Chapter 49 - Sing, Sing, Sing.

“There, that should do it, although I still think you should have let me take you to the hospital,” Brian declared as he finished putting the butterfly bandage over the gash on Justin’s cheek and dabbed with antiseptic wash at a couple of other, smaller cuts. “You probably could use a stitch or two on that cut to make sure it doesn’t scar. And an MRI on your head wouldn’t have been a bad idea either. I swear, I should probably make you wear a padded helmet at all times from here on out. . . or I could just wrap you up completely in bubble wrap; that’s not too extreme, is it? If you hit your head again, I fucking will, you know. Repeated brain trauma is a serious issue; they’ve done studies . . .”

Justin reached up, grabbed Brian’s fussing hands and held onto them, tightly. “I knew you were going to lecture me about my head.” He smiled sadly. “Even while Hobbs was still punching me, that was what I was thinking about - that Brian would be annoyed at me for hitting my head again.”

And with that seeming non sequitur, Brian’s Blue Eyes finally let go of the tight rein he’d had over his emotions and burst into tears. Brian dropped the cotton swab he’d been using and pulled his boy into his arms. He’d been waiting for something like this to happen all the way back from the base to Covent Garden, then through the time portal and finally back to the suite in the modern version of The Palace. He was surprised Justin had lasted that long, to be honest. But now, the delayed shock of everything that had happened was hitting hard and, bit by bit, the blond was starting to unravel. And it was no wonder; Justin had been attacked, beaten up, almost raped, and barely escaped being sent off to his death, all in the space of about a half hour. To be honest, Brian was having a tough time dealing with it all himself.

The tears didn’t last long - Justin was too strong for that - and once the initial blast of emotion was past, he quieted quickly. Brian didn’t let go his hold though. He wasn’t sure he could. He’d come far too close to losing Justin. Now that they were both safe, together, and heading off into the future they’d planned for, he needed a few minutes to simply hold his boy and reassure himself that everything was finally going to be okay.

“I shouldn’t have let Hobbs take my place like that,” Justin said a few minutes later. “You and I both know what’s going to happen on that flight. By letting him go in my place, I probably doomed him to a horrible death. That was . . . wrong.”

“Bullshit!” Brian replied angrily. “Hobbs was a total bastard; and that’s putting it lightly. After all the shit he gave you, making queer jokes and threatening to turn us in, and then it turns out he’s just another frustrated closet case? That’s just fucking typical, if you ask me; the biggest homophobes are almost always secret fags themselves. But I probably could have forgiven him for that, if he hadn’t tried to hurt you.” Brian squeezed Justin even tighter for a moment, happy to know Justin had escaped that fate too. “When I came in and found you there, bleeding and obviously hurt, your pants torn, and him lying there on the ground with his down around his knees . . . I could have killed that fucker. Literally.”

Justin sighed deeply and settled a little more comfortably against Brian’s chest. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it? The way he talked all the time - making fun of queers generally and me specifically - and then, when he started to make a pass at me, he told me he loved me . . . And then he tried to . . . you know . . . How was THAT supposed to prove his love for me, huh?” Brian could feel the shudder of fear and revulsion that rippled through Justin’s body. “But even after all that, I probably shouldn’t have let him go off on that mission. I mean, I managed to stop him before anything really happened. Don’t you think a death sentence is too harsh a penalty for . . . whatever that was?”

Brian was sure on this point. “No. I don’t. That fucker deserves whatever was coming to him . . . Besides, we don’t know for sure what’s going to happen now that you’re not the one flying the plane. Things could end very differently. Hobbs’ fate is out of our hands. But even if he is killed, it’s no big loss to the world.”

“We can look and see, though, right?” Justin asked, sitting up straight and reaching towards the bedside table where Brian’s phone was waiting. “If Hobbs died in my place this evening - if history was changed by our actions - it would show in the records from 1941, wouldn’t it? Can you do your lightbox thing and look it up? Please, Brian? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I know one way or the other.”

Brian hadn’t actually thought of that. “Aren’t you a smart cookie, Blue Eyes,” he teased as he took the phone, lay back more comfortably on the bed, and tapped at the screen. “Let’s see. I think I bookmarked the site where I saw the Eagle Squadron casualties listed . . .” A couple more taps, with Justin crawling up next to him so he could look over Brian’s shoulder, and then he found what he’d been looking for. “Ah, here it is . . .”

“But . . . That’s impossible . . .” Justin exclaimed as they both read through the information listed on the screen.

‘Casualty List: 121 Eagle Squadron - 10 July, 1941 . . . and Flight Commander Justin Taylor . . . skirmish with German bombing escort flying out of Hamburg . . . last seen over the North Sea east of London, bodies never recovered.’

“It’s the same as it was before. How can that be?” Justin sounded as confused as Brian felt. “But, I’m not dead . . . Am I?”

Brian watched as Justin looked down at his own body, scanning his limbs as if to reassure himself that they really were still all there. It would have been comical if only Brian wasn’t equally as confused. It made no sense. Hobbs’ name should be there on that list, not Justin’s.

“No. You’re not dead, Blue Eyes,” Brian leaned sideways, depositing a kiss on the soft, pale ivory cheek, just because it was still there. “And we’re going to do everything we can to make sure you stay NOT dead . . . There’s got to be some reasonable explanation for this. But, whatever it is, you’re not going back there. Not when the universe seems intent on killing you off. It’s just too dangerous.”

“But I didn’t actually get to say goodbye to Daphne or the guys at the White Lion,” Justin protested.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re NOT going back there,” Brian insisted once again. When it looked like Justin would still argue the point, however, Brian sat his phone aside, wrapped Justin tightly in his arms, and rolled them both over so that his body was draped across the top of the smaller man, effectively trapping him. “If this afternoon taught us nothing else, Justin, it’s that we shouldn’t tempt fate. We both thought you’d be fine going to the base as long as you got out of there in time, right? But our assumptions were all bullshit. We were lucky to get you out of there in one piece, and I’m not going to risk it again. No. You are staying here in 2016, young man, and I may never let you out of my sight again.”

“Brian . . .”

“Don’t argue with me or I’ll have to spank you,” Brian warned, only half teasing. But then, looking down into his lover’s smiling face, and noticing the dark bruises blooming all over the left side, Brian’s amusement vanished. “Fuck. I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” Justin asserted, his voice now strong and confident. “I’m here. We’re together. And since you promised me forever, I think that means you’re stuck with me, Handsome.”

“I guess so,” Brian replied, not as upset as he would have thought he’d be saying something like that. “So, now that you’re officially a ‘Modern Man’, how do you want to celebrate, Blue Eyes?”

“How do you think?” Justin answered by wiggling his body so that it rubbed against all the right places on Brian’s body.

“Oh yeah? Not that I’m opposed to the idea, mind you, but are you sure you’re up for that after everything else that happened today?” Brian asked, kissing the bruised cheek again as a reminder.

“Oh, I’m still up for it. Trust me, Brian,” Justin confirmed, adding a little bucking of his hips to bring attention to the evidence supporting his statement. “Besides, I can't think of a better way to confirm that I AM still alive.”

“Well, I can personally confirm that at least one part of you is very much alive,” Brian smiled down on his indomitable boy and wiggled back at him. “So, then, what’s your pleasure, Mr. Taylor? Where and how would you like this life affirmation to take place? You’re the man of the hour, so you should get to choose.”

“Hmmm, let me think,” Justin said, appearing to give the matter serious contemplation. “I know! There’s still one place in this room we haven’t yet had sex. We should do it there.”

Brian looked around him - at the desk, the table, the floor - trying to think of anyplace they hadn’t yet fucked, and came up empty.

Justin laughed at him with a joyful lack of inhibition. “Nooooo, silly. I’m talking about that big, beautiful tub you always say we’re in too big a hurry to try. Well, if I get to choose tonight, then I choose the tub. And I want lots of bubbles, too.”

Brian shook his head at the ridiculously romantic notion, but he HAD promised that the twat could choose. “You sure you’re ready for that, Blue Eyes? Water maneuvers are part of the advanced fucking curriculum. It’s heady stuff.”

“I’m sure, Handsome; don’t forget what a fast learner I am.”

“Trust me, my ass and I both remember exactly how fast you are,” Brian teased but didn’t stop Justin, who’d already squirmed out from under him and was pulling Brian off the bed in the direction of the bathroom.

It did take longer than Brian typically liked to wait for a fuck, before the damned tub was filled and sufficient amounts of bubble bath had been added to satisfy his blond, but as soon as all was in readiness, it actually felt good to slide into the hot water. Aches and pains he hadn’t known he had until then, quickly started to melt away. He figured it would be equally good for his poor, battered boy’s undoubtedly sore body.

Justin, who’d been waiting next to the tub until Brian was in, turned the tap off and then reached over to pick up the condom Brian had left waiting nearby. And, with Brian looking on in disbelief, the brazen little brat tore open the wrapper and very pointedly rolled the latex down his own erection. Then, never breaking eye contact with his intended victim, the former RAF Flight Commander stepped into the tub, kicking gently at Brian’s lounging form to get the man to scoot back.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to do with that, Blue Eyes, but . . .”

“I think I’m going to make love to you, Handsome, and you’re going to enjoy every, single, minute of it,” Justin asserted as he sank down into the soapy water.

Once he was in, and before Brian had really overcome his shock at the thought of what this implied, Justin had managed to slide his legs under Brian’s. Then, using the added buoyancy of the water to his advantage, he had lifted the larger man’s body up and pulled him all the way onto his lap. And, before he’d got out more than a disapproving, “Justin,” the boy had soaped up one hand, used it to lather his submerged dick and was already maneuvering Brian’s body into alignment.

“I don’t think . . .”

Brian tried again to point out that this was highly irregular, only to be shushed by the expedient of two soap-slicked fingers working their way into his ass without any warning. And, well, after that he sort of forgot what his objections were supposed to have been. His boy truly was a remarkably fast learner, and quite creative as well. Plus, there was always that genuinely impressive cock of his, too. So it probably wasn’t too surprising that Brian was so busy enjoying the way that thick, hot, soapy cock was filling him, the way Justin’s hand wrapped around his own shaft, and the way the boy’s teeth nibbled along his chest as he was riding him, that he forgot he wasn’t supposed to enjoy himself as much as he did.

Or maybe it was just that Brian trusted and loved his Blue Eyes enough that he knew the other man would make even this good for them both.

Whatever the underlying arguments against this proceeding might have been, it didn’t take long before Brian was riding his boy for all he was worth as the bubbly water sloshed all around them. Damn, it was good. And reaffirming. And they were both alive and safe and HERE. And they had forever to enjoy each other’s bodies and minds and company and . . . THIS. Oh, yeah, more of THIS. Always, THIS.

“THIS . . . THIS . . . THIS . . . THIS!!!!” Brian moaned when the electrical fire in his gut exploded in white, hot bliss and he sank down on Justin’s dick one last time.

“This . . .” Justin echoed, and he too came with a series of tremors, bucking through his own climax.

And then they both fell still, Brian’s head resting on Justin’s shoulder, the younger man’s arms holding him in place and keeping him tethered to the earth as they each came down.

“Thank you, Brian,” Justin whispered when the sloshing of the water finally abated. “Thank you for caring enough to want me safe and here with you.”

Brian thought about that for a while. It didn’t seem like the type of statement you’d respond to with a ‘you’re welcome’; he had as much to thank the younger man for as vice versa, although he wasn’t exactly the type to voice those sentiments. But it did seem like he should acknowledge Justin in some way. That he should say something of import to mark this new direction they were both heading in. Even if he wasn’t sure where that was, exactly.

“We’ve got quite the adventure ahead of us, don’t we?” He offered, and then added, “and I’m glad you’re here with me for it, Blue Eyes.”

Which, after everything else they’d already been through that day, was as much additional emotionalism as Brian was prepared for just then. So, without further comment - about their future, their relationship, their love, or, for fuck’s sake, Brian's sore ass - Brian disengaged himself and calmly got up out of the tub. Tomorrow was soon enough to think about all that stuff, right? After all, they had forever now.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” Brian asked a minute later as he finished drying himself off and tossed the towel aside.

Justin, who’d already donned a robe, was heading towards the desk at the far side of the room. “In a minute. I just . . . I thought I could write a letter to my mother. Something to say goodbye, since . . . since I’ll never get see her again.”

Brian heard the way Justin’s voice broke, and his gut gave a lurch. Sometimes he forgot everything Justin was giving up. For him. And he was again staggered by the knowledge of how much this young man must really love him to do all this. Brian had never had that before. It scared the shit out of him. But it also forced him to acknowledge how happy he was that someone as unique as Justin would have chosen him. And it made him WANT to be worthy of that choice. So, all in all, Brian found that his happiness at having Justin there with him outweighed the fear.

“Don’t be too long, Blue Eyes,” Brian ordered, leaving a kiss on the nape of the young man’s neck as he passed, while heading to bed himself.

Justin was already scratching away on a piece of Brian’s stationary and didn’t answer, but Brian noted one last, silent tear escaping as he said his final farewell.

Brian wasn’t sure what he’d find when he made it back to 1941 the next morning - hopefully for the last time. He came armed with the letter that Justin had written to his mother the night before and the packet of information for Daphne with the deed to the pub signed over into her name. After stepping through the time portal, Brian straightened his tie and smoothed out the lapel of the same Saville Row suit he’d been wearing the night all this started, and then headed out of the alley.

It was a humid July day there in 1941, mostly sunny but with a few storm clouds amassing off on the far horizon. Looking around him, Brian couldn’t see that there was anything special about this particular day. The locals were all going about their daily routines; marketing, working their jobs, chatting with their neighbors and the like. It was just like any other day. It only felt different to Brian.

As he passed by, Brian tried to soak up as much of the atmosphere of 1941 as he could take in. The buildings, the smoky air, the people’s old-fashioned clothing and the ancient transportation. He still marvelled that it was all real; even after more than three months of practically living in this century, it still didn’t feel any more real to him than it had that first night. But as he walked down a section of road where the buildings had been reduced to rubble by a prior bombing, he reminded himself that it was all too real to the residents living here. Which made it even more crucial that he finish his business and get out of here himself.

He approached the entrance to The White Lion with a little bit of caution. He and Justin still hadn’t managed to figure out what was up with that casualty list that still showed Justin’s name - which is why Justin had insisted that Brian come here and investigate. The brat had tried to argue that he should come as well, but Brian had put his foot down and overruled that idea. Whatever was going on, he didn’t trust fate or destiny or providence or whatever else you called it. He wasn’t going to let Justin take any more chances. Which left only Brian to handle the reconnaissance mission, while Justin agreed to stay put in 2016 where he was safe.

When Brian pushed open the door of the pub and walked inside, the first thing he noticed was that all conversation in the place had immediately ceased. There seemed to be a lot more people in there than was normal for this time of day, but all of them, to a man, were absolutely silent. And they were all staring at Brian.

Brian nodded to a few of his casual acquaintances as he made his way directly to the bar where Daphne was waiting, mopping at the counter without making eye contact. This did not bode well. He had half a mind to turn around and book it out of there. What if they already knew about Justin’s intent to desert - would they arrest Brian as his potential accomplice? What were the penalties for aiding and abetting desertion? Would they just take him in for questioning or do something more serious? Maybe he should make a run for it.

When he got to the bar and Daphne didn’t automatically fill a pint with his favorite beer, Brian knew something was wrong. “Okay . . . Whatever it is, just tell me already. I can’t take this fucking silent treatment,” he announced.

“Language, mate,” an older gentleman sitting at the bar admonished him, although the rebuke lacked its usual conviction.

Brian ignored him and looked directly at Daphne with a questioningly raised brow.

“Oh, ‘Andsome . . .” And Daphne broke out sobbing so hard she dropped the pint glass she’d been holding in her hand and collapsed over the top of the bar.

Brian looked around himself, confused, but starting to get an inkling about why everyone was so somber. “What’s happened?” he asked looking around him at the crowd that seemed to be gathering nearer to where he was standing.

“I don’t know what to say.” Brian felt a large hand clap him on the shoulder with a friendly squeeze, and he looked sideways to find the guy who’d helped him find Justin out at the base the afternoon before - Reice. Brian’s confusion must have been evident on his face, because Reice continued in a quiet, commiserating, voice. “There's no good way to say this, mate. I’m really, REALLY, sorry.”

Reice handed him a newspaper which showed that morning’s date at the top. It had been folded so that the column which always ran on the right hand side of the front page every day was on top. It was the column that listed all the casualties reported by the War Department every morning. And it was a fairly short list that morning - not like what had been the norm during the height of the Blitz - so it wasn’t that difficult for Brian to skim down the names till he came to the one that was obviously causing all the ruckus this morning.

‘Justin Taylor, Flight Commander, RAF, 121 Eagle Squadron.’

“Fuck! But how?” The words escaped Brian before he could stop himself.

“That mission yesterday. The one he got roped into last minute right after you come by to see him,” Reice explained, misunderstanding Brian’s question. “The rest of us had already fought back the worst of the Gerries and were about to head home by the time Taylor’s formation got there, but there was one last wave of bombers just leaving. I’ve got no idea why they did it, but the idiots took off after them like they were itching for a fight. From what I heard later, radar showed that the krauts turned around and engaged about halfway back to Hamburg. Unfortunately, they managed to call up reinforcements before our guys could get out of there. We lost all three planes; stupid maneuver and not at all like Taylor to pull a stunt like that . . .”

“But . . . But how do you know it was Justin,” Brian asked, still unable to grasp how this was possible. “I mean, did you see his body, or . . . or . . . It’s just not possible . . .”

“Sorry, man. I don’t know what to tell you,” Reice repeated, his voice oozing sympathy. “We don’t usually recover any bodies when the fight’s over open water like that. But I saw the roster with my own eyes - the plane that was lost had been checked out to Taylor by the LT himself.”

The tall RAF pilot gave Brian one last, consoling, pat on his shoulder before picking up his own beer and moving away towards a table of other men. Brian just stood there staring at the paper trying to make sense of it all. He supposed, in all the confusion, it was possible that nobody noticed Hobbs had taken Justin’s place, and if all the planes in that formation had been lost, there wouldn’t be anyone left to correct the mistake. That would explain why the historical records hadn’t changed. But, wow . . . Just, wow!

Meanwhile, everyone watching must have misinterpreted Brian’s stunned disbelief, including Daphne, who had come around the counter to stand by Brian’s side. “Oh, ‘Andsome!” Daphne cried, as tears continued to flood down her face. “Oh, bloody ‘ell! Excuse my language, won’t ya! But . . . But . . . But our Sunshine, ‘e’s gone!”

And the next thing he knew, Brian had an armful of sobbing, wailing, woman on his hands. Which was good in a way, because it let him focus on consoling Daphne instead of how he should act under the circumstances. He hated not being able to be honest with her; making her go through all this grief. Not that they could change anything at this stage of the proceedings.

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Daphne. I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m just . . .” she sniffed loudly. “‘E was a good ‘un, our Sunshine, were’t ‘e? A real good egg, yer know? They don’t make ‘em like that no more. An’ I’m so glad ‘e met yer, ‘Andsome. You two was so good together. ‘E was the jelly to yer eels, the spam to yer sandwich. I’m glad e ‘ad at least that short time wiv a sweet bloke like you. Adored you, ‘e did. Proper smitten.”

Resting his forehead against the sobbing barmaid, Brian smiled sadly. “You know he thinks the world of you, don’t you, Daph? You’re his best friend. He had no one when he came to London, but then he met you. You’ve been like a sister to him.”

That seemed to make Daphne cry even harder.

“It’s right silly I know,” she gulped as she gave his hands a tight squeeze. “But a part of me kept thinkin’ that, ‘cause everythin’ ‘ad settled down a bit lately, that this bleedin’ war was almost over. How stupid could I be? It’ll never end, will it?” Daphne sounded almost desperate when she uttered those words.

What could Brian say to that? He knew the truth, that the war wasn’t even close to being over. In fact, they had another four years of this bullshit to deal with before things would even start to resemble normality. But, for the sake of the blubbering woman in his arms, his Blue Eyes’ best friend, Brian shook his head and tried to sound as upbeat as he possibly could despite the harrowing truth he knew lay ahead. “Don’t say that, Daph, you never know what’s going to happen next.” Except he did, and that left a sour taste in his mouth. But he needed to push through - he was there for a reason.

“Actually, Daph . . . I have something for you. Could I talk to you somewhere a little quieter?”

Daphne nodded her head and grabbed Brian’s hand as she walked him to the back of the pub where there was a quiet nook that contained two small round tables. Shooing off those that were sitting there, she took a seat and began nervously playing with the dish cloth she was still clutching tightly in one hand. Brian sat across from her and folded his hands on the table top.

“What is it, ‘andsome? Yer got me right Peter Purvis.”

Brian’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Daphne then went on to explain.

“It means nervous - yer makin’ me real nervous, Brian. What is it?”

It didn’t go unnoticed that Daph had used his real name instead of her prefered moniker.

“It’s nothing bad . . . I mean, after . . . after today’s news . . . actually, the timing is pretty incredible.”

Brian knew he was waffling, which was completely out of character, but all the words he’d prepared earlier had somehow vanished from his mind the moment he saw the devastated look on Daphne’s face.

“For the past couple of weeks, Justin had been busy working on something that he wanted to give to you . . . Something that I’m sure he’d loved to have given you in person instead of having me do it . . .”

“A drawin’? He was right good at those.” Daphne smiled proudly as her eyes misted over once more. “‘E use’ to draw me these stupid little pictures of the two of us wearin’ silly little ‘ats an’ would leave ‘em for me behind the bar to find after ‘e’d gone.”

“No, not a drawing,” Brian smiled. “It’s better than that.”

“Better than a drawin’?”

Brian was definitely going to miss the refreshing innocence of war time london, and of Daphne in particular.

“Definitely better than a drawing,” Brian explained as he pulled out the papers he’d been carrying in his inner jacket pocket and placed them on the table in front of her. “Justin left you this so you’d be taken care of . . . He wanted you to have the pub, Daph.”

Daphne couldn’t have looked more confused if she tried. “What on earth are yer talkin’ ‘bout, ‘Andsome?

“Take a look,” Brian told her softly, as he pushed the document closer towards her.

“This Quitclaim Deed, dated as of July 7th, 1941, shall hereby convey, transfer and assign all rights and title to that certain parcel of property otherwise known as ‘The White Lion Public House’ (inclusive of all fixtures, construction and improvements therein or thereon), located at 24 James Street, Covent Garden, London, WC2E, to the transferee, namely one Daphne Chanders, of the instant address . . .” Daphne looked up at him with a strange look comprised of equal parts wonder and exasperation. “Brian . . . What’s ‘e gone an’ done?”

Trust Daphne to be angry with Justin at a time like this.

“He bought you the pub.”

“I know that! I can read, ‘Andsome; but I don’t understand. How?”

“Justin told me it was something he’d been thinking about for a while,” Brian tried his best to explain. “And that he’d been putting money aside just for this purpose. I’d just picked the paperwork up for him from the lawyer’s office yesterday.”

“It’s too much. ‘E can’t do this. I wanna wring ‘is bloody neck,” she sniffled sadly.

“I told you he loved you, Daph. He wanted to make sure that if . . . if anything happened to him . . . you’d be taken care of.” Brian gave the woman’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s his last gift to you.”

Which only started Daphne off onto another crying jag, interspersed with complaints about it being too much and protestations that Justin had been too good for this world. It took a good fifteen minutes before she’d finally cried herself out. Brian was quite proud of himself at how well he was handling such a trying ordeal; crying women were not his thing. But when it was finally all over, and Daph had handed over the deed paperwork to an equally astonished Boom Boom for safe keeping, she turned to Brian with a new question.

“I’m sorry for going all Daffadown Dilly on yer, ‘Andsome. You’s gots ta be hurtin’ jes as bad as me. Likely more. What are YOU goin’ ter do now?”

“Well, now that there’s nothing to hold me here, I guess I’ll go back to my real life,” Brian answered as truthfully as he could.

“Yer goin’ back to the states then?” Daphne filled in his meaning according to her own understanding.

“Yeah, I might as well.”

“I suppose it’s for the best, but I’ll still miss ya right badly, yer know,” Daphne maintained, reaching over to pat Brian’s check affectionately. “I don’t blame yer, though. I imagine it’d be too ‘ard for yer to stick around ‘ere. Too many memories, ‘an all. But just remember, ‘Andsome, there’s always a place for yer, an’ a beer waitin’ on the bar at the White Lion, if yer ever want to come back.”

“Thanks, Daphne. That means more than you you know.” Brian leaned across the table, tilted the woman’s chin up with two fingers, and left a soft kiss on her ruby red lips. “Be well, Daphne Chanders, and have a magnificent life.”

Brian got to his feet and went round to shake the hands of all the men he’d come to regard as friends - Gears, Lucky, Reice and even Fancy. Then he took one last look around the homey little pub that had provided a safe haven for him during his sojourn in this tumultuous time. He was surprised how difficult it was to say goodbye to this place and its people. Even though he’d been a stranger here, they’d taken him in and made a place for him in their queer little world, and it had made him feel like he’d belonged for a time. But it wasn’t his home or his world, and as interesting as his visits there had been, it was time for him to go back to his own reality.

So, giving a final wave of farewell, Brian strode through the exit and left the queers of The White Lion to the past.

After a very quick stop at the post office to mail Justin’s letter to his mother, and another to pick up his remaining bag from The Palace and officially check out, Brian set his steps towards the alley and the time portal that had started this whole crazy adventure. This was it; the last time Brian would be walking along the dirty cobbled stones of Duckett’s Passage. And after today, this whole insane chapter of his life would be over. Then he and Justin would move on with their future together in the future. Wasn’t that an odd thought. Whatever.

Right as Brian reached the entrance to the passage, the storm that had been threatening all morning finally broke and a gust of wind blew a few initial drops of rain into Brian’s face. He shook his head and pulled the collar of his jacket up higher around his chin, marvelling all the while about the abuse this poor suit seemed to get. Because of the weather, though, he didn’t take the time he would have liked to spend admiring the historical architecture of the alleyway one last time. He remembered thinking, on his first trip through this passage, that if only this alley could talk, it would have so many tales to tell. Now he figured that most of those tales would just be about all the rain that seemed to happen in the neighborhood.

So, instead of lingering, Brian practically jogged down the length of the alley, making it all the way to the little, irregular brick outcropping before the skies opened up and, with a deafening crack of thunder, began to dump buckets on his head. Brian took refuge in the meager shelter of the small ledge there, huddling against the damp bricks, wondering if this was just a momentary cloudburst that he could wait out or if he should make a run for it and say fuck the damage to his suit. But somewhere in the back of his head, the compulsion to get back to Justin and his own time, as well as the never quite forgotten dread that he might get trapped in the past, wouldn’t let him chance any delay.

Fate didn’t seem pleased by his decision, though; the minute Brian stepped out from under the protective ledge, there was another crack of thunder, this one much louder and much closer.

Fuck it all, Brian was getting home and that was that.

However, before he could make it the short two meters distance across the width of the alley to where that old metal guttering pipe had once marked the location of the time portal, Brian experienced one of those eerie moments of deja vu. The atmosphere around him became suffused with an electrical crackling and the smell of ozone assaulted his nostrils. Every single hair on his body stood on end. There was a pause in time as he froze in place and even the raindrops pelting down on him seemed to hover in mid-air for a fraction of an instant. He looked up at the ugly, grey-green storm clouds that were all one could see in the sky above the alley and watched as a bolt of electricity arced down from the sky, seeming to move in slow-motion as it sent out feelers of energy, tasting it’s way through the air, alighting at last on the little stub of metal flashing that still remained at the top of the alley wall directly across from where Brian was standing.

Brian saw the flash of brilliant light that enveloped the entire alley, himself included, and for half a heartbeat he could see the invisible time portal limned with a glowing, pulsating, radiance.

Then everything went black.

“Brian! Brian, wake up! Please wake up, Brian!”

The annoying feeling of someone slapping at his cheek and yelling in his ear was the first thing Brian became aware of after the blackness began to fade. It felt like a gargantuan effort to get his eyelids open, but after a minute or two he managed that feat. Then he spent another minute or so looking around himself in confusion, trying to figure out what had happened and where he was.

The familiar figure crouching over him - the one that had been slapping at his cheek - was his very own Blue Eyed Time Traveller. Happy as he always was to see his lover, Brian wasn’t sure why Justin was hitting him. Also, he was baffled as to why he seemed to be lying on the dirty ground. He looked around him and saw only a normal-looking, cobble-paved alley, lined with ancient brick walls, and a clear blue sky overhead.

“Applesauce, Brian! Say something already or I’m going to call for an ambulance and have them take you to hospital,” Justin demanded, his voice sounding odd and distant even though he was crouching right next to where Brian was lying, probably because of the ringing in Brian’s ears.

“What . . . what happened?” Brian asked when he could finally recall how to form words.

“I have no idea, Brian. I was just standing here, waiting for you - Cynthia and I finished up the stuff we were working on for the charity; we’re going to call it the Eagle Air Academy - but anyways, I was bored, so I figured I’d come out here and wait for you to get back,” Justin explained, the story a little jumbled due to his concern as he tried to help Brian up into a sitting position. “And I’d only been waiting about ten minutes when there was this loud bang of noise and the next thing I knew you came flying out of the portal and landed at my feet. Are you okay? Do you remember what happened?”

Brian shook his head, probably a mistake as it just made him a little dizzy, but as that discomfort passed he began to remember. The trip to the White Lion, consoling Daphne, getting all the final errands in 1941 done and . . . the storm in the alley. It was the same thing that had happened to him the night he’d first made that initial, involuntary, trip through time. The lightning . . .

“Justin, go see if the portal is still there,” Brian directed to the perplexed-looking blond hovering worriedly over him. “There was a storm. Lightning. I think . . . I think . . . The portal . . .”

Brian was still too fuddled to get the words out in the right order to explain, but luckily Justin seemed to get the gist of it. He got up from where he’d been kneeling next to Brian and made his way across the alley to the spot where the time rift was supposed to be. Brian watched as Justin carefully felt his way along the bricks, his left hand patting at the wall, slowing inching its way along. And then further along. And further. And further still, with nothing happening.

Justin’s hand remained visible the entire time.

“It’s . . . It’s gone!” Justin declared after several minutes of this futile endeavor. “The time portal is gone, Brian. I can’t find it anywhere. What the heck happened?”

Justin came back over to Brian’s side, hunkering down next to him again, looking at him with a worried frown. Brian had a momentary flashback to another instance when he’d found himself lying on the ground with a beautiful blond looking down on him, twinkling blue eyes full of concern, and found himself smiling. The blond wasn’t wearing an old-fashioned uniform this time, and there were no sirens going off or bombs dropping around them, but the rest of the similarities were unmistakable. This must be the universe’s sign that their time-travelling adventure was over for good.

“Looks like you’re really, truly, stuck with me now,” Brian commented, smiling up at his lover, his boyfriend, his forever, and revelling in the glittering blue-eyed smile he got in return. “What’s that old cliche about how, ‘when one portal closes, another door opens?”

They both laughed at the joke. Brian rolled to his knees and then slowly, with Justin’s help, climbed all the way to his feet. He put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and, together, they both turned to leave Duckett’s Passage for the last time.

“Come on, Blue Eyes. Let’s go get started on that forever part.”

The beginning of forever . . .