The phone woke Justin early - 7:38.

The hospital.

Dr. McCarthy.

Sure, sure, I can be there in an hour, he had told her. Less, maybe.

But the initial fear brought on by the doctor's request held him down on the bed for a full five minutes before the adrenaline kicked in. He picked up his phone and dialed. "Mom, the hospital called. They need me to come. I... I don't want to be alone today. Can you...?" She understood. She would pick him up in thirty minutes.

Quick shower. Dress. Coffee in a travel mug. Grab his bag. Go.

Shit.

As Justin waited for his mother outside the front door of the loft building, he fought back the now familiar panic. Didn't take much to bring it up these days. Just an early morning phone call. Christ, he would take that asshole Hobbs getting in his face every hour on the hour to what Brian was facing now. Brian, who needed control. To be in control. And was so out of control.

Sitting on the steps, he lay his head down on his raised knees and prayed. He didn't even fucking believe in god - any god. But right now he would hedge every bet he could and if that meant praying to something he didn't believe in, he would fucking do it. Twice.

"Justin!"

Looking up toward the sudden, familiar voice, Justin groaned. "What do you want, Michael?" Christ, Michael had just been waiting in ambush! He didn't need this right now.

"I want the truth. What's going on with Brian?"

"Michael, I said everything I had to say last night. At this point, I don't have anything else to tell you." Justin craned his neck, hoping beyond hope that his mother's car was in sight. It wasn't. Shit!

Michael's eyes were hard as stone and his voice was sharp. He knew Justin was keeping something from him, from the family. He leaned into Justin's space. "You and I both know you're lying, Justin."

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think, Michael. This is not and never will be about you! This is about Brian and what his doctors feel is best for him."

"Bullshit! This isn't about the doctors. This is about you, you little shit! What right do you have to make decisions for Brian?" With every word Michael moved further into Justin's space.

"He has every right."

Michael turned at the sound of Jennifer's voice, backing away from Justin only slightly.

"And unless you want me to call the police, you will back the fuck off of my son now!" Jennifer's voice was cold and her phone was in her hand. She had every intention of following up on her threat.

"Mom... I'm okay. Let's just get in the car." Justin was shocked by his mother's attitude and words. And proud. But he wasn't intimidated by Michael. Yes, there had been a time when he was. Not anymore. He couldn't afford to be. There was a much more intimidating opponent that he had to focus on right now.

As Justin entered the car and started to close the door, Jennifer spoke again, focusing every ounce of anger she had toward the man standing on the sidewalk. "Michael, you have no idea who or what you are dealing with. You will never threaten my son again, with your actions or your words." She pulled herself into the vehicle and spoke to Michael through the window. "Now, my son needs to take care of his partner. I suggest you focus on your own."

As they pulled away and drove toward the hospital, Justin smiled a real smile for the first time in many days. "Mom?" he asked incredulously. Jennifer simply gave a slight smirk.

*******

The documents were all spread out in front of him. He had fucked himself a bit work-wise with his little impromptu vacation and now had to do a few early days to catch up with his paperwork. So here he was, in the office early again going over insurance verifications, authorizations, requests for information... for the boss. He had been told a few basics - Brian was going to be in the hospital for a while; he was going to need some intensive medical treatments; the running of the company would be in Cynthia's hands; it was a private matter; please don't tell anyone anything about anything. And he had agreed. Of course.

There were more than a few times he had wondered about the strange course of his relationship with Brian Kinney. Brian had mocked him - tortured him if the truth be told - at every turn for so many years. Brian, the consummate club boy who seemed to have everything and everyone he wanted. Beautiful and well aware of that. Exciting and desired by everyone, male and female. The total anti-Ted. And Brian never seemed to let anyone forget that. And, god, Ted had resented the jerk for that.

But when it came down to the bare bones of his feelings about the man, Ted trusted Brian Kinney. Trusted him enough that he decided Brian should be the one to choose whether he lived or died. He had trusted Brian to know when to pull his plug. Sure, it had all been hypothetical at the time: Ted really didn't foresee a circumstance when Brian would actually have to consider the choice. But it had happened and Ted knew that he had made the right choice.

Ted trusted Brian Kinney completely - with his own life. And when push came to shove, Brian had more than proven himself worthy of that trust. He had given Ted back his life, both literally and figuratively. He hadn't pulled the plug, and when Ted was at his very lowest, so down and out from his drug days that he honestly didn't know where a next meal would be coming from, Brian trusted him to run financials for Kinnetik. And he had trusted Ted with the secret about his bout with cancer. Yeah, he owed Brian. And he would do everything he could to repay the man - to protect him. 

Now, as he looked back down at the documents splayed around his desk, he found himself in a position to do just that. Cynthia had not told him the details of Brian's hospitalization. It really wasn't any of Ted's business beyond the financial aspects of the matter, and Ted was well aware that the only reason he was in the know at all was because he would have to process the insurance paperwork. But the paperwork was perhaps a bit more telling than Cynthia knew. The list of medications, the doctors' names... The information didn't tell him why, exactly, but it did tell him precisely which section of the hospital Brian was in and the reason for the information blackout for family and friends became clear. The jealous fags on Liberty would have a field day with this.

Jesus. Brian...

And, no. Ted would not tell anyone anything about anything.  

*******

He sat looking at the attractive blond woman leaning her ass on the edge of the desk. He might be queer, but he could still tell a pretty woman when he saw one. And she fit the bill. But she was more than just pretty. There was an air of self-possession about the woman - capable, determined, confident, with just a bit of entitlement mixed in. He definitely appreciated someone who had a sense of their own value, and this woman obviously had that. 

"Mr. Krawczynski -"

"Kaz. I like to conserve consonants."

"Then Kaz it is," she came back with a diffident little laugh. She decided to like this man. "I appreciate your conservationist leanings."

"Well, you know, waste not..." Kaz leaned back in the chair, glad for the moment that it was not as comfortable as the ergo-chair in his office. He had the feeling he would need to stay a bit less relaxed for this meeting. 

"Yes, indeed. Waste not. So let's get right to the point then, shall we?" Cynthia pushed herself off the edge of the desk a bit and resettled there. "You were the investigator Carl hired to find Brian?"

"Yes. Carl and I go back a long time."

"I would like to hire you to do some further investigation for me - for Brian." She walked around and sat down, pulling out some handwritten notes. "I saw the report you provided to Justin and Carl, the one listing the background information you found on Brian - the bank accounts and properties and the... arrests." Cynthia hesitated for only a moment before handing the notes she was holding over to the investigator.

Kaz took the notes, reading them carefully before raising his eyes to connect with Cynthia's. He smiled to himself, thinking she would have made one hell of an investigator. Good instincts on that one. "You want me to look into the '94 arrest in Chicago." It wasn't a question. Her notes were fairly explicit on the information she remembered about that period of time. This was going to be sticky; he had promised Horvath to keep this between them and Taylor. Not to mention he hadn't even spoken to Horvath yet about his latest conversation with Pete. Shit...

"And the '84 incarceration at Schuman."

"Why the Schuman stint?"

"I don't know. Call it woman's intuition, gut instinct - whatever you feel comfortable with. I just need to know what that was about."

"Let's go with ‘gut instinct'. What is your gut telling you?"

"That they are connected in some way. And no, I have nothing concrete to back that up. I just... feel it. I've worked with Brian - very closely for the most part - for over a decade. We worked together when that incident happened in Chicago. It stood out to me because of the disappearance. Now, with this disappearance... and the timing of the Schuman incarceration... I don't know, Kaz. It just all feels connected."

Kaz watched her. He could see there was more than some idle curiosity here, of course. He could feel her pain. But this woman was giving nothing else away. She had one hell of a poker face. He liked her style. Blunt and straightforward. No bullshit. Even if she wasn't sure why, she just knew it had to be done. And her instincts were fucking dead on. That made up his mind for him. 

"Cynthia, I can't let you hire me for this." He held up his hand to interrupt her confused protest. "Wait... you don't need to hire me because I've already had people checking into it. The Chicago arrest just didn't sit right, as you've obviously figured out. Brian Kinney wouldn't panhandle. Period. And the time in Schuman Juvenile..."

"You've already checked?" Cynthia interrupted and the poker face slipped a fraction with her surprise. "And what exactly have you found out?"

"That there were some connections between the two arrests and discrepancies between the official police report of Kinney's arrest in Chicago and what actually occurred..."

"The report was doctored? But why?"

"Until last night I would have had to guess at the reason. But I talked to my contact with the Chicago PD late yesterday. Are you familiar with a man by the name of Greg Simpson?"

"Simpson Steel. That account was the reason Brian went to Chicago. What could he have to do with Brian's arrest for vagrancy?"

"No. That would be Simpson Senior. Greg Simpson, Jr., his son. He was a high school teacher and athletic coach."

*******

He felt like that seventeen year old virgin again as he started to push open the door to Dr. McCarthy's office.  Four days. He hadn't seen him. Hadn't touched him. Hadn't heard his voice. Sure, they had gone much longer than that without contact. Hell, he was just in New York for three weeks without any contact with Brian. A heavy weight of guilt bore down on him with that thought. What had happened to Brian in those three weeks? What if he had been here? What if he had just called? What if...?

Justin stood still, bracing himself for whatever - whoever - he would find on the other side of the heavy door. He had been cautioned that Brian was ‘fragile'. Fragile. That seemed such a fucked up word to describe Brian Kinney. But Justin had always known that. He had. He just didn't know how fragile.

The first thing Justin felt as he saw Brian for the first time in four days was absolute fucking relief. He was there in the room with him. The second thing Justin felt as he saw Brian for the first time in four days was heartbreak. Gone was the elegant, graceful, proud man he was used to seeing. In his place was a tired, frightened man with haunted eyes.

"God, Sunshine." The haunted eyes filled with pain and tears.

"Bri, I'm here." Justin walked to the sofa and sat down next to his partner, reaching a hand up to cup his face. "I'm here."

Brian rested his head on Justin's shoulder, breathing in the soft freshness of shampoo and soap as he buried his face in the curtain of blonde hair. He had never held Justin quite so tightly, grounding himself, keeping himself tethered to a reality he couldn't depend upon anymore. He could hear each breath, feel each pulsing heart beat, taste the warmth - and pretend that the world wasn't spinning out of his control. There was a desperation in his grip, an urgency and need that he had only felt one other time - at the end of one ridiculously romantic night.

"I love you, Brian. I'm here."

"Jus?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what's happening to me."

There was nothing Justin could say to ease Brian's fears. He just tightened his arms around the man he loved and said, "I know."

As she sat and observed them she knew that the men had forgotten she was there. This part always made her feel a bit awkward - like some kind of medical voyeur. Much of her job was simply observing. In many cases that component of her profession yielded more answers than any direct interaction with a patient. In this particular instance she was trying to understand the trust levels, the supportive nature of the relationship between Brian and the man who ostensibly would be his main source of support and care. She knew the journey Brian and Justin were beginning was going to be a hellacious one. As she quietly watched the men touch and speak quietly to each other, she was encouraged that they might make it to the end. There was a deep connection between these two. They communicated as much on a non-verbal basis as they did verbally. Through a touch, a simple look. That ability - that art - could prove invaluable to them.

"Brian? Justin?"

Justin turned his head toward Dr. McCarthy and gave a small nod as he brushed a lock of hair from Brian's face. Brian lightly brushed his lips across his lover's, closed his eyes and rested their foreheads together for a brief moment. It felt so familiar and, god, he needed something to feel familiar. To feel real. He cleared his throat as he pulled away, but clutched Justin's hand tightly in his own.

"Justin, thank you for coming this morning. The past few days, I had requested that everyone, including you, be prohibited from visiting Brian. Please, let me assure you both that this was not just an arbitrary decision. It served a dual purpose, actually. We needed to see you, Brian, as you act - interact without the influence of outside factors. To just be. As well, you needed the opportunity to realize that help was both needed and available. Believe me, the separation was not a punishment, although it may have appeared as one at the time.   

"Brian, last night you asked me to help you. Do you remember that?" Dr. McCarthy noticed that Brian had been shifting slightly, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.  

"Yes. I remember."

"Do you remember what precipitated that?"

"Christ..." Brian didn't want to recall his panic from the night before. The darkness, the total vulnerability. He turned his body slightly away from Justin, but kept his hand held tightly. Several moments passed in total silence. Justin placed his free hand lightly on Brian's forearm.

"I was... I panicked."

"You had a panic attack?"

"Yes. I suppose."

Oh, god. Justin knew all too well what a panic attack felt like. It was like dying, disappearing into a fear so thick you couldn't see a way out. Nothing made sense through that fear.

"Do you recall what caused the panic attack?"

Brian's body tensed. No. No. I don't recall. But he didn't say it out loud. Did he? Had he answered the question? It was just the dark. Only the dark. Sitting on me. Breathing into me. God, it made his head hurt. He had to answer out loud. Didn't he? They taught him that at Holy Mother... Brian, you must speak your answer aloud, please... Go to hell, Sister...

"No. No. I don't recall." He spoke his answer out loud. 
 
 "Brian?"

"No. I said no. I don't recall." Brian stood and walked to the window. He counted the rivets in the air conditioning unit on the roof outside.

"There are sixteen of them, you know. Rusty rivets. They hold it all together. Sixteen." The voice was very small. That of a frightened child. He turned from the window and looked toward Justin, his eyes round and bright. Lost. Wrapping his arms tightly around his head, he ducked and slowly lowered himself to the floor below the window, scrabbling backwards, trying to hide himself into the corner.  

As she approached the frightened man trying to tuck himself tightly into the corner of the room, Dr. McCarthy spoke quietly. "It's okay. You're okay."

"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."