A few pillows of cumulus clouds dripped from the background, giving a patchwork feel to a perfect azure sky. Justin stood in the middle of the wide field, looking up at the windblown battle of the dragon and the phoenix, tails whipping wildly in the middle of their flight. The young man had to laugh out loud at the sheer absurdity of it all. The first day Brian leaves the loft for something other than a therapy appointment and this is what he wants to do. Jesus.

"Kites, Brian?" He yelled at the man running up and down the field. "You wanted to fly kites?"

"Why not?" Breathless, Brian stopped near his partner, making sure to keep his kite string taut, with just the right amount of give and take. "I've never flown a kite before... and Trick suggested it. Well... actually it was something in one of those songs he likes to sing, kites flying above the sadness and fear,"* Brian said, a touch of bittersweet in his voice. Then with a laugh, he added, "He's got a fucking song for everything."

"Yeah, I know," Justin responded a bit absently. He was awed by the graceful air dance being performed above their heads. Simple paper. Simple forms.

They had merely taken the first kites handed to them at the small Asian emporium. But the fates spoke once again. Loud and clear.

A dragon and a phoenix.

How utterly appropriate, the young man thought. He did feel like a dragon. Breathing fire to protect the man he loved. And Brian was certainly the personification of a phoenix - he had been reborn in the fire, had risen to a whole new life.

He watched Brian. The pure childlike joy on his face. No harsh lines or shadows of worry could be found today. He was a boy, doing something he should have been able to do as a boy. Justin listened to the light laughter as Brian fought a downdraft and struggled to keep his phoenix airborne. Brian was simply in the moment. No thoughts of past abuse or current struggles to cope or future battles to see his son. Just this one magical moment of pure freedom.

And a kite.

The changes in Just Brian, as they had both started to call this personality - the one they both considered to be the real Brian - were subtle at first. An openness about his own vulnerability. A simple, but previously avoided, term of endearment for Justin. A tenderness running through every touch, every word. Nothing earth shattering. Just... subtle. But the overall change, the cumulative effect of the understated, small differences astounded Justin daily. The walls were simply gone. The masks were put away. Whether it was the result of the crushing return of memories, the positive effects of therapy, the newfound connection with Brian's Brotherhood... Justin couldn't pinpoint a single genesis. But the Brian that Justin had seen flashes of from the first moment their eyes met on Liberty Avenue, the man Justin knew Brian could be - Brian was now becoming. Like the phoenix.

Justin reached down and tied off the string of his own kite, anchoring it to a stake in the ground and ran to wrap his arms around his partner. He simply needed to touch this amazing man.

"Promise me something?" he asked.

"Promise you what?" Brian leaned back into Justin's arms, soaking up the sun, the wind, the warmth of his Sunshine.

"Talk to me before you decide to act on any of Trick's songs about sex. He's got some strange tastes in music."

Brian roared with laughter before turning and kissing the boy soundly.

*******

The young attorney placed the file folder back into his briefcase and snapped it shut. He'd done everything he knew to convince the Crown that Brian Kinney was not a danger to his son. The evidence of any actual violence was nil, but the fact that Brian had voluntarily given up his child, that he had lived a ‘debauched' lifestyle, that he was suffering from mental illness all added up to a question of stability in the eyes of the judiciary. The Crown was leaning heavily toward granting the bond. But when presented with evidence of Brian's continual and generous financial support of his son, as well as Affidavits regarding the character of Brian from his doctor, co-workers, business associates and friends, the Crown decided that there was not enough evidence to take the last legal step in granting a Peace Bond. Adam Ritchie was surprised it had even been that close a close call.

Melanie Marcus approached the young man as he was leaving the courtroom. "The least he could have done was show up," she hissed.

"Ms. Marcus, you've made your attempt and lost. There is nothing further to discuss."

"Don't think this matter is closed, Mr. Ritchie. Brian still has no legal right to see Gus, and I intend to make sure he doesn't see him." She glared at the man standing cool and confident before her.

"That's your prerogative, Ms. Marcus. If Mr. Kinney should choose to take any further legal action on this matter, I'm sure you will be one of the first to know. As it stands, without any surety that visitation with his son will occur, I intend to advise my client that he should stop sending support payment to you or Ms. Peterson immediately."

"I assure you, Mr. Ritchie, that won't happen. One thing I do know about Brian Kinney - he won't stop supporting his son. That would make him look bad. And Brian Kinney is all about image." The smug look on the woman's face irritated the young lawyer.

"I said nothing about advising him to stop financially supporting his son. As I said, I will advise him to stop sending the support to you and Ms. Peterson. Good day, Ms. Marcus." With a final snap of his briefcase he walked away.

*******

Sam stood behind the man sitting at the window, both of them looking out over a small well manicured lawn. She was surprised that she felt so very little, under the circumstances. Well... if the truth was told, she wasn't surprised at all. A little sadden and disappointed that she wasn't able to feel more, but not truly saddened.

She had always believed in karma. Life rewards and life punishes. What goes around, comes around. And, lord knows, her father had certainly gone around. Now his karma was coming back to soundly kick his ass.

She could honestly think of no one who deserved it more.

"The stroke really did a number on him, huh?" Sam turned to wrap her arm around the waist of the elderly man who had spoken.

"Yeah, Grandad, it did. The neurologist said there was little they could do to stop the bleeding once the vessel ruptured. Apparently the fall damaged the blood vessel and with the pressure build up from the added trauma of medications and waking from the coma... Well, here he is, and in all likelihood he won't improve." God, she thought, she should feel something... more. But she knew that neither one of them felt much beyond a basic level of pity for a fellow being trapped inside his own body. Connie Simpson wasn't the kind of man who made people feel sympathy for him.

"I guess it's a miracle of some kind that he didn't die," the elder Simpson sighed. "Or a curse. Either way, all we can do is make sure he's seen to." Greg Simpson kissed the top of his granddaughter's head and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Nothing we can do here. Let's let the nurses take care of him, now."

He could hear them. Talking about him. I'm in here! Can't you see I'm in here! He could feel the sling of the wheelchair seat beneath his ass, the pressure of the blanket across his legs. He could see the variations of green on the lawn through the window, broken by small clusters of white and red where flowers were cultivated. Using every bit of willpower he possessed he willed his voice to call to them, to let them know he was here, he hadn't gone anywhere! I'm being held hostage by my own fucking body, goddammit! Listen to me!

The only sound that escaped the handsome face was a muted grunt. But there was not a single ear around to hear it.

*******

Brian's face paled as he heard the news from Alice and she could see the signs of his panic building. Justin had heard from Carl just a short time ago and knew that learning of the bastard's stroke would be almost as traumatic for Brian as facing him unexpectedly in the loft. Connie Simpson had been a huge part of Brian's life. He had called Alice immediately.

"He can never hurt you again, Brian. Never again." Alice's soft, calming voice was lost to Brian, drowned out by the agonized scream rising from deep within him. Little Boy had heard. Lost in that loop of excruciating torture, he had been held in place by the mere existence of three men. Two now dead, and the third as good as. He had lost his place. As evilly constructed as it had been, it had been his reason for existing. And he screamed.

The sound erupting from Brian's chest was nearly inhuman. As pain and agony and fucking relief flooded through Little Boy/Brian, their body curled into the now familiar tight ball - head resting on drawn up knees, arms wrapped tightly around. They rocked back and forth, keening that long, high keen.

Both Alice and Justin sobbed with them. It seemed an hour, and could have been, that they watched helplessly as the two gentle beings, so intertwined as one, expelled their demons. They both knew that at this moment Little Boy and Brian were gathering what comfort they could from each other - grieving for what could have been, anguishing for what had been.

And saying their goodbyes.

Little Boy could rest. His reason for existing was now over. He had protected Brian with his very being and was sacrificing himself to Brian's healing.

And Brian grieved so much for his little brother.

The poignant words of the softly breathed song coming from the man beside him broke Justin's heart again and again with every breath. He wrapped his arms around his partner, his own shoulder heaving with the pain as he listened to the gentle sing-song as Trick sang a eulogy - Fly, fly fly away. You let me fly so high. You, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.**

*******

Ted and Emmett sat quietly, sipping the herbal tea Emmett had prepared. Neither man knew exactly what to say, or even think, at a time like this. Neither man had any point of reference for the pain their friends were experiencing. They only knew they were in pain. Emmett had called Justin, hoping that he and Brian would be up to at least a few minutes of visiting with old friends. God, he had missed them, worried about them. When Justin told him about Brian's alter, he could hear the sadness and grief in the young man's voice.

"Teddy, I want so badly to do something for them. I just don't know what to do." Emmett reached up and wiped away at the tears that had been falling for the past several minutes. "God, losing a part of yourself. Someone dying, but not. It seems like science fiction, but... it's Brian's life."

"There's not much we can do, Em.  We just have to let them know we care about them. That's all." Ted was as much at a loss as his friend was, but he remembered Vic's death and what that had been like for Debbie. The circumstances were different in every possible way, but it was all Ted had to draw on.

"We need to let Brian know that we respect his grief, Teddy. Somehow. Whether it makes sense to us or not, he's lost someone. A bunch of flowers doesn't quite seem appropriate, though." He sighed a bit at the absurdity of this situation.

"Perhaps we should just let him know we respect what he's dealing with. He'll know we don't really understand, but we don't have to. Just let him know we're here. When he needs us we'll be here."

Emmett smiled, his face still wet from crying. "I love you, Teddy. You are a good man."

*******

Justin walked into the loft, laying the mail and the newspaper on the kitchen island. It had been two days since the ‘death' of Little Boy and Brian had barely said ten words. None of the alters had appeared, and Justin took that as a sign they were also adjusting to the loss of that brave young boy. Even having been present through every moment of this journey with Brian, the young man was still trying to cope with the intensity of the connection Brian felt for the others. Brian's reaction clarified for Justin the wisdom of cooperating and co-existing with the alters as opposed to integration. He couldn't imagine Brian surviving another staggering loss like this.

"Bri, let me fix you something to eat?" He knew it was little use, but Brian hadn't eaten this morning, and it was almost noon. But the man just shook his head and rolled over onto his side, facing away from Justin on the bed. Justin smoothed down the silky hair on the back of his partner's head, letting his hand linger just a moment. "I wish you'd just talk to me, Brian. Please... let me help you." He wasn't at all surprised by the lack of an answer.

For the rest of that afternoon Justin thought he would simply draw. While Brian was in the hospital he had begun a series of sketches of the alters - the brothers - but with the stress of coming home and the pain of therapy and the confrontation with Connie Simpson, his art had gone by the wayside. Brian had been his first priority.

He picked up his sketchbook and flipped through the pages, a bit stunned by the drawings he had already begun. They were all obviously sketches of Brian, but they were all obviously not. Trick, with the boyish grin and the apparent playfulness, his eyes dancing with a bit of mirth and a lot of mischief. Mac, so solemn and pious, eyes downcast and lips virtually trembling with the awe of the unseen. Sonny, anger simmering just under the skin, his eyes sharp, his lips drawn and taut, the muscles of his jaw and neck tensed in anticipation of a confrontation. And Little Boy. That rounded face of childhood held such haunted eyes, such pain and sorrow, arms wrapped protectively around his body. All so very different and so very much the same.

Looking at the images in front of him, Justin suddenly felt the depth of Brian's pain more deeply than he could have imagined. Brian had lost his childhood self with the disappearance of Little Boy. He had lost his brother-in-arms in a joint war. This was no ordinary grief. A part of his soul had died and there was no mourning site, no grave that he could visit to ease his pain, no group of friends with which to trade tales and shared memories. He was absolutely alone in this grief - except for the remaining alters. And Brian's withdrawal from Justin, from Alice, from everything external over the last two days made sense. The silence of the alters made sense. They were grieving. Together. Because they were the only ones who knew.

Justin put aside his sketchbook and walked back toward the bedroom, toward the loneliness of the man he shared his life with. As he lay down beside him, spooning his back and wrapping him in his arms, he understood that Brian would be back. He did need Justin, did love him. Right now he just needed his brothers more.