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(From Chapter 13: Say it out loud)

"No. He's coming!"    

"Who's coming?"

The man - the little boy - wrapped up protectively in his own arms shook his head violently. "No. Shhhh. He won't see me here. He won't see me."

"Who won't see you?"

Justin had been sitting, stunned witnessing the metamorphosis of his strong partner into this sad, terrified child. He watched as round, sad eyes peeked out from between the arms that were desperately trying to hold the body together. Justin's hands balled into fists, his faced twisted in agony and hatred as he heard a single, soft word whispered:

"Jack."

*******

That one whispered, whimpered word crashed Justin's world. He had known it, of course. Had known that there was serious abuse in Brian's childhood, but to hear that fear, that abject terror of a father from his little boy... from Brian. He clamped both his hands tightly to his mouth to stifle the loud sobs he knew were forthcoming as his shoulders shook uncontrollably.

God, please make him alive again so I can kill him. Please let me be able to kill him.

And in his head, in his heart, he was. Killing Jack Kinney again and again. Staring him in the eye with the words of his own evil biting back at him, he gladly executed that monster over and over. And Justin knew that inside himself lived something cold and hard, an iciness that would never thaw again. That one word from Brian's lips had spotlighted a part of Justin's soul he had never had to access. That part that could, and would kill. And he hated Jack Kinney for that, too - for stealing what little innocence Justin had left to lose.

"Justin..."

Dr. McCarthy's voice pulled him from his homicidal fantasy, and Justin suddenly wasn't sure which place was more comfortable - the reality of here, with Brian, or that world inside him filled with a gleeful murderous rage.

"I'm sorry. I'm here."

"Brian needs you here."

Immediately Justin pulled himself back and knelt beside the doctor. "I'm sorry. I... I..."

"I know, Justin. Me, too. But right now, this, is about Brian." She squeezed the young man's shoulder as he clamped his eyes shut and nodded his head.

Turning her attention back to her patient, she tried to pull him from his terror filled distress.

"Jack can't hurt you here. Justin and I are here to keep him away. Is that okay?"

"Shhh. Please... I got my eyes shut. He can't find me. Please!" Her heart was aching for this man, this hurt and frightened child as she listened to the small voice pleading. Then the voice changed, the attitude changed. "Go back to sleep, Little Boy... codlaíonn tú... codlaíonn tú ... you sleep. The Father's gone."

In an instant the arms unwrapped from the huddling body in the corner, steel hard eyes met those of Dr. McCarthy and then Justin. Justin met the eyes with his own strong gaze and knew he'd met this alter, had heard this brogue before. In a bar. With a woman on his lap. Pressed up against a wall, with that arm across his throat. "You were warned. We'll not be letting you HURT them!"

"They are already hurting. Their pain doesn't go away. You can't make it go away... only Brian can do that."

"No. He cannot."

"Why can't he?"

"Because he... feels... too much." Justin noticed the hesitation right away. This alter protected Brian. He felt for Brian. He reined in Brian's emotions, kept him aloof.

And it suddenly made more sense to Justin... he wanted to laugh with the sheer simplicity of it all. He hadn't been living with, loving with one man... he had been in a relationship with who knows how many men... all looking the same, but each one reining in his Brian at every step. Never letting him near an emotion because the house of cards would all collapse! He decided to risk addressing the alter directly, and hoped to any god who was listening that he wasn't making the wrong move.

 "We've met before, haven't we? Before you attacked me in that bar. You know me... intimately... don't you?" Justin accused. He stood up to have as much advantage as possible. "You should at least tell me your name."

"Justin..." Dr. McCarthy tried vainly to warn Justin away from this tack.

"No!" Justin stood his ground. "He and I have business to take care of, don't we?" He looked back to the unknown alter. "Tell me your name."

"You always were a feisty one. No wonder..."

"No wonder what? What?" Justin moved closer to the man who looked like Brian. "You know I'm tenacious. You know I won't stop until you answer me. Don't you?"

"Sonny. My name."

"Sonny. Thank you." Justin backed off his intimidation only slightly. "Have you always been here, between Brian and me?" 

"We are always there." Sonny smirked, so fucking much like Brian.

"We? Christ! How many of you are there? How many of you are there, keeping him alone? You can't even let him have that? Have me?"

Sonny quickly pushed Justin against the office door, pinning his shoulders with his body, his hands tangling in Justin's hair, thrusting back the blond head.

"Justin!" Dr. McCarthy started to approach the two men, more than concerned for the physical safety of the younger one and the psychological safety of the older. Shit! How had she let this get so out of control?

Justin held up one hand to wave off the doctor. "He won't hurt me. He won't hurt me!" He adamantly repeated. Looking directly into the flashing hazel eyes, he asked, "Will you, Brian? You won't hurt me, Brian."

Sonny's eyes wandered over Justin's face, searching for... truth? Forgiveness? He touched his forehead to Justin and Justin could feel the smallest of tremors run through the other man's body.

"Brian. Please don't let them do this to you."

"Jus..." Familiar lips met his for the briefest of touches. "Fuck, Jus..." Brian felt his partner's arms came up and wrap around him tightly, grounding him.

"My god, Brian... you have to let us help you. Please. I need you."

"It's too much. It's... too much."

"No. Losing yourself is too much. This is not another fucking trip to Ibiza, Brian! You will not fucking disappear on me!"

And Brian actually laughed.

*******

He leaned casually against the wall in the semi-darkness of the conference room watching his father direct yet another dry, boring meeting. At least this would be the last damned one, he thought. He had just been waiting. Waiting him out. And now finally. Fucking finally. Connie couldn't be happier that the old man was retiring. Only one more month and the reins would be handed over - to him. The only son. The heir. Greg C. Simpson, Jr. would finally - fucking finally - have the respect he deserved.  

"And, as you all know, this is the last meeting I will direct as head of Simpson Steel. We've had a good ride, boys and girls. A real good ride." Simpson, Sr. gave a self-effacing chuckle, highlighting the very understated comment. "But it's time. The legal powers that be are effecting the required changes that are necessary for a formal transition of power - documentation and that sort of thing - but today I make the rather informal announcement. As of next Monday, there will be a new hand at the helm, since my own hand will undoubtedly be at the helm of some yacht off the coast of a small uncharted tropical island." Another smattering of awed laughter arose. "In my stead, I am announcing that your new CEO will be my granddaughter, Samantha Simpson."

Connie didn't hear the congratulatory applause for his oldest daughter. He didn't see her take her place behind her grandfather's seat. He didn't feel the proud pats on his shoulder. For him there was nothing but red. Engulfing him. Consuming him. Red. Crimson shock. Hate.     

The man had never, never understood his son. Hell, he had barely tolerated him most of the time. Self-righteous old bastard.

You can't coast along in life, Connie. You have to earn your way in the world.

Success isn't about money, Connie. It's about accomplishment. It's about building a man out of the boy inside.  

I'm not going to bail you out of another fuck-up, Connie.

What a load of bullshit.

Connie knew he'd been a major disappointment to the old man from day one. Premature and frail, he wasn't the son the heir to the Simpson fortune was expecting. But Connie had tried. Hard. Tried to be the son his father wanted. He had worked hard to make sure the grades were perfect, that his friends were the most popular, that he had the most ribbons and trophies in sports. He had fucking tried. And not a damned thing had worked. It was never enough. But, at least he had the Simpson family name to fall back on. At least it was something.

Then came the divorce and mom had moved the two of them to fucking Pittsburgh. Christ, of all the places she could have chosen, it had to be the Pitts. And the Pitts had to have him.

And the pure red anger - the hatred - pulsed through him again. His daughter. His father. And that fucking little bitch, Kinney.

*******

Cynthia stood stone still, staring out of Brian's office window at the parking lot of Brian's company. Kaz studied her as she stood, resting her head against the glass panes. He had never seen anyone quite as motionless for quite that length of time.

"Cynthia?" No answer.

"They're all connected. All three of them. Somehow it's all about..." The words were so painfully whispered, the voice so quiet, Kaz wondered if Cynthia actually meant to speak aloud.

"That fucking piece of shit!" She finally yelled and the vehemence bursting out of this otherwise cool woman had Kaz on high alert.

"Are you talking about Simpson?"

"Yes. He's done this. Somehow. The arrest when Brian was a teenager, the arrest in Chicago, and..." Cynthia sighed heavily and wrapped her arms around her middle, as if holding herself together. She didn't know exactly what had happened, not the details, but... oh, God, she knew it was bad.  

"And?"

Cynthia slowly pulled herself away from the cool of the window, wondering at the irony of how that touch of glass comforted her. It matched the ice that had been running through her veins since she connected the last piece with that bastard's name. She turned around and made her way back to Brian's sprawling desk, picking up a single sheet of paper and handing it to the investigator.

"And... this."

Kaz looked over what was obviously a computer printout of an email from... oh, fuck... It was a request for a meeting to discuss retaining Kinnetik. A meeting here. In Pittsburgh.

"Oh, fuck..." The air hissed out of the surprised man.

"Yeah. Exactly."

"Son of a bitch," Kaz whispered as he noticed the signature. "Junior... When did you get this?"

"I didn't... Brian did." The answer came agonizingly slowly. They both knew the possible meaning behind this. Cynthia had already stated it. They were all connected. Junior was the reason Brian did time at Shuman. Junior was the reason Brian was arrested in Chicago. And now...

Kaz looked warily at the date and time stamp of the printout. Shit. It was dated the day after Justin left for New York.

Right before Brian's disappearance.

*******

She looked apprehensively between the two men holding each other. She didn't know whether to kick her own ass for letting the situation get so far outside of her control or genuflect in gratitude that the lapse had - hopefully - worked to their advantage. At this moment she was simply relieved that Brian was apparently in control of the body. At least for the moment.

Dr. McCarthy had never seen anything quite like the drama that had just played out in her office. Justin had simply taken over. He had commanded the moment, had intimidated Sonny into submission. That was one hell of a risk!  

Or was it really?

She had seen for herself the extraordinary bond that existed between Brian and Justin. Did that bond exist with Sonny as well? Or had Justin somehow been able to recall Brian from the queue of waiting alters because he needed him? Had Brian - the original Brian - felt the need to protect Justin and reclaimed his body in order to do so? Lord!

Alice McCarthy had been a psychiatrist longer than either of these men had been alive. She had seen just about everything her profession had to offer in terms of ailments, conditions, treatments... surprises. Somehow, after today, she felt like she was heading into a new course of study. One she had in some way missed during her years as a student and doctor. This was... She reflected back to her own comparison to possession during Brian's prior meltdown and wondered if she had actually been so very far off.

The doctor retrieved a cup of water for each man. This had been an exhaustingly painful encounter. As difficult as it had been, however, she knew she couldn't waste the opportunity these events had provided. She took her seat opposite the weary pair and spoke quietly.

"Brian, how are you feeling right now?"

"Like shit actually." They all laughed lightly at the pure normalcy of that phrase.

"I would think so. But... can you be a bit more specific? I know your body is tired, aching. That's normal with this level of emotional work." She leaned forward slightly, making sure he was focusing on her. "But how are you feeling?"

Brian hesitated, drawing in a long breath, then resting his head against the back of the couch. He closed his eyes and let his lips move soundlessly, as if reciting a quiet prayer. The doctor noticed his free hand stirring slightly, making the same motion repeatedly. The sign of the cross?

"Brian," she offered softly, "...where are you right now?"

Again, Brian hesitated. He then pulled Justin's hand closer to his chest, blew out the large breath and spoke quietly, eyes still closed. "I used to pray," he said simply, almost as if that answered every question. Gave everything finality.

"Are you praying now?"

"No," he laughed sardonically.

"What did you pray about?"

"I used to pray that they would die." There was no emotion in the words. It was a flatly stated fact.

"Or that I would."

The only sign that the admission was more than some random string of words was a tightening at the corners of Brian's mouth. One slight tell. One that spoke volumes to Dr. McCarthy. It was that pinch one gave oneself to keep the tears from overflowing. He could feel the dam of his closed eyelids giving way, she knew. And she knew that he had to lose the battle - had to allow the dam's destruction.

"Who are ‘they', Brian?" There was little question in her mind who ‘they' were. She was sure she knew. But it had to be said. Out loud.

"The... I... Shit!"

"Brian, who are ‘they'?

"No. No! Shit! Shit!" Brian pulled away from Justin and stood. He paced around the room, alternately pulling at his hair and scrubbing his face with his hands. He pressed his body closely to the wood of the door, then backed away and kicked it with as much force as the cloth covering of his hospital shoes would allow.  

"Christ! What difference does it make? Huh? What the fuck difference does it make?"

The room virtually pulsed with the pain and anger emanating from the tall, distressed man. Justin rose and quietly approached Brian, placing one hand on the heaving chest.

"I've never met a stronger man in my life than you." He wrapped his arms around his lover. "They lied to you, Bri. They made you feel weak. They made you feel vulnerable. They. Were. Liars. You found a way to be in control. But it cost you too much." He pulled Brian tighter and whispered in his ear, just for him. "Don't... don't let it cost you the rest of your life."

"I can't do this, Justin." Brian buried his face in the curve of the young man's neck, breathing deeply - taking in the scent of comfort, of home. God, he was so fucking tired. So fucking tired of everything.

"Yeah, you can. We can."

He breathed his partner in deeply once more and suddenly sagged back against the door, resting his head on it. His eyes closed and his mouth hung slightly agape. Soft. When he finally spoke them the words sounded almost reverent, as if pulled from some arcane litany.

C'mon. You know what we want, little boy.

"The Kings."

Dr. McCarthy narrowed her eyes slightly, a bit surprised at the identification. Who were the Kings? She heard Brian speak again, this time with a bit more venom.

"They fucking called themselves the Kings." And he let his body slide to the floor.

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