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The loss of Little Boy had deeply affected Brian and his brothers. He no longer referred to them as alters. They were his family, tied together by a bond even stronger than blood or love. They were joint survivors, creators of a different world, an alternate way of life. As Brian sat in Alice's office a month after that fateful day when he heard the news of Connie's massive stroke, Brian made their intentions known to her.

"We're not going to integrate, Alice. And I know your feelings on the matter. Lord knows, woman, you've made them clear enough." Brian smirked at the doctor who had led him through this strange valley. They had become close friends as well as doctor/patient, neither one of them caring a bit that it wasn't the most ethical move. It was the right move for them.

"Brian, do you realize what you are letting yourself in for? For the rest of your life?" She knew of the movement within the ‘plural community' to dismiss integration and she wasn't fond of the idea. "I know integration is a long, arduous process, but really Brian..."

"I honestly think we are in a better position than you are, Alice, to judge our ability to co-exist. We've decided." The look on Brian's face told the experienced doctor that the matter was closed. There would be no discussion on this.

"Okay... So, have you thought about the rest of what we talked about last week?" Brian's stability had improved to the point that they were now at bi-weekly sessions, one strictly focusing on his abuse recovery, and the other focusing on the DID and other life issues - work, his son, the loss of his friends and family, and coming out publicly with his diagnosis. If he was indeed going to live cooperatively with the alters, being open and honest would be absolutely necessary.

"We have." The doctor noticed his increased use of the plural ‘we' when discussing certain issues. She knew he wasn't talking about Justin. "First of all, I'm going to retire from Kinnetik. When we do come out it's bound to have a negative effect on many clients. I want the company and its reputation to be the focus for the clients, not whether or not we are going to start switching in the middle of a presentation."

"That's a huge step, Brian. Are you really willing to give up your business, the one you created?"

"Financially, we're set for life. Money won't be an issue. And the company is important... was important. It's less so now. There are other things in life that are much more important. And Cynthia and Ted... well they've not only run the place for the last few months, they've made it thrive. They can handle it... take care of it." He looked down at his hands, intently studying every vein and freckle. She could see this was not as easy as he was trying to make it sound.

"I want to fight to get my son back in my life. We want to travel with Justin, let him focus on his art and see the world for awhile. He's given up his life for us and we owe him that." He paused momentarily, thinking before he continued. "And we want to build a... foundation of sorts. Something to promote more awareness to the connection between child abuse and mental illness. Particularly DID. It is kind of the bastard child of the industry." He laughed shyly.

"Well, well... you don't plan on retiring at all, do you? You're just shifting careers!" Alice laughed along with Brian. "And that should be right up your alley, my friend. After all, from what I hear you are a hell of a pitch man."

She watched as Brian blushed slightly. This was a humble man. A caring man. The cocky lothario she had heard so much about, the Brian fucking Kinney persona, had never revealed itself to her, and she wondered if he had ever really existed. She recalled Justin, early on, mentioning the masks Brian wore - his protective armor.

No, he had really never existed at all.

"So," he began to ask quietly, "...how do we go about coming out as a plural man?"

*******

 

Justin stood at the kitchen island dicing and slicing vegetables for the dinner he was preparing.

"Shit!" he exclaimed and grabbed a cloth from the counter to staunch the trickle of blood from his fingertip. He hadn't been this nervous in the kitchen in years, probably not since he had first made that crazy jambalaya for Brian when he was seventeen. Even then he hadn't been nervous enough to slice his finger open. Running cold water over the admittedly small cut, he realized he only had half an hour before their guests would arrive.

Their guests.

Shit.

This was the first time since before he had gone to New York that he and Brian were having guests. Visits from Alice, as sometimes pleasant as they were, didn't count. She was his doctor. This was entertaining.

Christ. Brian was ‘coming out'... again. Justin had to laugh loudly at the image of this openly gay, unapologetically gay man coming out of the closet. But this was a whole other closet - and he wasn't coming out alone.

"I'm not sure I want to eat that if it's that fucking funny to prepare, Sunshine," Brian teased as he reached over the counter to grab a handful of carrots.

"The dinner isn't funny. The closet is," Justin said enigmatically.

Brian raised one eyebrow, looking questioningly at his partner.

"Never mind. It's only funny in my head. Why don't you open a bottle of that malbec to go with the beef."

"How many bottles of this stuff did ya buy?" Justin noticed the slightest hint of brogue in Brian's words. It wasn't Sonny, he knew. He could always tell now, even without the vocal differences. There was no change in posture, no change in attitude. This was Just Brian. But more and more he had taken on a vestige of Sonny's lilt in his own speech. The two had developed the closest relationship of any of the brothers.

"Only four. They were on sale."

"Christ, Jus. Ya don't buy wine because it's on sale! You churl!" Justin wadded up the towel he had been using for his cut finger and tossed it at Brian, hitting him squarely in the face just as the buzzer sounded.

"Don't think the bell saved you, young man. You will pay for this later." The young man in question laughed and stuck out his tongue. Brian kissed the blond head as he walked over to let their guests in.

*******

Adam Ritchie calmly ended the call, tossed his phone on the sofa cushion beside him and sipped his wine. He couldn't resist letting a small grin curl up the corners of his mouth as the thought of the frustration of the women who had been the subject of that phone call. They just weren't about to give up, but truthfully, there was shit they could do. And they knew it.

Melanie Marcus and Lindsey Peterson had, metaphorically speaking, shot their wads.

Upon his return from Toronto after quashing the attempt at obtaining a peace bond against Brian Kinney, Adam had advised his client to have a third party take possession of any support funds he presented for Gus Peterson-Marcus by creating a liberal trust to handle any of the boy's financial needs. Although Brian had wanted Adam to be that third party, they finally agreed that an intermediary easily accessible to the child would be preferable. Adam immediately contacted an old friend from university.

Clara Jacobson had experience in handling small trusts, with the added bonus of being a friend of the court social worker. Every bill for Kinney's son - every medical bill, tuition expense, clothing bill - was paid out of the trust directly to the provider only after receiving proof of need. The stipulation that particularly galled the boy's mothers was the requirement that the trustee meet personally with the child at least twice a month. Since there was no legal requirement for his client to even pay support in the first place, Brian could essentially attach any stipulation he wished. If they didn't agree to meet the stipulation, no funds were released. It worked.

Yes, the collaboration was working out well for everyone - except for Marcus and Peterson. They had apparently relied a little too heavily on Brian Kinney's money for their personal use. And the well had dried up.

Adam's grin widened slightly as he sipped his wine and thought about karma.

*******

The dinner had gone well. The food was delicious, the wine robust and freely flowing, and the company was supportive and loving. Brian's first foray into the world as a plurality was a success. Justin had wanted to make this first move on Brian's part as seamless as possible. Everyone he had asked to join them tonight already knew the basics of Brian's condition - his mother and Daphne, Kaz and Cynthia, Emmett and Theodore. He knew each and every of them would be proud of Brian's progress. Happy for him. And they were.

With the exception of Jennifer, Kaz and Cynthia, however, none of them had actually seen Brian during or after a switch, and those three had only seen it momentarily. Everyone knew the mechanics - the technical aspects of DID. Justin had made certain of that. But none of them had really accepted thereality of it. When Trick began to sing as they were sipping an after dinner wine, there was a tense moment - until Emmett recognized the song and began singing with him. After the two had finished the song, with an accompanying badly executed little dance, Justin made the introductions. Neither Sonny or Mac made an appearance. This wasn't their kind of gig, apparently.

Justin walked through the loft, picking up the last of the abandoned glasses and napkins, and turning off the lights.

"How did we do?" Brian asked, almost shyly. He seemed a bit awkward with the request for feedback.

"I think it was perfect," Justin reassured his partner. "Well... except..."

"What?" Brian's voice was apprehensive. What did he do wrong?

"I just wish that Trick was a better dancer than you," the younger man said as he stood on his toes to kiss his lover. "He can sing, but he can't dance."

"Jesus, Justin... You had me freaking out for a minute." Brian rubbed his face with his hands. "He really can't dance?"

Justin laughed as he led Brian up the steps to their bedroom. "No, dahling... He cannot."

"Hmmm... well, I know a dance you and I execute pretty damned well. Care ta join me?" Brian pulled Justin close, his fingers sifting through the long, blond hair, his lips trailing kisses along the pale neck. He was once again amazed at the pure beauty of this man, of the fucking strength he carried in that compact frame.

"Only... if I get... to lead," Justin gasped out, his heartbeat quickening, his hands burning over the skin beneath Brian's shirt. "God, Brian..."

Brian's lips met Justin's feverishly as hands unbuttoned, explored, undressed. "I'll follow you anytime, baby," he whispered into his partner's ear as they collapsed onto the low bed, each man overwhelmed with this powerful need to celebrate their evening, their bodies, their lives...to dance this oh so fucking sweet and frantic dance. Every step familiar and new, every touch erotically tender and demanding - they fucked and made love and they had been here so many times but still it was the first time. Again. Always again...

They breathed out the other's name as one, bodies sharing every nerve ending, orgasms crashing over them in waves of again and again - and they both knew it didn't matter who was inside whom. They just were...

*******

The thumpa-thumpa pulsed around and through the bodies of the dancers. It wasn't Babylon. That dream had exploded in a fury of anger and now lay in bits and pieces waiting halfway to its rebirth.

But Popperz thrived, bursting at the seams with throngs of dancing men. At least there was that. Emmett was pulled away from the safety of the bar by the driving heartbeat of the club, pulling Teddy along with him. The taller man smiled as he watched the surprisingly talented moves of the mild-mannered accountant.

"You know, Brian doesn't dance well even when he isn't Brian," he yelled over the thumping beat. "But, lord, I didn't know he could sing!"

"He can't sing. Remember that was Trick, not Brian," Teddy yelled in response.

Neither man noticed Michael in the wash of bodies nearby. The background gave way as the familiar name caught his attention. They were talking about Brian. They had been with Brian?  

"You were with Brian?" Emmett turned at the voice and the suddenly harsh pressure of the hand on his shoulder.

"Michael," was all the tall queen said. He had not seen Michael in more than passing since the horrific meeting at the diner weeks ago. He wasn't really interested in speaking with his former friend now. As painful as it had been - as it still was - that friendship boat had sailed and was clean out of the harbor by now.

"You were with Brian!" Repeated as an exclamation now. The hurt and irritation in the man's face was hard to miss.

"C'mon, Emmett, let's get out of here." Theodore didn't want a showdown with their former friend on the dance floor of a club. He didn't want a showdown at all. He held Emmett's hand as they made their way toward the exit, Michael unfortunately right on their heels.

"What? You are walking away from me now? Tell me about Brian!" Michael's words sounded out much too loudly as the group walked out into the nearly empty night.

"Don't even start with us, Michael!" Emmett spun around to face this man who had been his roommate and friend for so many years. Before... "You have no right to even speak the man's name. You gave up that right."

"Christ... It was a fucking mistake, Emmett!"

"That was no mistake, Michael Novotny. Betraying your best damned friend is NOT a mistake!"

Theodore grabbed his friend's shoulders, pulling him away from a potential fight. "C'mon, Em, I'm taking you home." Emmett stood still, just looking at the dark haired man confronting him. Slowly he nodded his head and started to retreat, Teddy still holding him.

"But nobody sees Brian these days!" Michael continued to whine.

Theodore halted his steps and turned around slowly. "His friends do, Michael. His friends do."

Michael stood, a resigned look on his boyish face, as he watched the apparent friends of Brian Kinney walk away.

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

*Title is an unidentified partial quote by Persian Poet, Rumi.    

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