20. 

Brian tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and lowered his head as he walked across the campus parking lot at PIFA.  He hadn’t told any of the family what he was doing today.  He hadn’t wanted it to turn into a group outing or an impromptu ‘therapy session,’ where everyone meant well but had no idea what they were really talking about.  Take Debbie - she had admitted that she had stepped out of line when Justin had come into the diner with Tommy; she said she had been so happy to see the blond that she had forgotten this was a different Justin from the one she was so used to dealing with. 

Tommy’s first venture to Liberty Avenue had almost ended before it began; Debbie had said that Justin hadn’t given her an inch – he had merely silenced her with nothing more than a cold look.  Gone was what little ground she had made with her Sunshine, and she had been horrified to realize that she was firmly back at square one after she had, in her words, questioned Justin about how young Tommy was.  Debbie had stuttered over her words when she said that Justin had reminded her that Tommy’s feelings would never be annihilated the way his feelings had been.  

That single sentence had thrown a heavy pall over the family meeting.  Alex had been right; when faced with the truth, there was an ugliness to it that no one had been previously aware of.  It was then that Emmett had finally opened up about his talk with both Justin and Tommy.  He had quietly spoken about Justin’s icy reception to his visit, and the desperation the blond had shown to keep his word to the young man, and Emmett’s own effort to reach out to his friend.

The more Emmett had spoken about Tommy, the more Brian had realized just who the boy was to Justin; he could see his own lost innocence in the pretty little twink he had befriended.  And from what Emmett had said, Justin would fight tooth and nail to protect Tommy.  He would  protect him from having the same experiences that had forever changed him from an idealistic youth to a shell of someone who had lost both direction and purpose.

Then Emmett had shuddered, and his unhappiness had been apparent when he had spoken about what Tommy had told him: about the currently unknown - who wouldn’t remain unknown for long - asshole who had hit on Justin in the diner and had insinuated that he had been nothing more than a bed warmer.  Brian had felt the first real curl of burning anger sweep across his body as Emmett had spoken; he envisioned tearing said man’s head off and using it as a bowling ball.  But that burn had slowly turned to ice when Emmett had revealed that Tommy had mentioned how Justin had openly referred to himself as damaged goods.

In listening to Emmett talk about the man from the diner, Brian had finally opened not only his eyes but his ears as well; he was used to the whispers that followed him.  Used to the admiring looks and lustful suggestions as he moved throughout his day.  What he wasn’t used to, however, was hearing the whispers about Justin.  Whispers that spoke of jealousy and desire.  Whispers that swirled around the beautiful, blond twink who had suddenly reappeared on Liberty Avenue; older, hotter, and without Kinney glaring at anyone who looked twice at his gorgeous boy.

Whispers about the fact that he was no longer Kinney’s private fuck; did that mean he would be open to dating other men?  Murmurs of wanting to be the first man who bedded Kinney’s exclusive property, now that he was finished with him; the twink’s ass had to be nirvana to have held Brian Kinney’s attention for so long.  The more Brian heard, the worse he began to feel.  If this is what Justin had been forced to put up with, along with the shit Brian had dished out to him, it was no wonder his former lover didn’t want to come home to him. 

In being Brian’s…whatever the fuck you wanted to call him… he had all but destroyed what remained of Justin’s innocence after first Craig Taylor, and then Chris Hobbs, had sullied it.  It was no wonder that Justin referred to himself as damaged goods.  It had hurt Emmett to reveal those words; he hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with Brian during his reiteration.  And it had hurt Brian to listen to them being repeated back.  

In hearing those whispers, Brian had begun to realize just how much damage his own denial of any type of relationship with Justin had done.  And with that realization came the crushing knowledge that what he had thought was going to be a fight to get Justin back was, in fact, going to be a damn near impossibility.  He not only had to fight against Justin’s own preconceived ideas, but also the whispers and his own shouts that had taunted him every day.

Then there was what Ethan had revealed the first time they had all come together as a group; when he had spoken about Justin’s first hospitalization, and the way his boy had pleaded with Ethan to get him out of there.  Ethan had said that Justin had promised that he’d be whatever Ethan wanted him to be if the other boy would just take him home… That plea continued to echo for Brian, and it twisted with Daphne’s words from the day she had verbally abused him at the diner; she had told Brian that she hoped he would meet someone that he loved so much that he would twist himself into someone unrecognizable. 

Is that what Justin had done?  Had he turned himself into what he had thought Brian wanted him to be in an effort to please him?  Is that what the rules and their date nights had been about?  Had Justin even enjoyed the hunt and subsequent fucks that they had shared?  Or had he thought that in order to be with Brian, that he had to engage in public fucking and orgies?  The thought sickened him.  He had agreed to their rules to get Justin back; but those fucking rules had given Justin the tools to start building the walls and doors that now separated them.

Brian’s need to maintain control over the illusion of his fucking reputation had done this; Justin had locked his side of the door to protect himself.  But now he was a prisoner of his own making, much like Brian had been before Justin’s suicide attempt had forced the man to open his eyes and take a long, hard look at himself.  While Justin’s sheer tenacity had broken down Brian’s walls, Brian himself had no fucking idea how to break though Justin’s walls to where his boy was fighting to keep his head above his pain and misery.

Alex had said that Justin had never admitted to a suicide attempt – that he had denied it at every turn.  Brian had thought back to that first meeting with Justin in Alex’s office; Justin had never actually come out and said that he had tried taking his own life.  He had merely said that he was facing the consequences of his actions.  But in looking back, Brian was forced to realize that what he had thought was an admission was, in truth, another denial.  Alex had been right – Brian had taught the boy well. 

Brian had been left wondering if that meeting had been the final cliff that Justin had been clinging to; that in confronting him, Justin had been forced to face his own actions.  What if his idea of a step forward toward sorting things out had merely been the final moments of free-fall for Justin.  Those thoughts kept him awake far more often than he wanted to admit; thinking about the pain that Justin now had to face, a journey that he seemed determined to take on his own.                

Brian looked up as the hum of laughter and conversation reached his ears when he stepped into the building and out of the fresh wind.  There were a few people starting to enter the student building; chuckling and talking about the art they were looking at as they walked around the brightly lit room.  Soft music played in the background, and as Brian glanced around the room, a frown crossed his face when he saw the photographs that were displayed on the walls. 

There were no paintings – no drawings, or sculptures of vaginas like there had been at the last art show Brian had gone to that Justin had been featured in.  Nothing that screamed out that it was Justin’s work that might provide a glimmer of his inner thoughts that Brian could look at and try to decipher.  Looking around the room at all the black and white photos, Brian thought back to the phone call he had received from Lindsay, and the message that Sam had hidden within his carefully chosen words:  

“Sam said that Justin is going to have to drop out of PIFA; his scholarship application was turned down, and he can’t afford to pay the eight thousand dollars by next week.  He said it was a shame, Brian, because Justin was selected to show off his work in the student art show next month.”

Brian knew a manipulation when he heard one; he had never been more grateful, however, to part with the money he had paid to ensure that Justin could continue his education.  The money meant nothing; not when it had motivated Justin to seek him out a week later.  Even though it had been to verbally tear his balls off, the young man had still been the one to make the first move.

Looking around the room again, Brian went to the right, trying to avoid the people who had automatically veered left; he shook his head slightly before he started checking out each grouping of photographs.  Maybe Sam had gotten the art show in question wrong – maybe there was one for drawings or paintings at another time or in another buil… Brian stopped dead in his tracks then; his mouth dropped open, and he found himself rooted to the spot as his eyes slowly trailed over the glossy black and white photograph that he was looking at. 

He knew that ass – he had intimate knowledge of that ass; he had seen the image of what had been captured on glossy paper more times than he could count.  Closing his eyes against the photograph of Justin sprawled so temptingly on the tangled sheets, Brian drew in a calming breath.  But when he slowly opened his eyes again, he was faced with the same set of photographs that not only took his breath away, but also caused a real problem with just how tightly strained his jeans had become in the crotch.

There were seven photographs in the series, and Brian slowly trailed his eyes over each one.  The one of Justin naked in Brian’s bed at the loft was the most risqué, but it was also done in the most innocent of ways.  Justin lay on his stomach, and the photographer had captured the image of Justin looking upward in the foreground from the foot of the bed, while managing to show the creamy span of his back and the tempting rise of his ass in the background.  His hair was tousled, the flushed look on his face one that Brian remembered well; there was love showing in Justin’s eyes, and Brian wondered briefly if Justin had been thinking about him when the photographer had captured this image.

He wondered, as he trailed his eyes over every inch of the photograph, when it had been taken.  He marveled that the lights in the background, even when printed in black and white, had still managed to cast the illusion of a blue tint over Justin’s skin.  He couldn’t remember Justin having someone over - perhaps he had been out of town when this particular photograph had been taken - either way, Brian didn’t care.  To see actual imagery of Justin in his bed was causing his skin to break out in goosebumps. 

Dragging his eyes away from the photograph, Brian forced himself to look at the other ones.  There was one of Justin bracing himself against a wall, talking to a young, muscular man who was leaning into his personal space.  Brian knew the look that had been captured on Justin’s face; his boy was on the prowl.  It was in the hint of tongue that Brian could see peeking out of the corner of Justin’s mouth – he didn’t need to see Justin’s fingers coiled through the other boy’s belt loops to know that Justin had been mere seconds away from leading the guy somewhere for a quick fuck.

But what made the photograph so artistic was the way Justin was partially hidden in the shadows.  His hair and parts of his face had been caught in the sunlight; it was a beautiful play on naughty and nice.  Innocent and predatory.  It was in the jut of the other boy’s hip, and the invitation that he could clearly read on Justin’s face.  In his lowered lashes, and that tempting peek of tongue – Brian had never been able to keep his hands off Justin when he had looked at him like that.      

There was a photograph of Justin standing in an art studio, a fierce look of concentration on his face captured as he stared at the canvas he was sketching out while he balanced a slim paintbrush between his teeth.  There were smears of charcoal on his fingers and one that stretched across his cheekbone where he had evidently wiped his face, leaving a dark smudge against the paleness of his skin.  There were white lines of what Brian knew to be paint against the seat of his cargo pants; a perfect handprint, captured on paper and frozen in time.

Another one showed him sitting on the floor in what was apparently a music room; he was leaning against the leg of a piano with a sketchbook resting against his knees as he threw his head back in laughter.  His face was open and relaxed, and his humor came through so clearly that Brian could hear the echo of Justin’s laughter in his mind as he stared at the photograph.  He was laughing at Ethan, who was in the background; the musician was sitting on a chair with a pained look on his face as he watched a younger student draw her bow across a violin. 

Brian swallowed hard; he could tell from the length of Justin’s hair that these particular shots had been taken before the Rage launch.  He could easily see the open delight on Justin’s face and the amusement that clearly showed in his eyes.  He could tell from the way that his whole face lit up with his laughter; laughter that echoed, along with the ghostly echo of ‘Sunshine!’, a moniker that his boy had earned when he smiled the way he was in this photograph.

But when he moved his eyes to the next photograph, Brian felt his stomach drop.  This photograph had been taken in subdued lighting - a bar on campus, perhaps; Brian didn’t recognize the décor, but he knew the glint of bottles that twinkled in the background.  Justin was sitting at the bar on his own; lost in thought, you could clearly see the unhappiness on Justin’s face as he stared down into his glass.  The sunshine was gone, hidden beneath the dark look on Justin’s face.

Brian had seen Justin sulk before.  Had seen him lost in thought, and beyond devastated when faced with the threat of not being able to attend PIFA.  The gift of a computer had helped take care of that look, and yet Brian could still remember seeing it.  But he had never seen the darkness of Justin’s thoughts stamped so plainly on his face.  His boy was more than unhappy – there was heartache on his face, shown so clearly in the downward turn of his lips and the lines between his brows that exposed complete and utter defeat.

Dragging his eyes away from the photo, Brian’s eyes slid to the next shot.  It had been taken on campus; Justin sat at a table in the courtyard, with his duffel bag lying at his feet.  Sam was straddling the bench seat, and Justin was wrapped up in his arms; with Sam’s hand curled around the nape of Justin’s neck, and their foreheads pressed together, Justin’s face was ravaged in pure grief.  Brian didn’t need to see the tears on Justin’s cheeks to know that his boy had lost his shit in a big way, and that Sam was trying to hold him together.

Brian felt his breath shudder out of him, and he dragged his hand down over his mouth as he stared at the photograph.  His fingers itched to reach out and trace the tears that were so apparent on Justin’s face.  His mask was gone, and the anguish that Justin was feeling looked as if it was literally tearing him to pieces.  This wasn’t the boy who had walked out of Babylon the night before with a Mona Lisa smile for Brian.  This was the boy who had stolen into the loft while Brian had been at work and had packed all that he owned into a single, dilapidated bag.      

Tearing his eyes away from the proof of how badly he had fucked up when he had thrown Justin off the cliff, Brian looked at the last photograph in the series; he blanched when he saw where and when it had been taken.  Justin was dressed in pajama pants and a tee-shirt; there were three bands wrapped around his wrist, and he was leaning against a window ledge, with his face turned slightly towards the camera.  Brian only just managed to bite back the moan that wanted to spill out when he saw the complete lack of expression on Justin’s face. 

His boy looked half dead; gone were the happiness, love, and joy that had once shone from Justin’s eyes.  Gone were the grief and the anger.  Brian would have preferred even those emotions to the utterly blank look that had been captured on Justin’s face.  To see him like this; to compare the first four photographs to the final three – to know that it had been taken while Justin had been in the hospital after he had tried taking his own life - was more than Brian could bear. 

Looking around the room, Brian caught sight of a man with a clipboard who was nodding as a young woman spoke to him.  Crossing over to the pair, Brian managed to make his voice work as he gestured back to the exhibit.

“Those photographs… did the young man in them sign a waiver allowing you to display his image so publicly?” he asked, and the man frowned as he glanced down at the woman standing beside him who went bright red as she lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her skirt.

“He should have – Renee?  Did you get Justin to sign the forms?”

When Renee finally shook her head, there was a pleading expression on her face when she looked back up.

“Justin hasn’t been in school for two weeks; I didn’t think it would matter,” she stammered, and the man with her cringed.

“Renee… I told you when you showed me your work that although the first five images were fine, you needed Justin’s express permission to show the other two.”

Glancing back at Brian, the man shook his head.

“I’ll find out where Justin is, and get him…”

“Take them down.”

Brian’s voice was as hard as steel; shrouded in icy anger, he gestured back towards the exhibit.

“I know where he is; he won’t sign for those two photographs.  Take them all down, or I will.”

“And you are?” Renee asked snidely, and Brian felt the anger inside him flare, giving him his voice and the words that came from the pit of his stomach.

“I’m his partner!” he spat, and as Brian steadied internally from the rightness of the word on his tongue, Renee lowered her eyes as the man reached out and offered Brian his hand.

“I’m David Lee; I’m a professor here at PIFA.  I’m sorry if seeing these images has upset you.  I’ll have them removed immediately.  Renee?”

“But it’s MY work!  No one has even looked at it yet!” Renee cried, and Brian glared at her until she shrank into herself.

“It’s a violation of his goddamn privacy!  You want to show him picking up a trick, or hanging out with his friends, that’s fine.  But you do not show him in the hospital; I have no idea how you managed to get that photograph of him, but you do not show it!  How would you like it if someone splashed your personal business all over the school for everyone to see and judge?”

Renee blanched, and without further comment, she hurried across the room and carefully untacked the photographs.  Shuffling them into a pile, she walked back over to where the two men were standing with the photographs held against her chest.  When David took the photographs from her and promptly handed them to Brian, she bit back whatever argument she was going to make when her professor glared at her.

“I want the negatives and any other storage devices that hold these, Renee.  I suggest you go and get them right now,” David said sternly, and she nodded before hurrying from the room.     

Glancing back at Brian, David swallowed before he offered Brian his hand again.

“I’m sorry that this happened,” David said quietly.  “I didn’t know that she hadn’t followed the correct protocols; being a first-year doesn’t give her the excuse of ignorence.  I made sure that each student understood that this exhibit was an honor, and that they needed permission from their subject to display their images.”

Clenching the photographs tightly in his hand, Brian managed to nod, before he turned on his heel without further comment.  Lowering his head, he turned and left the photography exhibition as silently as he had entered it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Brian’s nerves were showing, in the way his knee kept bouncing as he shifted his weight on the seat, and how his eyes kept darting towards the door.  He hadn’t had a direction in mind when he had left PIFA.  He had ended up at Vanguard for a while, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate; he couldn’t even remember the drive after leaving work, but when he turned the jeep off and looked up, he found himself in the parking lot of Allegheny hospital.  Brian turned his brain off when he realized where he was; ignoring the impression that this was a monumentally stupid idea, he made his way inside and asked if Justin was available to visit.

The nurse at the visitor’s desk quietly said that she didn’t have a Justin Taylor listed as being admitted, but when Brian blew out a deep breath and mumbled that he was in the psychiatric unit, understanding washed over her face.  He was asked to wait, while she made some inquiries.  Ten minutes later, Brian was greeted by Alex himself as the man walked through the doors that separated him from his boy.

“Brian.  Why are you here?  I told you that you couldn’t see Justin unless it was within a therapy session, or he was discharged,” Alex asked, and Brian shook his head helplessly as the memory of those photographs continued to flicker in his mind.

“I want to see him,” he said firmly, and Alex sighed when he heard the determination in Brian’s voice.

“Brian,” Alex began as he shook his head, and then he sighed as he ran his eyes carefully over Brian’s face.  Brian would never know what Alex saw on his face in that moment, but Alex’s own face softened.  “Okay; come with me.  I’ll see if there is a room available for us.”

Brian reached out as Alex rose from the chair and grasped the other man’s wrist briefly.

“Alex… not in a therapy session.  I just want to see him.”

Alex looked at Brian for a silent minute before he finally nodded.  He led Brian to the locked doors of the unit, and swiped his card to let them in.  Dragging his hand down over his mouth, Brian followed Alex through the doors and down the corridor.  Signing in at the desk, Brian followed Alex towards Justin’s room; a few steps from the door, however, Brian reached out and grasped Alex’s arm.  When the man looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, Brian sucked his lips into his mouth and then shook his head.

He couldn’t articulate the need he had; the need to look at Justin with his own eyes, rather than through the eyes of someone who was good with a camera.  The driving need to see if there was any emotion on the boy’s face when he saw him.  He’d take anything at that point: anger, annoyance… anything but the blank look that he had seen on Justin’s face for so long when he had looked at him.

Stepping past the man, Brian completed the journey on his own.  Looking into the room, he shivered when he saw Justin leaning against the window ledge with his head resting against the glass pane; it was reminiscent of the photograph that Renee had taken without Justin’s knowledge, and Brian took a steadying breath before he raised his hand and gently rapped his knuckles against the door frame.  Justin looked over his shoulder at the noise, and something in Brian relaxed when he saw the varying emotions that crossed Justin’s face.

Surprise was the one that stood out the most, but he also saw embarrassment and a hint of trepidation.  It was the final emotion that had him stepping through the door as Justin turned to face him; his mask was gone, and color delicately pinked his cheeks as Justin tilted his head slightly as Brian took slow, measured steps towards him.  Before Justin could query why Brian was even there, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew the photographs; licking his lips, Brian hesitantly held his hand out, offering the images to Justin.

Justin only had to look down at what Brian offered him before he recoiled, and the delicate color drained from his face.  His hand shook when he reached out for them, and Brian swallowed hard as Justin took them from him and quickly flipped through the glossy images.  When Justin eventually looked back up, Brian shook his head and stepped closer to the blond.  Justin had to tilt his chin up slightly to look at him and Brian reached out and brushed the long strands of blond hair away from Justin’s cheek, and tucked it behind his ear. 

He felt his mouth twist into a semblance of a crooked smile when Justin’s eyes widened as Brian stroked his thumb across Justin’s cheek, and Brian dropped his hand as he looked away from him and leaned against the window ledge to look out the window.  He saw Justin walk towards the bed in the window’s reflection and carefully set the photographs on the bedside table.  Watching him, Brian’s whole body softened as he watched Justin visibly straighten his shoulders, and the word ‘brat’ affectionately crossed his mind. 

But when Justin slowly made his way back to his side, Brian looked at him out of the corner of his eye.  Justin rested his shoulder against the frame of the window as he looked out across the busy parking lot.  He seemed content to let the silence between them linger, and Brian hesitantly reached out and grasped Justin’s hand with his own; the squeeze that Justin gave his fingers said more than words could have ever conveyed.

Thank you.  Why are you here?   

Brian squeezed back, but instead of using that gesture to convey how he felt, he turned his head slightly and glanced at him as Justin slowly withdrew his hand from Brian’s.  There were hundreds of things that he wanted to say; how sorry he was.  How much he missed him; that he loved him and wanted him to come back to the loft and turn it back into the home that it had been when Justin’s laughter had echoed through the vast space.  He wanted Justin to bring his belongings home, and to throw that ratty fucking bag away and never leave him again.

He wanted to apologize for letting Michael cause so much damage between them, and to promise that he’d never allow Michael to treat Justin like that again. He wanted to apologize for the tricks he had bought back to the loft and for the whispers that Justin had heard every day.   For the tears he had caused Justin to shed, both in his presence and under the cover of darkness; for being so fucked up himself that he had tested Justin’s loyalty to him time and time again, when Justin had more than proven himself.  

He wanted to apologize for discouraging Justin from discussing what Chris Hobbs had done; because Michael was more than wrong.  It hadn’t just happened to Brian – Justin was the one who couldn’t remember, and Brian was the one who couldn’t forget.  If they had spoken about Prom - cried and raged about it together - then maybe they wouldn’t be in the position they were in now.  He wanted to say all of this and more; but standing beside his former lover and watching the hustle-bustle of the outside world, Brian chose a simpler method of conveying everything he wanted to say.   

“How’s the food?”

When a grimace of distaste crossed Justin’s face, Brian simply looked back out of the window and smiled slightly.

“I’ll bring you a lemon bar next time.”

He felt more than saw Justin turn his head, and when he glanced back down at the blond, he found that Justin had raised his eyebrows.

“Next time?”

It was a ghost of a sound, and Brian hummed softly under his breath as he nodded.

“Hmm… next time.”

Justin looked back out of the window, but when he lowered his chin, Brian glanced back down at his bowed head as Justin spoke softly.

“Gus likes lemon bars, too.”

He saw the brief flash of blue eyes as Justin peeked up at him, and Brian swallowed convulsively when he saw the delicate pink color stain Justin’s cheeks again.  Brian nodded, and reached out to take Justin’s hand in his own for a second time.

“Yeah… he does.”

Brian let the silence fall between them again when Justin nodded; he allowed Brian to hang onto his hand this time, and Brian traced the callouses on Justin’s fingers from where he always gripped his pencil too tightly.  When there was a soft knock on the door, Brian closed his eyes for a minute as a nurse stepped into the room and gently reminded Justin that he had an appointment with his nutritionist, and that it was time for his weigh-in.

Justin merely nodded, and when he turned to walk away, he was forced to pause when Brian tightened his grip on his hand.  The two men locked eyes, and Brian knew that although he could pull Justin towards him, he had to start showing him that he was willing to follow, too.  Closing the gap between them, Brian lowered his head and pressed his mouth to Justin’s forehead.  He heard the hitch in Justin’s breathing at the innocent touch of his lips and turned his head slightly to rest his cheek against the softness of those silky, blond strands.

He stepped back without comment when he felt Justin’s hand press against his chest; he knew a warning when he felt one and was grateful that Justin had let him indulge in the warmth of his body for the mere seconds they had been standing close together.  Justin simply stared up at him for a moment before he turned and left the room.  Brian didn’t know whether to smile or frown when Justin didn’t look back; instead he settled for calling Justin a brat again in his head.

Heading out to the jeep, Brian settled into the driver’s seat and glanced down at the manila folder on the passenger seat of the jeep.  Opening the folder briefly, Brian glanced down at the contents before he slowly closed it against the image of Justin’s blank face.  Rolling his lips into his mouth, Brian started the jeep and backed out of the space he had been parked in.  He had handed the originals over to Justin, but the copies he had made of them would serve as a reminder that all actions had consequences.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Brian sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the image of Justin looking back at him from within tangled sheets.  Framed in matte black, the photograph sat on the bedside table in such a way that he was able to look at it whether he was sitting up or lying down.  He would see it every time he opened his eyes in the morning, and it would be the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes at night.  His sexy boy, tousled and wanting – the stuff dreams were made of.

The remaining image were scattered across Brian’s bed; he had stared down at the image of Justin in the hospital for so long that every detail of it was burned into his brain.  No matter what Alex said, Brian knew that the blame for that image rested on his shoulders.  Michael had been the cause for Justin trying to kill himself, but Brian had allowed the man to get away with that type of shit long before Justin had made his choice.

It had been one thing to think about the choice that Justin had made – to think about it, and to talk about it with Alex and the family.  But the image removed all semblance of deniability.  It became real in a way that it hadn’t been before.  So still within the image, the spark that had marked Justin as human was gone – Brian finally understood what Alex had meant when he had called Justin the ‘walking dead.’  Wiping absently at his face, Brian looked at the moisture on his fingertips for a long time.

How many times had Justin cried that Brian didn’t know about?  How many times had he cut the boy to the quick, adding to the wound that festered deep inside him?  How many times would he have to apologize before Justin believed him?  He had told Justin time and time again that words meant nothing; that they were only meaningless noise that people made.  Actions were all you could believe.  That phrase had come back to bite him in the ass; his actions had shown Justin that the young man meant nothing to him - that to Brian, he was just a convenient piece of ass.

Those actions had set Justin on this twisted path; Brian’s inability to tell Justin how he felt, and his deep-rooted fear that Justin would leave him, meant that Justin had read his actions and drawn his own conclusions.  Reaching out to trace his fingers over the blankness of Justin’s face, Brian swore to himself that he would never allow Justin to look like this again.  He doubted that he would ever be able to give Justin the words that he needed, but he would damn well make sure that his actions would show Justin everything that he was unable to say.