in their field.' There's one guy in particular who excels at the art of breath play. He's choked me a couple times, and there's no feeling like it in the world. Although, that said, I've known a few guys whose hearts had stopped and had to recieve CPR. But that's rare, so don't you two worry your pretty little heads about it happening to me. Besides, I don't want anyone breathing into my lungs. Gross."

While Michael went bat-shit and started stomping around yelling and frothing at the mouth, Justin simply stood there, his eyes locked on Brian's. At that moment, he hated Brian more than he'd ever hated anyone - including Chris Hobbs. How fitting that they were in a parking garage!

"So," Justin said in a low voice that only barely disguised his fury. "You didn't have an abortion. If you had, you wouldn't need to go through all of this fucking bullshit. You'd just tell me with a shrug and some bullshit about the baby having been nothing but a bladder stone and that the whole pregnancy thing was a load of shit from the beginning."

Brian's glare turned downright murderous. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I am NOT fucking pregnant?" he hissed. "What will get the message through your stubborn fucking head? Do I have to buy a plane to write it in the sky?"

Justin crossed his arms. "Don't waste your money," he said. "Even if you bought a blimp and wrote ‘I'm not preggers' on it, I still wouldn't believe you. Last night was not a freak, random occurrence, and you know what, Brian, I think you know, and you're scared shitless, and you don't know what you want to do, so you're going to just do nothing, except your usual partying, and hope the ‘problem' fixes itself. But ask yourself: is that what you really want? And if you do want to end your pregnancy, then do it like a man and just get a fucking abortion - don't torture the baby and yourself. For fuck sake, Brian! Don't you feel anything for our baby? Anything except hatred?"

Brian stood there staring at him with an unreadable, but obviously wild, expression. They stood like that for what felt like forever.

"Come on, Brian," Justin said gently, his voice shaking. "You know it's true. Your body is telling you it's true. And you're fucking terrified . . ."

He watched Brian's Adam's apple bob several times as he tried to swallow what very well might be a lump of overwhelming emotion.

"Okay," he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice shaking just as much as Justin's. "Okay, you're right. I'm pregnant."

Justin gasped. Of course, he already knew it, but to hear Brian admit it . . . he wanted to throw his arms around Brian's neck and kiss his face all over and tell him that it's alright, that Justin would make it alright come hell or high water.

"Everything tells me it's true," Brian continued. "Even my fucking tits are sore. There, are you happy now? Because that's what you want, don't you? But what about what I want? Even fucking Bernstein is trying to convince me not to have an abortion - and why? So that he can publish a paper that'll be announced on the cover of Nature. Fuck, he might even win the fucking Nobel Prize. He wants to be famous. He doesn't give a shit about me . . . and neither do you. Don't think I'm a fucking idiot, Justin. You've been harassing me about having a damn kid practically since the first time we met! You're obsessed with it! If you could lock me up to force me to have this . . . this thing, then you would and don't think for a second that I don't know that!"

Justin's breath caught in his lungs. He felt every drop of blood drain from his face. He clutched at his collar; it felt too tight, like it was going to strangle him. Oh, God! Of all the many awful things Brian could've said, that was by far the worst!

Brian's smiled a rueful smile that said loud and clear that he knew he was right.

"Gotcha," he said, his voice cruel. "Now if you'll please excuse me, I'm going to the baths, and then I'm going to the sex party. I've heard the crystal was cooked by a professor of chemistry. I've always been wary of the shit, mostly because the people who make it are fucking idiots I wouldn't even trust to shine my shoes. But this is different. This is high-grade, top-notch shit. Junior's going to be born with a taste for the high life."

Justin didn't flinch. He kept staring straight into Brian's eyes. "You're going to the party," he said in a clear, cold voice that sounded even to himself like it belonged to a man twice his age, "over my dead body."

Brian inhaled a shaky breath and then he leaned forward. "Fuck you", he hissed in Justin's face so vehemently and so close, that Justin got spittle on his cheeks. "Fuck both you and Bernstein. It's my body, and I'll destroy it if I want to . . ."

That was when they both realized Michael was standing close enough to hear what they were saying. He was crying. "Don't do it, Brian," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't know why you seem intent on killing yourself, but whatever it is, it's not worth it."

Brian looked back and forth between Justin and Michael, a look of incredulity on his face. "You don't understand; neither of you do! You have noright to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I want to fuck myself up . . . hell, even if I want to kill myself, you cannot stop me! You will not stop me. Zygote or no zygote!" He started walking quickly to the Jeep.

"Brian!" Michael screamed and started to run after the Jeep like a maniac as Brian peeled out of the garage and into the busy traffic of Main Street. But it was too late.

Michael came running back to Justin. "What are you standing around for?" he yelled. "We have to go after him!" Justin neither moved nor spoke; Michael waved his hand in front of Justin's eyes. "Hello! Did you hear me? We have to . . ."

"Yes, I heard you," Justin snapped. He rubbed his face roughly with his hands hoping the sensation would stop the tears, which, if not forestalled, would start and never stop. "What do you want me to do, Michael? Shoot at the Jeep with my super-secret missiles disguised as headlights?"

Michael looked like his head was going to pop off. "You're joking about this!" he yelled. "What is wrong with you . . . and what the hell is a ‘zygote'?"

Under any other circumstances, Justin would've died laughing. Instead he just looked at Michael and told him to get in the car. Michael looked like he was going to protest and get his undies all in a twist over Justin bossing him around, but there must've been something in Justin's eyes that stopped him.

"Where are we going?" Michael asked. "We don't even know where this fucking party is taking place or who's hosting it."

"We aren't going anywhere," Justin replied. "I'm dropping you off at the diner."

"And where are you going?" Michael asked.

Justin knew the answer. It'd occurred to him as he'd watched Brian drive away, but he wasn't taking Michael with him. Michael was not a calming presence. In fact, he was the match to a puddle of gasoline. Anything bad that was happening was sure to get worse when he was around - especially if it involved Brian in anyway.

"I'm going to Daphne's," he lied.

"And that's it? I thought you loved him!"

If they weren't stopped at a light, Justin would've shoved Michael out the door while it was moving. Instead he shoved Michael out of the still car.

"What the hell?" Michael yelled. "How am I supposed to get home?"

"There's something called a bus," Justin replied. "It's big and has lots of seats and it takes you places. Often it has signs on it advertising personal injury law firms." He rolled up the window. Michael had crossed a line, and Michael knew it. Justin waved at him and went through the intersection as soon as the light turned green.

He needed to see Gus. What would happen when he did, he didn't yet know. All he knew is that he had to hold Gus in his arms, cup his little head and smell his bubble-bath scent. He would probably never get to hold his own child like that, and the loss was an ache in his guts - and, yes, it was a loss. Even though he'd only known Brian was pregnant for a day, he'd already fallen in love with their baby. If only Brian had too . . . .

It was a good thing he knew how to get to Linds and Mel's house on autopilot because he was having an out-of-body experience, and not in a good, enlightening kind of way. In fact, he felt nauseous and wondered if his floated self could barf on his driving self's head. Brian had admitted that he's pregnant. That was huge! But it also made his decision to go on a colossal, dangerous bender even more disturbing. What the fuck was going on in Brian's head? He was clearly furious, but at whom exactly? Justin? Himself? Both of them? . . . the poor, innocent fetus?

It took Justin a moment to realize that the ambulance and police car with their careening lights and crackling walkie-talkies were parked in front of Lindsay and Mel's house. He slammed on his breaks and parked the car right there, blocking a neighbor's driveway. He didn't care. Whatever was happening was clearly not good. He ran down the sidewalk. When an officer tried to stop him from going any closer, he heard Mel tell the man it was okay. Justin, she said, was family.

It was hard to make sense of what was going on. There were so many people milling around in the little yard, and two women were crying almost hysterically. One was Lindsay and the other was a round, middle-aged woman he'd never seen before. Gus was nowhere to be seen, but then Justin realized there were EMTs on the porch leaning over a stretcher.

Gus. Something was wrong with Gus.

He grabbed Lindsay by the shoulders and shook her.

"What's going on?" he cried.

But Lindsay couldn't speak. He turned to Mel whose face was pale and streaked with tears.

"Is he alright?" he asked. "Please say yes."

"Where's Brian?" Lindsay shrieked. "I need Brian! Where is he? Justin, where is he?"

Obviously, in her distress, Lindsay had forgotten what cell phones were for and how to use them. Justin pulled his out of his pocket. Unsurprisingly, Brian didn't answer, but Justin left a message, and then he texted in capital letters just two words: "GUS HOSPITAL."

Lindsay rode in the ambulance, and Justin drove Mel to the hospital. The police remained at the house. They appeared to be asking the sobbing woman questions.

"God, I'm so glad you're here," Mel said, her voice shaking with tears. "There's no way I'd have been able to drive myself."

"What happened?" Justin asked. "Please tell me. I need to know."

Mel took a deep breath, obviously trying to pull herself together. "We were out," she said. "Mrs. Beazley was taking care of Gus - she's the babysitter. We've only used her a couple of times. Anyway, Linds and I got home to find her putting Gus into a sink full of water and ice cubes, and Gus . . ." she started sobbing again.

"Gus was burned somehow," Justin finished the sentence for her. She nodded.

"It was horrible," she said. "His legs and bottom were red and blistery. We called 911, and it took forever for the motherfucking ambulance to arrive! I'm going to look into filing a law suit . . ."

Justin broke in again. He didn't give a shit about law suits at the moment. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked. There was desperation in his voice.

"They say so," she said. "Apparently, it's not all that bad, but, oh Justin, the way the poor little guy was screaming and crying! I'll never get it out of my head as long as I live! And I'll never forgive myself if . . ."

"Don't go there," Justin said, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. "Stay here in the present. Gus - and Linds - need you here."

She squeezed his hand back. "Do you think Brian will come?" she asked after a couple tearful minutes.

Justin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Brian. For all Justin knew he was already drowned in booze with a silver spoon shoved up his nose.

"I don't know," he replied hoarsely.

"Fucking asshole," Mel snapped angrily, but then she turned her head to look out the window. Bitching about Brian was not going to make anything better, and she knew it.

When they got to the children's hospital, Justin drove right up to the emergency entrance and let Mel out. She didn't even close the door before she went running into the building. Justin had to lean over and do it himself - not that he was unsympathetic; he would've done the same thing if he wasn't the driver.

It took forever to find a parking spot. When he finally did, he slammed the shift into park, jumped out and started running before he could even process the need to lock the car. Fuck it. There was nothing in there worth stealing anyway. He went charging into the hospital, and then he heard it. Brian's voice.

"Where the hell is my son!" Brian yelled. "I'm his father! Where is he? I have a right to be with him! I'm his father for fuck sake!"

Justin had slowed down when he walked through the emergency room doors, but as soon as he heard Brian, he broke into a trot, half aware of an odd sensation in his stomach - it was as though there was a rope tied to something inside of him and someone or something was tugging on the other end, pulling him along, making it impossible for him to stop even if he wanted to. It was an instinct so deep and primal that he almost didn't notice it at all. But what he did know is that he had to get to Brian and try to calm him down - to protect him. For a moment, he even forgot about Gus!

"Brian!" he cried as he entered the waiting room. There was Mel and Lindsay, but he only had eyes for Brian, who was arguing passionately with some poor, hapless nurse. He went straight to Brian's side. Brian turned to him, his eyes wild.

"They won't let me go in!" he said, looking at Justin imploringly as though Justin could help him somehow.

"Sir, your son is being treated right now," the nurse said. "No one can go in there except for staff. As soon as his treatment is complete, you and his mothers can see him."

"But he needs me now," Brian said. "I know he does." He looked around for Lindsay, and they locked eyes - Gus's parents, needing to be with their child even if they couldn't do anything more than comfort him and assure him that he wasn't alone, that his mommy and daddy were there with him. Justin watched Mel look back and forth between the two, her heart obviously breaking. Her pain was so evident that he felt it in his own heart as though it was partly his too. She could take care for Gus; she could be his day-to-day mom every day as long as she lived and breathed, but Lindsay's deepest, most instinctive connection when it came to Gus was Brian, and it would always be that way. Mel was Lindsay's wife and Gus was her son too, but at moments like this, nature took over. Mel was Gus's mother, but only through paper. Lindsay and Brian's connection to him was through the blood that pumped through their son's veins.

Brian ran his fingers through his hair and started pacing.

"What the fuck happened?" he shouted at poor Mel, and of course, she shouted back.

"What the fuck do you care? You're just a fucking sperm-donor! You're not his father! You're nothing!"

Brian reeled backwards. He looked shocked and deeply wounded.

"Mel," Lindsay said pleadingly. "Please! Not now!"

Mel turned away and started walking toward the doors. Please, Justin thought. Don't go. Gus needs ALL his parents right now.

"She's going out for a cigarette," Brian said, shaking off his temper. "I gave her one earlier, trying to get her to shut the fuck up. Hopefully it mellows her out; she's being a total cunt."

Justin gave him a wan smile. Brian and Mel's relationship was more complicated than it seemed on the surface. How could it be otherwise? Mel was one of the mothers of Brian's son, and Brian was her son's father. It's the kind of connection that defines the word "complicated."

Brian slumped against a wall. He looked utterly exhausted. Justin felt someone or something tug again on that invisible rope he'd felt earlier.

"Why don't you sit down?" Justin pointed to an empty chair. He made his words sound as flippant as possible so Brian wouldn't see the concern behind them and freak out.

"Yeah," Brian said hazily. "Sit down." He walked over to the seat and dropped into it with a sigh. Now that things had calmed a down a little bit; Justin could take a good look at him. He had his head tipped back against the wall, and his eyes were closed. Under his coat, he was dressed in a sweat shirt and sweat pants . . .

Justin's breath caught.

"You were on the way to the gym," he said.

Brian lifted his head and looked at him. They held each other's eyes. Neither blinked.

"Yeah, I was," Brian said after a moment. He didn't look away.

Justin swallowed as he started to connect the dots. "You weren't going to the baths."

Brian didn't answer him, and he didn't look away.

"You never even planned to," Justin continued.

Brian still didn't respond, and his expression gave nothing away.

"And there's no party, is there." Justin said. "You made that up."

Brian didn't blink. He didn't nod. He didn't move in any way, but Justin knew that he was right. There was no party. He almost collapsed with relief . . .

. . . but then he realized: even if there was no party, Brian still might be intending to do something that would hurt him . . . and the baby.

"Please," Justin whispered. "Please don't, Brian."

Brian looked aside as though Justin had slapped him. Not giving a shit what anyone thought, Justin dropped on his knees and took Brian's hands in his - those strong, masculine hands, the same hands that Justin had watched cradle Gus's fragile head the night he was born.

"Please," Justin said again. "If you want to get an abortion, I'll understand and support you, but please don't do something that'll put your life on the line just because you think you should punish yourself for wanting to have an abortion at all. You're not cruel; you're just afraid."

God, it was like putting his head in the jaws of a lion! Telling Brian Kinney he's afraid?! Until Justin actually said it, he couldn't even imagine thinking it, let alone speak it!

Brian didn't reply. He remained with his head turned aside, looking out the window.

"I'll take care of you," Justin said fiercely. "You won't be doing this alone."

Brian snorted and looked back at Justin. "Really? Are you going to be carrying this baby? Are you going to have your abdomen slit open from sternum to dick? And yes, it's true. Bernstein and I had a nice, long, fucking talk after you left. A thousand things can go wrong, and at least half of them could kill us both." He gestured to his chest and then, hesitantly, to his belly. "Are you going to be vomiting for weeks if not months on end? Is your back going to ache? Are you going to have gas and hemorrhoids and whatever the fuck else? Will you get fat? Will your tits hurt like fuck? Will your hard-won career be at stake? What about your dignity? Your masculinity? Your very fucking identity?"

Justin bit his lip and fought his impulse to look away from Brian's searing gaze.

"Didn't think so," Brian said.

Justin had no idea how to respond. What could he possibly say that wouldn't sound like complete bullshit? The only thing he could do for Brian was support and protect and love him; he wouldn't be able to share the burdens. That would be for Brian alone. But he had to say something! He took deep breath . . .

. . . and was saved by a little voice crying "daddy!"

Brian's attention was instantly refocused. He leapt up and went to the wheelchair where Gus sat, looking like a boy king on a rolling throne. Brian knelt in front of him just as Justin had knelt in front of Brian.

"Hey there, sonny-boy," Brian said, his voice husky with emotion. "I heard you were the bravest little bugger the docs had ever seen."

Lindsay covered her mouth to keep from smiling. There were still tears running down her cheeks, but this time Justin was pretty sure that they were tears of relief.

Gus didn't have a clue what Brian was saying, but he reacted to his father's smile by smiling himself.

"Look at your snazzy outfit," Brian said, pointing at Gus's robe covered with giraffes and mushrooms (mushrooms?) "Trying to upstage your old man? How very oedipal."

Justin and Lindsay laughed. Mel returned and looked back and forth between the laughing adults and giggling little boy.

"Am I invited to the party?" she asked, intending to sound tough and capable of handling any answer, but the quaver in her voice gave her vulnerability away.

"Did you bring some amyl nitrate with you?" Brian asked. "Anyone with poppers will always be invited to any party I'm attending."

Mel smacked him on the back of the head . . . but gently.

"You know," Justin said later in the Jeep. He'd given his mom's car to Linds and Mel.

"Hmmm?" Brian said distractedly.

"You really need to call Michael. He thinks you're at that party you made up. I guess it says a lot about him and me - and you - that we believed you, and I don't mean that in a good way."

Brian shrugged insouciantly. "What can I say; I have a vivid imagination . . ."

". . . and a shady reputation," Justin added.

Brian grinned as though Justin had just complimented him. "What can I say?" he said proudly. "But, yeah, okay. I'll call Mikey. He's probably biking around Pittsburgh looking for the party. He might even be going door-to-door."

Justin laughed. He could actually picture it. Poor Michael.

"You need to put him out of his misery," he said.

"Sadly, that's not allowed in Pennsylvania, but I can at least assure him that I'm alive and there aren't any rope burns . . ."

Rope burns. The words recalled Severina to Justin's mind. He had to say something.

"I meant it when I said I'd support your decision to have an abortion," he said.

Brian didn't answer and was quiet all the way back to the loft. When he pulled into his parking spot, he turned off the Jeep and shifted in his seat so he was facing Justin.

"Are you sure you mean that?" he asked.

Justin took a deep breath. Yes, it would break his heart, but at the end of the day it was Brian's choice, and Justin would respect that.

"Yeah, I mean it," he said steadily.

The obvious next question almost spoke itself out of thin air. What was Brian going to do? Was he going to have an abortion? Justin wasn't going to ask; Brian was going to need to tell him without prodding.

"I don't know yet," Brian said, as though the question really did speak itself out loud. "I know that's not what you want to hear," he continued. "I'm sorry to leave you wondering about something so important, but you're going to have to deal with it, and you must not push me. I need time. I've only just accepted the fact I'm pregnant less than twenty-four hours ago. All I knew last night is that I didn't want an abortion right at thatmoment. How will I feel tomorrow? Or the next day? I don't know, and I . . ."

Brian fell abruptly silent and turned away. "Fuck!" he said under his breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Justin was alarmed by the sudden change in his demeanor. He reached out instinctively and rested his hand on Brian's arm - not too heavily, he didn't want Brian to feel crowded and trapped, but heavily enough that Brian would feel it - and hopefully the quiet support and acceptance behind it.

Brian sighed and tipped his head back against the seat. "I," he said and then fell silent again. Justin didn't push him even though he wanted to. "I . . . I think . . fuck . . ." He fell silent again. After a moment, he swallowed and released a shaky breath. When he spoke, his words were barely audible and were blurred together as though they weren't multiple words, but one.

"I think I can't stop drinking," he said. He turned to look in Justin's eyes. "What if I can't stop drinking?"

Justin's heart stopped beating.