He'd gotten a bit sentimental over time, and a little more easily moved to displays of emotion. He'd even openly wept a time or two over the past few years.

He now made sure he was home before 6:30 p.m., became increasingly resistant to out of town business trips, and only saw the inside of a bar a few times a month. He'd started to become what he'd always despised most, and found he only despised it a little.

He had a family now - had made one. His own. They made sure they were always together on those two days. Every year, without fail. January 4 because it was their birthday. May 6 because it was... well... because the meaning of that day was the polar opposite.

 ::

Brian squinted at the sun bouncing off the water as waves lapped at the beach. Back and forth, stealing away one grain at a time, introducing a new one in its place. A quiet breeze ruffled through dark saffron hair, brushed against sun mocha skin as Taylor scooped and crafted a structure near her mother's feet.

"What are you making?"

"A cassel," she said.

"Ah, looks like we have an architect in the family." At Taylor's quizzical look, she explained. "Someone who makes buildings."

Taylor shook her curls. "No. I'm gonna be an ardist. Like my Tin."

Brian kissed the top of her curly head and, with a giggle and a gleaming smile, the child went back to her endless task. He closed his eyes and bit down on his lips, raised his face to the sun and thought of Taylor's Tin. Arms slipped around his waist from behind and Daphne rested her head between his shoulders.

"He never really died, did he," a soft voice questioned.

Brian tucked his fingers tightly between Daphne's and gave a squeeze. She might take that as confirmation of her words, but that was okay. He knew they were only symbolic anyway. Because he did die. He died. Whether they were vacationing on a Florida beach or shocked into numbness in a Pittsburgh hospital hallway, the truth was still the truth. He had died. Not even five years could change that fact.

 ::

The world had inconceivably shifted for Brian over a period of twenty-four hours.

As he'd shrugged on his suit jacket and draped that damned scarf around the collar, as he'd walked into a room filled with expectant faces lusting for life, he'd felt next to nothing for his own. Everything was simply a motion - meaningless and empty and rote.

He wasn't even sure why or how he'd ended up there. But as he touched him, swayed and danced with this beautiful young man whose smile seemed to hold some unearthly knowledge, he'd suddenly realized that his best chance at ever really knowing happiness was here... here in this connection, this bond he'd fought against with all his might. It made no sense - Justin was only a kid with a world of experiences yet to be discovered. He, himself, was a jaded, emotionally barren, aging club boy whose own experiences were best left buried. Brian knew that. Knew he should turn around and walk away - keep walking until there was no where left to go. But he felt the warmth of that smile, felt this young man offer himself up to be partner in more than this dance. And Brian knew he would stay, that here was happiness. That there would be no more running from this connection.

Within the span of a day Brian had gone from apathy about his own existence to holding the secret to happiness in the palm of his hand. And then to a depth of despair he'd never imagined existed.

Justin was dead.

The news reports and the gossips would say that it was a disturbed classmate with a baseball bat that killed him. Brian knew that was far from the whole truth. Anger and hatred and fear of a smile that rose from some powerful light inside killed Justin. Because that light shone on the truth and, god help the fucking world, they just couldn't have that, now could they? Light uncovered sins and secrets hiding in shadows. Hadn't it uncovered his very own? Sent them screaming into a remoter shadow? Hadn't his own fear tried its fucking damnedest to douse that very same light? Anger and fear and hatred needed darkness.

So Justin Taylor died.

And the world became inexorably blacker.

 ::

It was a Monday evening when his world shifted once again.

He found her sitting on the stoop of his building as he returned from work, huddled into herself as if it was forty degrees instead of seventy-two. He almost turned around and walked away - would have if she hadn't seen him, hadn't called his name. It had been almost a month since they'd last seen each other, and he didn't think either one of them really wanted to remember why they'd gathered that day. So he stood straight and silent, his jaw working from side to side, trying to resist the impulse to scream at her to get the hell out of his way. To let him get inside. To let him keep on not remembering for just a little longer.

"I...," she hesitated and Brian looked at her face for the first time. She looked tired. He was pretty sure he looked that way to her, too. But the emotions juggling themselves on her face - excitement and fear and indecision - made him remember another face that so guilelessly telegraphed emotion. A face he tried so hard not to remember these days. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of some way to just make her go away.

Then Daphne reached out and lightly touched his arm and said it.

"I'm ten weeks pregnant with Justin's baby."

And, yeah, the whole world shifted again.

 ::

She'd come to Brian, she said, because she was scared, because she didn't know what else to do, because Justin loved him. Nobody else knew, but she wouldn't be able to hide it much longer. "My mom and dad... they won't understand," she said quietly. "I graduate next week, and I'm supposed to start college in August." She pulled her hair loose from it's colorful tie, then twisted it back again. It was something to do. "My mom and dad... god, Brian..."

Brian had yet to say a word. He'd simply led her to the loft and handed her a bottle of water. His heart was racing and he was pretty sure he was having a panic attack. It had hurt when she'd said his name - everyone avoided that around him - but it was as if a dam had broken inside him at the sound. Every goddamned thing he'd been trying not to feel for the past month rushed him. Confusing him. Flooding him with pain and sorrow and love and longing. The loss he'd tried to stave off feeling was overwhelming.

And now to know that there was a part of Justin here, in his loft... Little more than a few cells containing his DNA splitting themselves, multiplying as they sat here. Growing...

He cleared his throat. "So, what...um... what are you planning to do?" Was Daphne here for money? For an abortion? Jesus, he hoped not. He couldn't do that, couldn't help her if that was what she wanted. It would always be her choice, yes, but he couldn't - fucking wouldn't - pay to kill Justin yet again.

"I don't know." She pulled herself back into that tight little ball he'd found on his stoop. "Everything is so fucked up! He died and I miss him so much it hurts and everything is so goddamned fucked up!"

Brian sat down beside her and pulled her into his lap and rocked her gently, like his grandmother used to do. He wondered how his heart could still break. Thought it had been destroyed on a Saturday in May. "Yeah," he finally said. "It's fucked up."

They talked for hours over Thai take out and soy milk Brian insisted Daphne drink. She'd wrinkled her nose at the combination but complied with a chuckle. It was the first bit of humor either of them could remember enjoying recently. Brian was inwardly thrilled and externally stoic when she said she wanted Justin's child. Couldn't even imagine otherwise, Daphne confessed, but she was terrified of her parents' reaction and the possibility of having to raise a child on her own. Of having to give up her scholarship and her future. And she felt an immense guilt having what she thought were such selfish dreams now.

"You get things deferred for a year. But you still go after your dream. What kind of life do you think you could offer Justin's kid without an education?"

With that Brian had begun to put it into perspective for them both. For Justin's child, they'd have to work things out.

:: 

The pregnancy progressed with only a few problems, most of them having nothing to do with Daphne's health.

As she predicted, her parents were less than overjoyed with the prospect of their bright, talented daughter being a single parent at the age of eighteen; even a potential grandchild couldn't overcome the disappointment of watching the long-held dreams for their own child fade.

At about that same time Daphne and Brian were both summoned by the District Attorney to give depositions about the night of Justin's murder and the actions of Chris Hobbs. They'd both discovered early that this was not going to be one of those criminal cases shown on television, all wrapped up and tidily disposed of within the span of a season. The Hobbs' were pulling out all the stops and had hired one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the nation. It was going to be one delay after another and they both feared it wasn't going to end with an appropriate sentence.

Daphne's blood pressure spiked under the combined stress of legal maneuverings and parental disapproval, and she and her doctor knew something had to change. There wasn't really much she could do about entanglements within the legal system, but she could dismiss one stressor. She moved out of her parents' house.

With or without their support, her parents finally realized, she was having this baby.

Brian spent a lot of time at the apartment they'd found for Daphne. It was small, but cozy and in a safe neighborhood. He wasn't really surprised at how much he anticipated each stage of the baby's development, feeling that each day was another one closer to holding a piece of Justin close to him again. He didn't feel the need to go to Daphne's appointments, didn't attend birthing classes, but he made sure she was taking care of herself. That her pantry was stocked with healthy foods. That her gas tank was full and her car maintained. That those incidentals she couldn't afford on her receptionist's salary were paid for. Without it ever having really been discussed, he stepped into the role of father and best friend.

"How's the little lightening bug tonight?"

"The firefly is just fine, Brian," she snapped. "I hate when you call him lightening bug. Sounds... creepy."

"Okay," he said and rolled his eyes at this hormonal girl. "Firefly."

On a particularly difficult night, both of them, desperately missing Justin and feeling cheated on his behalf that he was missing this pregnancy, had decided that Justin would've chosen something unique to call the baby. "He told me once when we were little that he wished he could be a firefly... that he would shine and twinkle and live out his life making people wonder just how the hell he did that." They'd snorted because it was so very much a Justin thing to say, and with Daphne's words, they knew Justin's baby was now Firefly.

Jennifer Taylor was the only one other than the two of them who knew that Justin was the father. Brian wasn't sure about telling her at first. He certainly wasn't her favorite person - had never been. But they both eventually agreed she deserved to know. Jennifer was thrilled and cried for the joy of a grandchild and the heartbreak that her son would never know his child. She grudgingly accepted Brian's presence in the life of her grandchild's mother, since Daphne had made it clear that she wanted him there. "Your son loved him, Mrs. Taylor. Don't betray Justin by forgetting that." But the tension, that undercurrent of mistrust and blame that Jennifer held toward Brian for her son's death, wasn't easily dismissed. A niggling fear began to creep into Brian's thoughts.

On a cool afternoon in mid September, Brian snuck Daphne away from work for lunch, proclaiming that the good councilwoman could certainly manage to do without her receptionist for an hour or so. She rolled her eyes, grabbed her coat and walked with Brian to a nearby cafe.

Over paninis and decaf lattes he blurted out, "I want to be the baby's father."

Daphne sputtered around her latte, "What? Brian..."

"Presumptuous of me, I know. But are we really surprised at that?"

"Justin is the father, Brian." She laid her hand over his. "I know you loved him..."

"What the fuck do I know about love?"

"You are so full of bullshit, it's a wonder it's not bleeding out of your eyes, you idiot. You loved him... he knew that. You don't have to take on his child to prove it."

How could he explain all of his feelings to this woman? He was afraid. Terrified, actually, that he would lose this last piece of Justin Taylor. This genetic link - this heartbeat link - that he had to the one person who had ever made him feel complete.

Brian had spent the night of Gus' first birthday licking his wounds from Lindsay's refusal to allow Gus to spend time alone with him, Melanie's harsh reminder of exactly how few rights he had to his own son still ringing in his ears. For the first time in months Brian had curled up with his old friend, Jim Beam, his head shifting through remembered moments of ice cream kisses and Cheerio confessions, of eager hands and painful rebukes the weight of which nearly toppled his sanity. He'd allowed those forbidden images to comfort and chastise him until he'd broken down completely. He knew he'd eventually lose this child, too, this final tether to the boy who had once loved him that much.

When he'd finally awakened the next afternoon, he knew he couldn't... wouldn't... let Justin go again. This was his child growing inside her. He'd do whatever he had to do to make sure he couldn't lose that, no matter what happened in the future.

"Daphne... I couldn't tell him how much he... I wasn't man enough to say that to him... when he was alive. I'll not tarnish everything now by making some kind of proclamation that he can't hear. But that night... that night I realized he was the most important person in my life, more so than even my own son, for fuck's sake. I can't take the chance that I'll lose the only part of him that's left in this world. That something happens to you and I have no right to know the last part of Justin there will ever be."

There was nothing he could have said to her that would have proclaimed any louder how much he felt about Justin Taylor. Daphne already knew he loved this child, whether he would ever say those words or not, even now. She'd come to know the man Justin had fallen in love with, the one who was unguarded and funny, caring and a whole lot of crazy around the edges. The one who had offered to pay for her education if her scholarship fell through, who searched the internet for hours finding the right crib and safest car seat, who rubbed her swollen feet without a second thought. The one who drank less and less and rarely saw the inside of a bar or club anymore, regardless of his image, because he wanted to be there, steady and sober if she needed him.

"Okay," she quietly agreed. "You'll have to adopt..."

"Not necessarily."

"Then how?"

"Well, if we were married, it would be automatic." He paused dramatically at the stricken look on Daphne's face. "But I'm not quite that much in love with you, dear." Daphne snorted. "However, with the plethora of couples living together outside the bonds of holy matrimony these days, bringing all sorts of illegitimate children into the world, the courts have had to make some accommodation."

"This is sounding so romantic, Brian. Accommodation?"

"You want romance? Find yourself a boyfriend. I just want to be the father of your child." Brian tilted his head and smiled as Daphne laughed.

"Do tell, dear non-romantic father-to-be of my child-to-be, what are these accommodations?"

"We just have to each fill out a form voluntarily acknowledging my paternity before the baby comes, have them ready when the birth certificate is filled out. Shake, bake and - voila! - daddyhood."

When Brian returned Daphne to work, they had the documents filled out and notarized. Brian didn't want to take any chances.

That night they decided on a name for their child. Stubborn little thing had kept his/her sex to him/herself during the sonograms, so they carefully chose a name that could work either way. One that signified all three of the parents.

Brian slept better that night than he had in months.

 ::

On January 4, 2002, at 11:58 p.m. Taylor Chanders Kinney drew her first breath. Exactly nineteen years earlier, to the day, her father had drawn his first breath. Brian looked down at his little firefly, all wrinkled and red and shivering, yet still loudly making her opinion known, and knew he didn't believe in coincidence.

"Welcome to the world, little firefly."