Ben shut the front door just a little too loudly, catching his husband's attention in the small open kitchen. He peered over the counter as he spooned the yogurt on top of the oatmeal he had poured out for their breakfast, and noticed the grim, studied look on his partner's face.

"S'wrong, Ben," he asked hesitantly. With so much going on in their lives the last few weeks - the disruptions to their schedules caused by Brian's disappearance and hospitalization, the ensuing family meetings and the emotional upheavals everyone was experiencing - he was beginning to worry about his husband's health. Ben, by nature a quiet and thoughtful man, had become even less open since the articles had first started appearing about Brian in the various newspapers. There had even been a blurb on a local TV news show recounting the articles and offering open-ended speculation about the absent businessman's ‘true' condition and whereabouts. The media was donning its full circus finery.  

Ben sighed and pinched his nose beneath his glasses. "Reporter." He spat out the word as if it had burned his tongue. "At the gate, when I was getting the mail. Reporter asked me about Brian."

"So...," Michael began, "...what did you tell him?"

"Nothing, Michael. I told him nothing. ‘No comment'." Ben tossed the mail on the table, opening up the paper and giving it a cursory look before tossing it onto the table, as well.

"I don't believe this!" he yelled, and turned to look quizzically at his husband. Michael returned his confused look and retrieved the tossed paper. Initially he saw nothing other than the standard political fiasco or looming financial disaster, until he noticed the side-bar. There... in the highlights for Section C... the business section... a small thumbnail of Brian and a short clip questioning the Kinnetik owner's mental stability. Continued on C-1.

"Jesus..." was all Michael could say as he laid the paper down almost carefully. "Ben..."

"Don't! Just... don't, Michael." He knew Michael was confused by the real anger in his voice. He knew that Michael didn't, and probably never would, admit his own hand in the new mess that was staring Brian in the face, threatening the very future of his beloved company. And he knew that Michael would never understand that this denial was what angered him. Not that Michael had become angry or jealous or hurt or drunk enough to blurt out something so hurtful to his friend in public, but that he felt no remorse or responsibility for having done so.

Ben shrugged into his jacket and walked out of the house he shared with Michael without any additional words. As he walked aimlessly he realized he had always seen Michael as the embodiment of the best of a child-like nature - vulnerable but trusting and loyal to a fault. That core belief had helped Ben dismiss so much during the course of their relationship, even Michael's obsession over Brian and his continued distrust of Justin's character. He had brushed off Michael's inability to recognize the strength and love that created the bond between Brian and Justin as the leftovers of a boyhood crush. Now... now he saw his own husband's true, fundamental character laid out bare in the wake of this crisis. And, god help him, he really didn't much like what he saw.

*******

Debbie poured another cup of coffee for Carl, placing the pot back on the burner behind the counter. She had missed him terribly during the last couple of weeks, and she knew that, though their schedules were conflicting much of the time, the extra hours he put in trying to make sense of Brian's predicament had a lot to do with the lack of time they spent together. She certainly didn't begrudge him that. It warmed her heart to know that this man she initially thought of as a homophobic prick had developed such a desire to help one of her boys. Knowing he was doing the right thing, however, didn't keep her from missing him.

Just knowing that Carl was going to be there for her, as much as he was able, had held the woman together through this disaster. It had been hard. Incredibly hard. Knowing that Brian was hurting and being able to do nothing to help, not being allowed to do anything to help. She had no doubt at all that Brian was hurting. But she also knew the kind of life he lived - fucking hard and fucking fast. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. No apologies, no regrets. Christ! This little broken boy had simply shown up on her doorstep, intertwined himself completely into her family, and then had continued to do every single thing possible to destroy himself from day one. And he dragged her son and everyone else along for the ride.

That kind of life just begged a breakdown. She knew it, and she was sure he had known it, too.

"Red?" Carl touched Deb's arm lightly.

"Oh, sorry! Mind got away from me a little," she laughed lightly. "Can't afford to let any more of it go. You want to take a lemon bar for later?"

"I can do without it," Carl responded, tugging his belt. "Honey," he hesitated, knowing that talking about Brian could be a touchy thing for this woman right now. "...you know this stuff that's been in the paper? Well, it's gonna get worse, Red. There's a piece in the business section today. About Kinnetik. That's not good."

"Brian just needs to make some kind of statement, Carl. He needs to clear this up!"

"Deb, he's in no condition to make any statements right now, and he damn well shouldn't have to. This should just be his business. He's sick, honey, and after all we did to keep this quiet, it's a... shame it had to come out now. Like this. This could destroy his business." The detective in him braced for what he knew was coming. He could read the woman's face like a book.

"Are you talking about Michael?" She pointed asked him, backing away slightly from the counter. "If you are blaming my son for this, Carl Horvath..."

"Red! Stop. I'm not blaming anyone for anything. I'm just saying it's gonna cause some serious trouble. You may have some reporters visiting you, trying to get more information. Just... don't talk to them. Call me if you need to. Okay?" He reached across the counter and took Deb's hand in his. "Okay?"

"Yeah," she responded, softly. "But don't you dare blame my son. Michael loves that man, always has. He would never do anything to hurt him, Carl." Tears threatened Deb's eyes. "You know him."

"Yeah, well... this did hurt him, Red. It's gonna hurt him even more before it's over, I'm afraid."

*******

Cynthia leaned her back against the door to the conference room. Shit, she thought. To think that only two days ago she worried about juggling everything. Now, there's a security guard posted at each entrance to the building, reporters doing their best to circumvent the security, and every local client was calling about the fucking article in the business section of the Post-Gazette! Not to mention the seemingly endless parade of worried phone calls, Cynthia had just finished her third face to face this morning with an anxious client. And this time it was a big one, First Pitts Bank. That account itself brought in nearly a half million a year. Unless some concession was made to the press, they were going to lose these accounts and this was going to turn into a financial disaster for Kinnetik.

Christ. Rocks and hard places. Seems Brian just kept getting jammed between them these days, through no fault of his own. If Brian was here... Well, Cynthia? If Brian was here, what the hell would he do? He'd charm their fucking pants off. He'd dazzle them with the Kinney song and dance. In top hat and tails, if had to.  

But, Brian isn't here. Okay. So...

Guess it's time to pull out your dancing shoes, old girl, she thought.

Pushing away from the door, Cynthia picks up the phone to make a call she hoped she would never have to make.

"Hey, Cynthia."

"Hi, Justin. We've got a problem."

"We've got lots of problems. What particular one are we talking about?"

"It's time, Justin. We need to go to the press." 

*******

Lindsay drank her tea quietly and waited, hoping that Mel would be able to make it home soon. She had just put JR down for her nap and Gus was visiting his friend for the day. Perhaps she should have waited until this evening and not asked Mel to come home immediately.

No. This couldn't wait.

The phone call had shaken her. Of course, she had been keeping in touch with Michael and Debbie since their return from Pittsburgh - after that disastrous family meeting at Debbie's. She was still stinging over Justin's behavior that night. What was he thinking? He can't handle Brian that way! He's just a kid. A talented young man who needs to be focusing on his own life in New York, on his art! Suddenly he's Brian's keeper? His proxy? Lord...

And now this... Articles in the papers, on the news, the things they were reporting, potential trouble for Kinnetik... Gus's future was in that company and, much as she loved Brian, she had to protect Gus.

Oh, Brian, what have you done?

*******

God, he thought, was that a smile? Justin looked over at the beautiful man sitting next to him on the sofa and grinned at the expression on his perfect face. He was smiling! It wasn't a complete smile of joy, but it was a fucking spontaneous smile!

"What?" Brian asked him.

"You...you're smiling." There was a hint of awe in Justin's words that weren't lost on Brian.

"Yeah. I guess I am," he responded, a bit in awe himself. "I felt like... smiling."

Justin reached over and pulled his partner into his arms, his eyes wet with relief. There had never, never been a smile as bright, as welcome as the one he had just witnessed. "I can't wait until you smirk," Justin laughed into Brian's shoulder.

"Twat."

With that one word, Justin's defenses gave way and he sobbed. He had been holding on with everything he had and he was so tired of holding on. Of just holding on.

Brian was in there. HE was there.

Wrapping Justin tightly to him, Brian kissed the young man's forehead. "I'm here.  S'okay... I'm here."

"So, I'm going to guess that the cocktail has begun to work." Neither man broke away from their embrace as Brian asked, "Cocktail?"

Alice McCarthy nodded her head quickly and laughed at the question. "Yes, cocktail. Technically, a combination of different medications we've had you on for several days. And... they appear to be approaching what I like to call the ‘aha' moment - that moment when the patient notices a difference."

Brian pulled slightly away from Justin to face the doctor, making sure that he didn't lose physical contact with his partner at any time. He needed the connection, the ground. It seemed a lifetime since he had felt it, felt worthy of it.

"Dr. McCarthy, what exactly has been happening to me? I know I've been a... a mess. But what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"Brian, first let me say that I wanted to wait until you were somewhat stable emotionally to discuss this with you. Your partner has been kept completely apprised of and has been hands on with every action we've taken where you are concerned. In fact, I'm in awe of his physical and emotional stamina. He's an amazing young man." She smiled appreciatively at Justin, and Brian held his hand just a bit tighter.

"Yeah, he is." Brian said softly, whispering the words into his lover's hair.

"Now, to answer your question. We - you - are dealing with several issues. The most easily treated, and the ones for which the cocktail was prescribed, are anxiety and depression. Both of those conditions can be caused by biology or by traumatic event. Either way, the first line of treatment when the symptoms are as severe as yours is medication. Thus the cocktail. Thankfully we have recently been blessed with some very fast acting medications in those areas. Five years ago, even two years ago, that would not have been the case." She paused.

"Okay, so better living through chemistry. Go on."

"More accurately, better living through better brain chemistry," Dr. McCarthy smiled as she corrected Brian. "And, please, don't think of those conditions lightly. They can be devastating at times. Feelings of self-worth, of joy, the ability to love and be loved - everything passes through the lens of depression, especially. A week ago, Brian, you couldn't smile. Nothing seemed worth waking up for. Today, you smiled just for the sake of it. Am I wrong?"

"No. It is a little less dark, I suppose. Inside my head." He closed his eyes and turned his face away slightly before he added, "Just a little."

"I know. The medication can't diffuse all the darkness, I'm sorry. Even when they eventually reach maximum efficacy. There is still a lot of work to be done, for you to do. With that being said, I need to ask you how much you recall from the last two to three weeks, Brian." This was always the difficult part, getting the patient to the point of telling them about their diagnosis, that their lives were so out of control. Brian had seen it, had seen the videos of alters, but did he know what he was seeing?

"Dr. McCarthy, you and I both know that I don't recall much at all. I'm not an idiot. I know there are chunks of time gone, memories lost or whatever. I don't even know how long I've been here. Just tell me. What. Is. Wrong. With. Me!" Justin reached over and placed one hand on Brian's chest, calming him. This was the impatient, no bullshit Brian, demanding answers.

Alice McCarthy let out a long sigh, folded her hands on her desk and faced Brian squarely. This was a determined man. The man his partner spoke of so often and so lovingly. Capable, strong, intuitive. He already knew on some level what he was going to be dealing with.

"Brian, you've been in the hospital for ten days. Under my care for eight of those. Much of that time, you have been... absent. Not unconscious - just absent. You have a condition called Dissociative Identity Disorder. Before we understood the actual mechanics of the condition it was called... multiple personality disorder." She watched the confusion on Brian's face, saw it change into recognition and then disbelief, and then the expected anger.

"You fucking think I'm Sybil?" Justin clutched Brian's hand, struggling to keep him from running away from this.

"Jus? You believe this shit?" He looked toward his partner, stunned that he could be pulled into this fantasy.

"Yeah, Bri. I do. Please..." he implored Brian. Please, he silently begged, please just listen. Don't go away now.

"Brian, please," the doctor quickly tried to avoid a personality switch. "Brian, don't let this happen."

He shook his head in disbelief. Let what happen? What? But he knew what she meant. God... what the fuck had happened to his life? Who the hell was he anymore? He could feel it, like a faint command. An order being given that he had to obey... No. Not the fuck now! Not now!

"Not now!"

"Brian." She held her hand out to him. Another ground. Anything to keep him here. "This is you, Brian Kinney."

Both she and Justin could physically feel the struggle going on inside Brian, his body shaking from the sheer mental and emotional force he was exerting to simply maintain. Heard his murmured refusals over and over - not now not now. They knew he was at once fighting and accepting his truth. And they knew the moment the battle ended.

He sat with Justin holding him tightly on his left, the doctor in front of him, and felt a shift inside. An acceptance of him. As him. And he knew he wasn't Sybil. Or Eve. Or any of a host of other before him. He was Brian Kinney. And he would goddamn well win this fucking war.

He raised his head, his eyes closed tightly, lips tucked between his teeth.   

"Okay," he whispered to no one in particular. "What's next?"