Deb could get away with things that Justin never could, so he simply stepped aside when he opened the door to the loft and let her pass carrying a million and one plastic shopping bags.

"So," she said, dropping the bags on the floor. "This is some of it; for the perishables, you'll have to come by the house and pick them up with the Jeep. There's only so much crap I can lug around when I'm riding that Goddamn bus."

Justin had just woken up and was still in his sweatpants and t-shirt . . . well, Brian's t-shirt to be precise - and a dirty one at that. He'd dug through the laundry hamper, sniffing each shirt until he found the stinkiest one of all. He padded into the kitchen behind her, curious to see what she'd brought them.

"Kraft Mac and Cheese . . . I wouldn't have survived my last couple of months when I was pregnant without it. Peppermint oil - a sniff helps take the edge off morning sickness, which, just you wait, Sunshine, will make your lives hell on earth. Tell Brian to put some on a Kleenex and breathe it in when he starts feeling sick."

She took each item out of the bags and set them on the counter. Justin yawned and stretched. "I thought we were already in hell," he said.

Deb just looked at him with an expression of pity and went back to unpacking the bags. She held up something that looked like a large, deflated, flesh-colored tire tube.

"What the hell is that?" Justin said, cringing away from it as though it was emanating a foul stench.

"That," Deb said, "is called a ‘belly band.' It's for when Brian starts to show. He can keep wearing his usual pants unzipped, and this will cover up the open fly seamlessly. Voila! No need for a moo-moo! At least not until his third trimester."

A moo-moo! "Please, Deb," Justin groaned. "Please tell me there are no moo-moos in those bags. Being given a moo-moo will cause Brian to lose what little will he has left to live."

Deb cracked up. "Now that would be something I'd pay to see! Brian Kinney in a moo-moo and fuzzy slippers! Shit, I almost swallowed my gum."

She reached back into her magic bags of scary.

"Ah-ha! Dental floss . . ."

"Brian already has some," Justin said.

"But is it super-duper soft? Pregnancy is going to make his gums sore and sensitive - even the smallest bit of something that gets under them is gonna bug the shit out of him, and he can't be flossing with the barbed wire I bet he currently uses."

"Brian's gums are going to be sore?" Justin squeaked. "Jesus Christ! What part of him isn't going to be negatively impacted in some way?"

Deb paused and thought for a moment. "No part. Being pregnant is no walk in the fucking park, Sunshine, and don't forget it for a second. Just remember that every time you want to strangle the living shit out of him, he's dealing with a lot of continuous discomfort. God, help us! Ah, here we go. Tums. Brian's not gonna be able to even look at food without getting heartburn."

Justin scrubbed his face with his hands. "Remind me," he said. "Why would any woman in her right mind subject herself to being pregnant?"

"Honey, do you want the human species to die out? Okay, there's your answer. Someone's gotta do it, although if I had my way, it'd be both sexes all the time, but no one asked me, so were stuck with things the way they are . . . except for you two, of course. Jesus Christ! I will never get over the shock of finding out that Brian of all people is up the flag pole! Ha ha! Every morning when I wake up and remember, it makes my whole fucking day before it's even started."

Justin smiled and wandered into the kitchen feeling aimless. He'd been feeling aimless ever since Brian had been moved to Dr. Bernstein's office.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"No time," Deb said. "Got my shift at the diner in half an hour. Okay, now here's some Shea butter skin cream for that big ol' belly he'll be getting, some prenatal vitamins, although they're just the basics. You'll wanna check in with doctor what's-his-name for more specific ones. Breathe Right nose strips - I know he already makes those cute, little wheezing sounds when he sleeps, but before long, he'll be snoring like a hibernating bear. These are more for you than him. Oh, and wax-lined barf bags - gotta have these handy. I carried them in my purse; I don't know how the fuck Brian'll carry them . . . Here're some energy bars - can't tell you what they taste like, but make sure you get the less sugary kind. Sugar goes straight to baby and'll give him or her a sweet tooth even before being born . . ."

Justin made a face. Really? "Deb, how much of this is real and how much is just made up by women . . . ?"

She turned on him with a glare that could melt glaciers. "Who the fuck do you think's been pumping out babies since the fucking dawn of time? Certainly not all those male fucking doctors who're always saying ‘do this' and ‘don't do that.' That doctor of yours is gonna read all kinds of fucking doctor books, but the only people you should listen to in the end are your mothers . . .well, not Brian's, of course. I wouldn't be surprised if she drank fucking lye to try and get rid of him. Did you know Brian came damn close to being aborted? His fucking father didn't want him and was sure to let Brian know about it when he was drunk. Said he already had enough shit on his plate with Claire. Selfish prick! If Joan did try to get rid of Brian somehow, she failed." Deb looked up at the ceiling and crossed herself.

Justin froze. He had no idea Brian's mother had almost gotten an abortion! He felt sick for a moment when he tried to imagine a world that'd never had Brian in it. And to know that Brian had been told by his own father (and who knew, maybe even his mother too) that he should've been aborted! How young had Brian been when his father (and/or mother) told him that? Justin went to the table. He had to sit down.

"Oh, shit," Deb said. "Shit. He's never said anything? Well, he never told me either. It was Michael who told me. Shit, I'm sorry, Sunshine. This was neither the time nor place . . ."

"It's okay," he replied. "I'd rather know than not know." He placed his head on the table and rocked it side to side. "Goddamn it! I hate those fucking people! It's a good thing that his father's dead because I'd go to jail for strangling him with my bare hands. Trying to figure out what to do is already hard enough for Brian. I had no idea this shit was part of the equation. Fuck."

At that moment, all Justin wanted was to be with Brian and hold him close. Was there more he'd never told anyone - except maybe Michael - about his childhood? There had to be. And probably a lot more was inevitably going to be stirred up by the pregnancy. And what were the chances he'd be able to get Brian to talk about it all?

Surprisingly, Justin suddenly wished Michael knew that Brian was pregnant. Michael was an easy clam to pry open, and Justin felt like he needed to know everything that Michael knew - and soon! The life of his and Brian's baby might depend on it!

Deb cleared her throat, and Justin lifted his head and looked her.

"Back to the fun stuff," she said. "Here's an inflatable ‘baby bump nest pillow' that Brian can carry with him for when he needs to lie down. He's got a couch in his office, right? His hips and lower back are going to get really sore and make it hard for him to sleep. This'll help."

Justin smiled. A baby bump nest! Brian was going to hate it on sight - at least until he realized how much easier it would make his day-to-day life. God, Justin couldn't wait to see and touch and kiss that bump! How was he going to be able to keep his hands off it?

". . . and here's some chap stick, his lips are going to be dry . . . and, Jesus, don't tell him until you have to that his skin is going to break out. He's going to have a fit! And here's a book about breastfeeding. I flipped through it, and it looks good. There're some great how-to diagrams . . ."

"Uhm, Deb?" Justin said tentatively. "I think we might want to hold back on the breastfeeding stuff for a while."

"Why? He is going to nurse, right? He better be or I'll come over here and slap him upside the head! A baby needs its mother's . . . er, father's milk - especially for the first six months!"

"Deb," Justin said in his Brian-soothing voice. "We don't even know yet whether he can breastfeed. It might not even be possible."

Deb stared at him. "Well, that'd be fucking stupid," she said. "It may take a while for some mothers, but eventually every woman can - and will - produce milk."

"Brian is not a ‘mother,'" Justin said. "He's a man with some whacky, one-in-a-billion, genetic shit going on. His penis isn't going to fall off . . . at least I hope not, but I think Dr. Bernstein would've said something if it was. He's not going to grow a vagina. He's still going to have all his male reproductive organs. He's still going to produce semen. He's still going to have hair on his chest . . ."

"What little there is of it," Deb chuckled. "Bless him. He's always been wanting in the chest hair department. Now Michael . . ."

Ew. Just ew.

". . . he's still going to grow whiskers, and he's still going to have a man's muscles. His tits aren't going to get all floppy and gross . . ."

"Stop right there," Deb said, shaking a finger at him. "A woman's breasts are beautiful, no matter what size they are!"

"Uhm . . . okay. My bad," Justin replied. "All I'm saying is that other than having a big belly, he's not going to be some kind of circus freak."

"I read somewhere that male bats lactate . . ."

"Great. So now Brian is part bat. That news will be sure to cheer him up."

"All I'm saying is that the plumbing's the same. It's all hormonal and shit."

"Maybe," Justin said. "But that doesn't change the fact that if Brian really can nurse, that doesn't mean he'll be able to mentally handle the implications."

"What fucking implications? The implication he's able to nourish and protect his newborn? Well, I've got news for him: Either he sticks his tit in his baby's mouth and lets it drink, or he's gonna be leaking milk all over the place. What's going to suck more? Pun intended of course." Deb broke out laughing. "Okay. Gotta get to the diner. Like I said, come by the house so you can pick up the groceries I bought."

Justin chuckled as he walked her to the door. It was hard to be anxious and unhappy when Deb was around.

Somehow, Justin dragged himself to PIFA for his afternoon classes. It wasn't as though he had no desire to draw; it was just that he had no desire to draw the stuff he was supposed to, like fruit bowls and female nudes and shit like that. What he really wanted to draw was Brian's belly - imagining it at every stage of his pregnancy, first with just a barely noticeable bump and then huge and full of baby. Just thinking about it gave him the hard-on of all hard-ons, and he found himself having to go to the Jeep during break to jerk off. God, he hoped Brian would pose for him! Or at least let him take photos so he could use them to draw from. Brian was going to be so beautiful, blotchy complexion and all.

He was hurriedly packing up his stuff at the end of his last class when Ethan Gold walked in the room. Justin's stomach sank. Ethan was pretty much the last person on earth he wanted to deal with. He'd rather be stuck on a beached Disney cruise ship with no one but Michael and Mysterious Marilyn as travel companions in a two-man cabin with a stopped-up toilet.

"Hey," Ethan said.

"Hey," Justin felt compelled by his WASP upbringing to reply.

"How're things?" Ethan asked, shambling over with his weird, bow-legged gait.

How're things? Well, my boyfriend is pregnant and currently detoxing from half a lifetime of alcoholism and drug abuse. He still isn't absolutely sure he's going to keep the baby, and everything depends on whether he can get sober and stay sober. Meanwhile, I'm freaking the fuck out because I don't want him to have an abortion; I'm seriously disturbed by the hard time he's having going cold turkey, and my best friend and I aren't speaking to each other. Thanks for asking, and how are you?

"Fine. You?"

"Shitty."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

"Look, I gotta go . . ."

"Wait! I can't stop thinking about you. I can't practice my violin. I can't sleep. I need you."

Really? Really?

"You don't need me," Justin replied, quite certain of the truth of his statement.

"But I do! I need to touch you. I need to kiss you. I need to make love with you. I'll die if I can't."

"I'm pretty certain you won't."

"You're my moon, my stars, my whole life."

Justin closed his eyes wearily. A month ago those words would've dazzled him and filled him with romantic longing. He'd go back to the loft and listen dreamily to Ethan's CD, and when Brian came home and griped about work, he'd feel annoyed and unloved.

What a crock of boiled shit.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not," he said.

"How can you know what's in my heart without letting me show it to you?"

Justin really didn't give a flying fuck. Right at that moment, Brian was lying in a hospital bed still shaky and weak. He'd lost ten pounds - ten precious pounds. He was exhausted and probably longing to go home, but at the same time afraid to . . . afraid that he'll start drinking again. He looked haunted and unhappy, and Justin wanted nothing more in the whole world than to lie down beside him and hold him and kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, to smooth the hair away from his brow and look into his eyes. Every fiber of his being yearned to be with Brian; in fact he felt like he was giving Nature the finger by not being there. He had to get the fuck out of there! He was about to speak when suddenly Ethan was there, grabbing his arms and trying to kiss him . . .

Justin acted instinctively. He shoved Ethan away with more force than was necessary and watched him fall on his ass, his violin case skittering across the floor. Justin knelt beside him.

"I could kill you right now," he said calmly. "It wouldn't faze me at all. You think you know what love is? You don't have a clue, and neither did I when I longed to be seduced by you. But now I know what love is, and it's not roses and chocolate. It's not even violin music. It's not pretty or easy. It's messy and complicated. And right now, it is screaming at me to saw off your head with your bow."

He stood up. Ethan hadn't moved. He was staring up at Justin in pure astonishment. Justin shouldered his bag.

"Do not come near me again. You've been warned," he said and walked out of the room without looking back.

When he arrived at Dr. Bernstein's office a half an hour later, he saw Brian up, dressed and gathering his things.

"You're coming home," Justin said, trying not to sound as excited as he felt. Overwrought emotion was not what Brian needed at the moment.

"Yup," Brian replied. "Is the loft ready?"

"All alcohol, drugs and cigarettes accounted for and disposed of. Unless you have a stash hidden in a hollowed out book or behind a secret wall panel, your home is temptation free."

Brian snorted. "Now you just need to make Liberty Ave - and probably the whole rest of Pittsburgh temptation free."

Doctor Bernstein approached and laid his hand on Brian's shoulder. "You know yourself better than anyone else," he said. "Watch for the red flags and listen to the warning bells. But most of all, be honest with those around you - and most importantly with yourself."

"Thank you, Dr. Dalai Lama," Brian said. "See you in . . .

". . . a week."

"Right. A week. Oh, and Doc? You better let Sunshine here know he's still a daddy or he'll be vibrating all night with angst and driving me up the fucking wall."

Justin felt suddenly light-headed. He'd desperately wanted to know how the baby was, but he'd been afraid to ask the doctor in Brian's presence . . . and he'd also been afraid to hear the answer. Now he knew. Brian was still pregnant. Pregnant and sober. Justin would've dropped Brian's bags and thrown his arms around Brian's neck if Brian was anyone but Brian. Instead he just grinned his head off, causing Brian to roll his eyes.

"It's true," Dr. Bernstein said. "Baby is alive and thriving. And besides being a little bit weak and shaky, daddy is too."

"Wait a minute," Justin said. "I thought I was ‘daddy.'"

Doctor Bernstein suddenly vanished. Justin was surprised he hadn't left behind a puff of smoke.

"We have eight months to sort that out," Brian said. "In the meantime, I'm fucking hungry . . . and I probably should make an appearance at the diner."

Justin grinned again. "Can I kiss you now that the doctor's gone?" he asked.

"I suppose," Brian grumbled. "If you must."

Suddenly, Justin was at a loss. What should he do? Should he throw himself at Brian and cover every inch of exposed skin with kisses? Should he cup Brian's face in both hands and kiss him till he couldn't breathe? Should he merely touch Brian's mouth with his and brush Brian's cheek with his fingers?

"Oh, for fuck sake," Brian said, crossing the short distance between them. He leaned down and nuzzled his face against Justin's hair, and then when Justin turned his head to look at him, Brian took his mouth and kissed him. A real kiss. A mouth-opening, tongue touching, breath-catching kiss. Justin dropped Brian's bags and reached up to comb his fingers into Brian's hair as the kiss went on . . . and on.

"When we get home," Brian said, pulling away, his voice low and husky. "Will you ride my cock? I want to watch you fuck yourself with it. I want you to turn around so I can watch you ride it, all slick and hard. I want you to lose your mind. I want to watch you make yourself come, all the while looking in your eyes. I want you to come on my face and then lick me clean and kiss me so I can taste you. I want you to squeeze the base of my cock when you come so tight you milk my orgasm right out of my balls. I want you to feel me throb inside you, filling the condom till it almost bursts."

He took Justin's hand and placed it on the hard-on testing the strength of his zipper. "Can you feel it? I'm so hard," he whispered against Justin's ear, raising goose-bumps all over Justin's body. "I'm so fucking hard for you. Rub it."

In the back of his mind, Justin thought it might be good to get home before going much farther, but then Brian was moving his hips, pressing his cock against Justin's palm.

"Gonna come in my jeans," Brian murmured into Justin's hair. He reached down and placed his hand on top of Justin's, guiding it, showing Justin what he needed. "That's it," he said. "That's it. Just a little harder. Head to balls. Ah!" Justin felt Brian's cock lurch several times against his palm, and he looked down between them to watch a silver-dollar-sized circle of wetness darken the faded denim. And then, before his brain could process what was happening, Brian shoved his hand inside his pants and under the waistband of his briefs. All it took were a few hard tugs, and he was coming. Brian withdrew his hand and licked his palm with long, broad sweeps of his tongue, his eyes never leaving Justin's. Then as the coup de grace, he ran his still-sticky fingers through his hair, leaving his bangs spikey.

Jesus fucking Christ!

Nothing on earth was hotter than Brian's command over Justin's body, over their fucking and coming and all the millions of sensations before and after. He was in control, and he knew it. Reveled in it. The rock-hard, perfect cock that everyone wanted but only a few have had. The prized stud. The master. The man.

Brian kissed him, his tongue still tasting of come. "Let's go," he said. "And get my fucking appearance over with so we can go home and fuck some more. That didn't even come close to emptying my balls."

There was no applause this time when Brian and Justin walked through the door of the diner. No one except Team Cold Turkey knew where Brian had been or about the ordeal he'd endured. For all the average patron knew, Brian had had the flu or something. He was paler and thinner than usual, but the overall package was still the same Brian Kinney that all Liberty Avenue loved, reviled and envied.

All of the Team was present. Deb had found out Brian was coming home that day and contacted everyone. There were the boys, of course, and Ben and Vic. Daphne, Mel and Linds were there too, and so was Justin's mother. They all knew it wasn't easy for Brian to be there. They'd all seen him at his absolute worst. Justin was proud of him for coming out to thank them all in person, and he could tell Deb was too. She hugged him long and close, and whispered something in his ear that Justin couldn't hear but that made Brian laugh.

"So," Brian said, his hands in his coat pocket and his pale cheeks pink with chagrin at having to face people who knew more about him now than he would've ever willingly revealed in a million years. He cleared his throat. "I . . . uhm . . . right, okay, here we go: I want to thank you guys for helping me out during a pretty fucking, shitty time in my life. I probably could've done it without you, but I'm glad I didn't have to."

Everyone rolled their eyes fondly and applauded. Michael was bopping up and down in his seat like a kernel of corn in a popcorn maker all the while patting the empty bench beside him. Brian slid in and threw his arm around Michael's shoulders.

"How ya doing there, Mikey?" he asked. "Keeping all the queers at Babylon in line?"

Michael grinned. "There's only one queer capable of doing that," he said. "Speaking of which, are you ever going to go there again?"

Brian seemed to think for a moment, and everyone waited for his answer with baited breath. "We'll see," he replied after a moment. "I hope so. I didn't go cold turkey on dancing and fucking."

Suddenly . . .

. . . the world receded as though Justin was on a ship pulling out of a harbor at record speed and watching the shore disappear under the horizon.

He felt his gorge rise. Why hadn't he thought about the possibility that Brian might start tricking again? How hadn't that idea even crossed his mind? After all, Brian had been tricking since the day Justin had first met him - in fact he, himself, had been a trick. Nonetheless he felt the world tilt back and forth unpleasantly as though he was riding a rickety roller coaster after having eaten too much fried dough.

Before he could look away and put on a mask of indifference, he caught Daphne's eyes. They weren't full of condemnation as he'd expected; instead they were dark, warm pools of empathy. He felt Deb squeeze the back of his neck consolingly. Jesus, what was his face giving away? Fortunately, Brian was caught up in some tale Emmett was telling and apparently hadn't noticed Justin's reaction to his words.

Brian. Beautiful, coveted Brian Kinney. When he danced, oblivious to the world, all desired him - his dark hair, his sweat-slicked skin, his body loose and limber under their hands. Moving muscle, hot and hard . . .

Justin was pretty sure he was going to puke. He slipped out of the booth he was sharing with his mom and went to the bathroom where he braced his hands on the sink and looked at his face in the smudged mirror. He looked dazed, like a man just gored by a bull but not yet aware he was going to die.

Brian was going to trick again. He was going to remove his clothes, revealing his body, and other men were going to touch him and suck him and rim him. Other men were going to finger him and lick his balls. Other guys were going to kiss and play with his nipples, and Brian was going to do the same to them. Brian would be spreading his legs and arching his back and moaning encouragement while all the while their baby was growing inside him . . .

. . . the feeling that he might throw up turned into reality.

Oh God! It felt like someone had cracked open his ribcage like the shell of a boiled lobster and was pulling his heart out. The pain shot through his whole body, making him writhe against the wall as though he was nothing but pain's marionette puppet. How was he going to go back out there? How was he going to be able to go back to the loft with Brian? How was he going to be able to let Brian fuck him while the whole time he was thinking of all the other countless guys Brian was going to fuck just as long, just as hard, just as passionately.

Suddenly, it hit him like a bullet to the head. He couldn't do it. It was like the moment in the marathon he'd tried to run when he was sixteen. Right around the twenty-first mile it'd dawned on him. He wasn't going to be able to finish. His body had put its foot down. It was simply done, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But what was he going to do? Where was he going to go? He couldn't go to Daphne's, he just couldn't. She would never say ‘I told you so,' but even the thought that she might was unbearable. Maybe he could go to his mom's. Or to Deb's. That option sounded the most appealing, but it would be the first place Brian would look, and he'd be pissed as hell that Justin had gone to the one person Brian knew was aware of his pregnancy. What about a hotel room? But how long could he afford that . . . ?

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"Justin? Can I come in?" It was an angel's voice. Daphne.

"Why? So you can gloat? No thank you," he replied.

"No. God, Jus," she said. "I can't believe you'd even think that! You gave me a choice the other day: to accept the fact that you wanted your baby or to lose your friendship. It was pretty much a no-brainer. Nothing ever will make me stop loving you and wanting to help you. Now, please let me in."

Justin closed his eyes and let a kiss of relief touch him. "Okay," he said. "But I have to warn you that I puked and it smells like vomit in here."

"I don't care," the beloved voice said. "It's not like I haven't ever smelled your barf before."

He laughed weakly and unlocked the door. She immediately entered and flung herself into his arms.

"What're you going to do?" she asked without pulling away, without even needing to ask why he'd fled.

"I don't know," he whispered. If he spoke any louder, he knew his voice would crack, and when it did, he'd start to cry. If there was one thing he couldn't do, it was cry.

"I've got a friend," Daphne said. "She's doing her first residency, and she's never home, which really sucks for her because she has a dog and she worries he's lonely. I bet you anything she'd let you crash there for little or no rent."

Justin tightened his fists in her coat. Was he really considering it? Was he really considering moving out of the loft?

"I don't know what to do," he said. "All I know is I can't watch him fucking other guys - I don't even know if I can bear even even thinking about it." He actually felt his stomach flip-flop again!

"Well, there's one thing for sure," she said. "You can't leave him alone right now. You have to think of the baby. Who knows what you leaving might do to him? His sobriety is so new and so frail, and he's so vulnerable."

Justin groaned with agony - literal agony. "Then I'm trapped," he said. "I have no choice but to watch him go back to fucking every mouth and asshole that presents itself - and even if I'm not actually watching, I'll be obsessing over it. How can I not?" He bit his lip to stop himself from crying. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. It would break him like a dry twig. Like a dying tree in a hurricane.

For just a fleeting moment, an abortion seemed like not the worst thing that could happen because it was the knowledge of the baby growing in Brian's belly that was going to make Brian's tricking unbearable. Brian was growing a piece of each of them bound together into a fragile, miraculous life, and every time Brian came in someone's mouth or ass, the baby would feel the contractions. Maybe not now, but at some point in the future. The baby would feel its father's body climax in overwhelming pleasure with someone else!

But how could he go? How could he save himself and not damn Brian and their baby?

And then the idea hit him. The perfect, heaven-sent idea. Brian needed someone living with him to help keep him sober, someone who loved him and would lay down his life to keep him safe, someone Brian loved and trusted in return . . .

. . . someone like Michael.