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Justin's mouth curved up into a quirky little smile when he noticed the pitcher of guava juice and the bowl of green apples. At least Brian's first day back at the loft would be a tasty one. Jennifer had agreed to stock up the cupboards and the fridge as soon as Brian had phoned her earlier, telling Justin that she wanted Brian to have everything he might need or want when he got home. Justin had a feeling that what Brian wanted and needed at the moment had little to do with food. Just being here, in his own home again, was almost enough for the man at the moment.

His eyes trailed over to see his partner touching each item as he passed by it - caressing every painting, running his fingers over books on the shelves, laying his palms against the sweaty condensation of the large windows. The sheer poignancy of the actions tore at Justin. Brian had spent most of his adult life in this loft. It was his home in the fullest meaning of the word. The evidence of his success, of his sexual prowess, of their love and relationship. It was his retreat and his status symbol, his comfort and his showcase. 

"I wondered if I'd ever see the outside of those pasty, ugly walls again, much less be here again. It feels... different. Like I've been away for years or I'm just passing through."  His hands gently touched the darkened light fixture above the loft bed and the melancholy in his voice gave a stutter to the words.

"It'll get better, Bri... You've been through a fucking lot of shit the last few weeks." As he walked up the steps toward his beautiful man, Justin added, "And I think I know how to make this place home again." He watched as the gleam sparked in Brian's eyes and his lips parted slightly, showing only the dark pink tip of a tongue. Justin stopped short of touching Brian. He stood just admiring the man - his beauty, his strength, his sensuality - as his own pulse began to race and both gratitude and desire burned behind his eyes.

They had held each other during the last few weeks, of course. Shared the infrequent sensual kiss. But neither of them had sought to turn their touches into something sexual. There was too much pain and heartbreak for both of them, too much fragility. These past weeks had just been about surviving. Brian's entire world had upended, his entire belief system had been called into question, and the hospital had represented all of that. Reminded them constantly of all of that. But now... They were home.

Both men had somehow expected this moment to be heavy with urgency and hurried lust, with fevered tearing of clothing and groping hands. What they experienced was so much more. Justin unhurriedly undid each button on his lover's shirt one by one, caressing the skin of Brian's shoulders as he let the fabric slide to the floor. Fingers slowly traced down the smooth skin of a strong chest, down the tautness of tensed abs, feeling the soft tremors there. Reacquainting. Relearning. Justin heard the sharp intake of a single breath, felt the slight shudder run through Brian's body. Blue eyes remained focused intently on hazel as Brian's hands caught up in Justin's hair and pulled their lips together.

"God, I've missed you, Sunshine." The words were a breath shared between them.

No, it hadn't been fevered and hurried as they'd anticipated. It had been slow and sanguine, worshipful and joyous. It had been a ceremony. A reclaiming. And when they came, bodies shaking from the sheer intensity of the moment, tears mingled with the sweat on their faces.

They both knew that it had never been like this, would never again be like this. 

Later, as they lay wrapped tightly together, Justin rested his head on Brian's chest. A serene smile settled on his lips as he closed his eyes and just listened to the thump-thump of Brian's heartbeat. He knew that that sound - that one extraordinary rhythm - grounded him more securely to earth than any law of physics ever could.

*******

"So, you're telling me he's been released?"

Kaz, checking his watch again in exasperation, had arrived at the psychiatric floor waiting room looking for Justin just minutes ago. Justin had told him he was usually in the waiting room every day at this time since Brian had a daily private therapy session scheduled. When he arrived and Justin was nowhere to be found, he checked with the nurse's station to have him located. They, of course, had become quite familiar with Kinney's young partner, who had been as much a fixture on the floor as the patient himself during the last two weeks. This was definitely, however, not the day to be playing tag with the man. Not with Simpson now in the equation.

The tired nurse looked down at the screen of the computer once again before answering the intense man.

"Yes, sir. Just as I told his uncle earlier, Mr. Kinney checked out on doctor's orders about three hours ago. Strange that Mr. Kinney becomes such a popular patient the day he leaves." The nurse chuckled to herself at her own bad joke.  

Kaz's eyes snapped toward the nurse. "His uncle?"

"Yes. Quite a handsome, elegant man. And he didn't seem to be any more pleased with the information than you are, sir."

"Fucker!" The nurse's back stiffened noticeably at the perceived insult and she opened her mouth to comment. Kaz hadn't seen her reaction, however. He was already on the elevator, phone in hand. By the time the elevator reached the lobby floor, he was on his third phone call.

 "Horvath here."

"Karl, we may have a problem. Kinney's been released, and apparently his ‘uncle' was made aware of that fact just a short time ago by the hospital." Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knew he should have been at the hospital yesterday, should have told Justin yesterday! Fuck!

"Christ. Sure they went to the loft. I'll call Justin's cell." The detective turned his car around and headed toward Tremont and Fuller.

"I already tried his cell, and Kinney's landline. Phones are off. Hope that means they're just securing some privacy there, detective."

"Shit. I'm on my way there now. Take me about ten."

"Already on my way."

As the call ended, both men were painfully aware of just what a major fuckup they could all be facing.

*******

He waited. Standing back some distance from the door to the old building, he just waited, vaguely wondering why anyone would put a security door at the entrance of such an apparent eyesore. Announcing his presence by using the intercom was out of the question, for obvious reasons. So, he thought, he would simply bide his time.

The thought had barely had time to cross his mind when he saw a woman at the door, packages falling clumsily to the ground as she struggled with the security code.

"Here," he drawled. "Looks like you're having a bit of a problem. Allow me." The exasperated woman smiled and nodded with her thanks as Connie Simpson collected the stray packages, and followed her into the building lobby.

"Thank you," the grateful woman laughed out. "I was about ready to scream."

"My pleasure, ma'am. Glad I was there to help." She had no way of knowing exactly how glad her good Samaritan actually was.

*******

Both Novotny's stared at Cynthia. They had arrived at Kinnetik hoping to get some information about Brian, and had been met with the stony resolve of a security guard who refused to let them enter. Neither one of them had heard a word about Brian in days, other than the news conference Cynthia had held on the steps of Brian's building.

"But you said you talked to Brian before the press conference. You've seen him. Lord knows Justin's been with him every minute. What about us? We want to see him, see for ourselves how he is. He's our family, for Christ's sake!"

"Mrs. Novotny, I have nothing to do with Brian's medical treatment or with who is or is not allowed access to him. That is between Brian, Justin and the medical team." Cynthia was in full protective mode. She had been called to the entrance of the building when the security team was unable to convince Michael and his mother to leave the premises. They were making their displeasure with that request known. Quite loudly. Jesus! What would these people do when they discovered Brian had been released this morning? Making a mental note to speak to Justin about security at the loft, she again addressed the pair in front of her.

"Mrs. Novotny. Michael. I'm sorry that you feel you are being left out of Brian's recovery, but you do realize that this is not about you... Don't you? This is about Brian and his health and his privacy." She emphasized the last word, noticing the slight grimace that crossed Michael's face.

"What the hell do you mean it isn't about us? Of course it's about us! Brian is family. He's been my best friend for over twenty years!"

"Justin won't listen to us. Won't even talk to us! I don't know what has happened to that boy, but he's completely left us out in the fucking cold!" Debbie chimed in. "You can talk with him, make him see reason. What if that was your family in the hospital, Ms. Moore?"

"Brian IS my family, Mrs. Novotny. And my employer. And my friend. And I want what is best for him. That's what loving families want. Period." She stared intently at the two irate people in front of her. "Now, if you will, excuse me, I have Brian's business to run. And you need to leave Kinnetik property. I would very much hate to call in the police to have you removed."

Without another word, Cynthia turned and entered the building, leaving both Debbie and Michael slightly stunned.

"Maybe she's right, Michael. Maybe we just need to let it be, let Brian come to us when he's ready." Debbie replayed the words Cynthia had used - that's what loving families want.

Michael stared at his mother.

"Fuck that," he said as he turned and left.

*******

Brian poured himself a glass of guava juice, smiling a bit at the joy of performing such a mundane task. His juice. His loft. His home. God, he was fucking home!

The hesitancy and insecurity he had felt when he and Justin walked through the door was all but gone.  All but. There were still traces of a vague strangeness to being here. As if it was a different room, a different building. But he knew the truth lay in him, not the real estate. The loft and the furnishings weren't different - he was. His whole life was something other than it was the last time he stood in this spot, pouring an identical glass of juice. He was not the same and never would be again.

He listened to the muted sounds of water starting in the shower and Justin humming a happy little tune, and he smiled to himself. God, he had missed Justin. His body, his touch, his smell. Brian couldn't remember a single time in his life when he had actually been afraid of fucking. He had been worried about it after Justin's bashing and after the cancer, but he hadn't been afraid. But so much had changed in his life - in their relationship - over the last several weeks; there were so many revelations and damned differences that he feared their sex life would be different, too. That it would somehow be affected, and he had been scared to death.

And it had been affected. But, Christ, it had been so much more than he had ever felt before! Oh, there had been need and fire. But there was such a fucking connection - a sensual spirituality to the act - a statement. It was the most love he had ever felt in his life. Just love.

Followed just now by a round of pure carnal lust.

He was lost in that thought, grinning wickedly to himself as he absentmindedly answered the knock on the door.

The grin faded as he stared at the man beyond the door, and Brian stood frozen, his hand still gripping the handle of the loft door. He tried to make his body respond, tried to turn and run, to shout - to... anything...

Frozen.

God. God. God. No. No! The fear, that so familiar, hated friend, wrapped its arms around him like a vise and any warm thought he had just been thinking evaporated. He was faintly aware that someone had spoken.

He spoke. "Wh...what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Is that how you greet a king, little boy?" There was no smirk accompanying the comment. It was a question firmly asked, as if it deserved some proper response.

And then there was only rain pelting the dark... the warmth of red running from his fingers and the sick smell of blistered skin and his throat burning from the screams... the cold and the kings and the darkness... rushing in on him as his body began to shake and his eyes blurred. The remembered pain - his mouth, his wrists, his head, his ass, his dick - brought him to his knees and he couldn't breathe.

"No, please, no," he whispered into the air. They wouldn't hear. They never heard. Brian scrabbled backwards until his back met with the cool leather of the sofa, instinctively seeking protection that he knew from ancient experience he wouldn't find. "No no no no no."

"God, you are still such a pretty little bitch." Connie sighed as he closed the loft door behind him and walked toward the huddled man. "But you've caused me so many problems, little boy."

BrotherWe will protect you.

Brian could feel the whispers deep inside, the quiet tugs that he had tried so strongly to resist. "I can't...do this."

We are here.

Connie reached down and ran his hands through the thickness of Brian's dark hair. Curling his fingers he grasped and jerked Brian's head back, staring coldly into anxious hazel eyes. "But... you are going to make all that up to me now, aren't you, little boy?"

"You can't hurt him. The King commands the king," Mac's pious voice spoke out, enigmatically. "For as much as you have done this to the least of these, you've done this to me."*

"Everyone is going to know," the melodic voice of Trick sing-songed up into the confused eyes of Connie Simpson.  "‘Go blow them horns' cried Joshua. ‘The battle is in my hands.'"**

"What the fuck?" Connie smirked at the bizarre words, the songs coming from the man huddled before him and roughly released his head. "What? You've suddenly become a priest, little boy?"

"Not a priest, motherfucker." A harsh, lilting voice growled out. Sonny quickly rose to his feet and faced Connie. "A pissed off avengin' angel... but you can just call us Joshua." As he uttered the last words, Sonny's face slid into an angry smile, and he pinned Connie against the wall of the loft, one arm pressed tightly across his throat. Struggling for breath, his eyes wide, Connie saw a flash of silver in Sonny's hand.

"I burned Jack's picture in effigy. Just a small thing I could do. Made me feel a wee bit better...," he turns the silver lighter around and opens the lid, lighting it, "...to ‘Ignite the Rage'." He huffs out a small, ironic laugh. "But with you, fucker, there'll not be need of an effigy, will there?"

Sonny didn't react to the sound of the shower shutting off. He didn't react to Connie's struggles to free himself. He didn't react to Justin's voice calling him.

"Sonny!"

"Yer fuckin' kings are dead. You are now a dead man, motherfucker." He brought the blue flame next to Connie's cheek and laughed when the man whimpered. "You feel that, do ya? Does it make you hot? Hmmm? Does the fear, the anticipation of the pain make yer cock twitch? Made ya hard when you were on the givin' end of it, didn't it, ya fuckin' bastard?"

"No! Please stop." Justin would gladly have killed the bastard with his bare hands, but he didn't want Brian, even through an alter, to have this on his conscience. "Fuck! Stop. You're going to kill him!"

Kaz and Carl stood outside the door of the loft, Carl's hand poised to knock. At the sound of Justin's raised voice he halted and moved one hand to the butt of his holstered weapon, and the other to the cool metal of the door handle. Begging a small favor from a god he hadn't talked to in quite a while, he pulled and let out a great sigh of thanks as the door slowly slid open. Kaz quickly moved into a wing position as the door widened, his weapon readied to protect Kinney and his partner. What they found was that Kinney was in need of anything at the moment but protection.

"Leave me be, Justin. This is between me and the king, here." Sonny's voice was eerily calm - his eyes never left those of the man he pinned to the wall. Waving the flame in Connie's face, he continued, "Ya know why they called themselves kings? Thought they had some kinda sovereign right to do anythin' that pleased ‘em. Even named their fuckin' bowling team after it. Three of ‘em, there were. Jack, old Connie here and Drake Thompson." Sonny pressed his arm tighter on Connie's windpipe and watched as the man's eyes widened even more, listened as the man gasped for just one more breath.

"Kinney, let the man go." Carl calmly demanded, startling Justin. Sonny didn't move.

"It's not Brian!" Justin quickly recovered. "Please... Carl, let me handle this. Please." Carl looked over at the two men against the wall, then back at Justin, and nodded. "I'll have to stop him, Justin, if it gets..."

"I know. Just...just let me do this."

The young man approached Sonny slowly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Sonny. Please don't do this. The police are here. Let them deal with this bastard."

"The po-lice?" Sonny laughed, but there was not a hint of humor in the sound. "Shit lot of good the cops did ‘im, eh, kid? Drake Thompson was a fuckin' cop!"

Justin closed his eyes and tried to hold the churning acid in his stomach. Fuck fuck fuck! Does it ever stop, he asked himself. "Sonny, you protect Brian. You've always been there to keep him from being hurt. But... if you hurt this sack of shit now, Brian will be the one to suffer. You know that."

Sonny tightened his grip on the now gasping man. "Do ya know what they did to ‘im, Justin? Do ya have any real idea? He's rememberin' now, how they broke ‘is bones just ta hear ‘im scream. How they made ‘im do things wee boys should NEVER even KNOW about!" Sonny's brogue increased with the obvious level of his own anguish. This was their pain, too. This had been their burden to carry for so many years. They were the protectors, the guardians of all the knowledge, all the history. THEY were the final walls that separated Brian from his truth.

And the walls were all tumbling down.

"Sonny, let me have Brian now." Justin's finger gently grazed Sonny's cheek, stroking it lightly, begging him with the touch.

Tears streamed down Sonny's anguished face, down Brian's face. His words began to break as he spoke. "They... passed ‘im around... between ‘em. Like a nickel whore! They kept ‘im there for weeks... rapin' ‘im... torturin' ‘im in that dark fucking place. Makin' ‘im scream, ‘cause they enjoyed it oh so much more when I screamed, didn't you, you motherfucking piece of shit!" Brian's voice broke through Sonny's, as he raised his hands to curl around Connie's throat, thumbs at his windpipe, face pressed against face. "You. Didn't. Break. Me! We fucking survived!"

Brian squeezed his hands tightly, choking Connie Simpson into unconsciousness. Kaz and Carl rushed toward him and pried his hands from the man, catching Brian as he fell back with a word.

"Sunshine," he sobbed.

Justin fell to his knees on the hard loft floor and pulled his lover into his arms, rocking him. "I've got you, Bri. I've got you."

"I remember. Every goddamned minute of it. I remember," he whispered into Justin's chest.

And all Justin could offer him was, "I'm so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry."

Chapter End Notes:

 

*Matthew 25:40

**Lyrics from the traditional spiritual "Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho". In the Biblical battle of Jericho, Joshua led the battle against an impenetrable fortress city, whose walls were eventually brought down by unquestioning faith and the sound of blaring bugles. Joshua 6: 1-27

 

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