February 2 (Part Two)

Brian stared blankly at the remains of the loft and ran a hand through his hair, his body coiled as tight as a spring as glass and bits of…whatever, crunched under his feet. Scrubbing a hand over his hair, he turned in a full circle, trying to ignore the people moving in and out of his private space, documenting the damage.

Fucking hell; and the day had started so well.

After a morning of snowshoeing and general goofing off with Justin, Brian had booked them for an afternoon at The Lakehouse Inn's spa. They'd gotten the full treatment – a facial, a mani-pedi and a sixty-minute couple's massage of a sorts. Well, they were in the same room together, but Justin had received the Some Bunny Loves You prenatal massage, (and he fully admits to cringing at the name), and Brian had gone with the Relaxation and Deep Tissue massage.

They'd then had an early dinner, once again at Crosswinds Grille, before happily piling into their SUV and beginning the two and a half hour drive home. Or well to the loft, as Brian was scheduled for an early morning meeting at Kinnetik and Justin needed to meet with Sidney for some last minute details on the placement of his work. Because the little twat was anal and could never leave well enough alone when it came to his art.

They'd laughed and talked quietly the whole way home, not at all expecting the disaster they'd be coming home to. who would? This was something that you saw in movies, but thought was over exaggerated for drama's sake; not something you expected to happen in your own life. Brian still couldn't get over it and he was standing right there in the middle of it.

When they'd slid the door open, Brian immediately knew something was off;it ht him right in the gut and it had nothing to do with the balled up piece of paper that was sitting next to the door; a ball of paper that he'd known for damned sure hadn't been there when they'd last been in the loft. But it was the first indication for things to come; and it hadn't prepared him for what he and Justin had found when they flipped on the lights.

They'd stood in the doorway in utter shock as they looked around, finding their house in shambles - the furniture was tipped on end and slashed to ribbons with what had to be a large knife; something that was confirmed by the butcher's knife lying on the floor. The glass top to their coffee table had been shattered and glass scattered across the living room area, with the body sticking out of the TV screen; and all of the wires connecting to the DVD player and the cable box ripped out.

All of the kitchen cabinets were open and his and Justin's dinnerware, glasses, and cups, all gifts from their wedding registry, lay smashed and ground into the floor; and most of their small appliances - the toaster, the blender and the coffee machine most notably - looked as if a blunt object had been taken to them and lay smashed and scattered across the counter. But that hadn't even been the worst of it.

Open-mouthed Brian stared in dismay as he noted that several of the glass panels surrounding the bedroom had been smashed in, the glass flown everywhere in the bedroom and the dining area; their dining table took equal treatment. And in the bedroom, the bedding, and the few items of clothing that they'd left behind, had been shredded to ribbons. And more, he'd walked through the bedroom into the bathroom to find the mirror cracked as if someone had punched, the hamper was pretty much kindling, and all of his toiletries were upended and smeared.

Justin's...well, Justin's were simply gone; as if they'd never been there to begin with.

And still, that hadn't been the worst of it.

No, the absolute worst had been that every picture of them, every single picture of Brian and Justin together, had their frames smashed against the floor and the photos had been rent down the middle, with Justin's half missing and his half defaced in some way. All of Justin's sketches of the two of them together had been shredded; the ones of him alone were burnt to ashes. Or at least that's what he thought was sitting in the garbage can. He supposed he should be grateful that the asshole hadn't set them on fire and just left them to burn the fucking loft down.

But the greatest tragedy was the painting.

When Justin came home from New York, the first day he spent in his new studio, he had painted the two of them lying in bed, Brian on top of Justin with their clasped hands stretched out over the bed. The two of them were fuzzy, like a slightly out of focus picture, with their clasped hands in sharp focus, the focal point of the painting.

He'd always loved that painting; he could feel Justin's love for him in that painting; and his sheer joy he felt at their reunification and the promises they'd made the night before, when Brian had asked him to marry him once again. It had always been one of his favorites, and the only reason it had been in the loft in the first place, was that the frame had been damaged and Justin was in the process of looking for another.

Usually it hung in their bedroom at Britin, right across from the bed, where they could see it every morning.

That same painting now lay in shreds on the ground, the frame busted until it resembled kindling. And Justin…God, Justin was just sitting there in front of it staring blankly at the ruins of it, heartbroken and so very quiet that there were times Brian had to check that he was still breathing. And fuck if that didn't just tear him up inside.

When he found this fucker, he was so going to end him.

Rubbing his hand over his mouth and jaw, Brian exhaled explosively, his heart aching for his husband, and looked around again, surprised to see that only Carl remained behind. Smiling weakly at the other man, Brian slowly walked over to him, glass crunching underfoot, and stood by his side as the other man studied the room.

Carl shook his head at the damage, disbelief etched into his face.

"You seeing what I'm seeing, kid?" Carl asked softly, his eyes immediately falling onto the ruined sketches and the shredded pictures, and...God...the painting, along with other random missing things. Things that belonged to his husband and should be there, but after inventory, were noticeably missing; like his favorite lounge about the loft hoodie that once draped over one chairs. It wasn't surprising that Carl hadn't gotten the measure right away.

"Yeah," Brian sighed heavily, wishing he could unsee it; as he really didn't like the implications. "I'm seeing what you are seeing. It's like…"

Brian paused because he just couldn't voice it.

"Someone is trying to erase you from his life?" Carl asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, that…" Brian swallowed, his throat tight as he looked around the loft once more, still unable to believe what was happening. "…the fuck?"

Carl nodded gravely as he walked around, his brow furrowed as he took it all in. He sighed and met Brian's eyes, the both of them completely shell-shocked by the destruction and the sheer violence behind it. The older man sighed again, rubbed his hand over his face and then looked towards Justin, who was still kneeling in front of his destroyed painting.

"Think he's figured it out yet?" Carl asked, nodding to Justin.

And Brian knew exactly what he was asking – did he think Justin realized that this wasn't just a random act of vandalism, but targeted, with Justin as the vandal's obvious obsession and Brian the vandal's apparent obstacle.

"Hard to tell," Brian said in a low voice; he rolled his lips between his teeth as he studied his silent husband. And then he shook his head in disbelief. "He's so upset about the sketches and painting right now, I don't think it's sunk in just yet. Thank God most of his work is at the manor." And then Brian paused, cursing low under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck…the manor. I need to call Anna and John. I hope that nothing has happened out there. It's his sanctuary."

"You do know you're won't be able to keep this under wraps," Carl said, fixing him with knowing look. "He's an intelligent man; once he's over being shocked about it, he'll put the pieces together."

"I know," Brian sighed; knowing Justin was far too intelligent not to do just that. And when he did, there would be hell to be paid. His little spitfire would not take this sitting down. "But, I'll deal with it then; for right now, he doesn't need anymore stress. Not with the baby…"

"That's gonna backfire on you," Carl warned, interrupting him. Brian grimaced, but couldn't refute his words. He looked away, making Carl sigh and roll his eyes. "But I have a feeling you already knew that."

"What am I supposed to do?" Brian asked with a terse smile on his face; yes, he absolutely knew that Justin would have his ass for protecting him from this, but he and Sunbeam came first. "He's already stressed out due to everyone butting their fucking noses in where they don't belong, and worrying about the show, and then there is the fact that he's already aware that someone has been watching us."

"Wait," Carl turned around, giving Brian the hairy eyeball. Brian winced; shit, he hadn't meant to say anything about that. "What do you mean there was someone watching you? You didn't mention that earlier."

"What's to mention, Carl?" Brian sighed, knowing that he was going to get an earful from the retired cop. "Neither of us saw anything out of the ordinary; and trust me, I was looking after he mentioned it. All I could have told them was it felt like we were being watched and that I had a gut feeling it's related to this."

"Still," Carl huffed, looking not pleased at all that Brian was holding information back. "You should have mentioned it to the detective in charge; even if there was nothing they could do with it. We need to know stuff like this so that we can adequately protect you. You have to realize how serious this is, Brian. This is not your average vandal. This person has serious beef with you and I don't think it's fully sunk in that no alarm was raised until you got home. That can only mean one thing."

"They had the code," Brian said tightly, his anger flooding back in an instant, his eyes flashing and cheeks heating as he stared at the room. "They had the fucking code to my alarm system. Yes, I did grasp that Carl."

"Then you have to realize that any bit of information you have, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, is important," Carl said, staring Brian down, not in the least cowed by his anger. "If we're reading this right, this person is obsessed with Justin; and equally obsessed with getting you out of his life. That does not sound like someone you want to tangle with."

Brian growled low in his throat and shoved his hands through his hair; he clenched them into fists and pulled as he took those words in. He felt so helpless; and fuck, he hated that feeling. There was no worse feeling in the world; especially when it came to keeping his husband safe. Which he couldn't do if this fucking asshole could just walk right into their fucking house at the drop of a fucking hat.

"I don't know what to do," Brian admitted, looking helplessly at Carl. "I don't want him staying out at Britin all by himself while I'm in town; and yet, I can't have him staying here when that asshole, or even assholes, has the code and could just walk in without consequence. I mean, yes; I can and will change it; but that does me little good when I have no idea how they got it in the first place."

"When was the last time you changed it?" Carl asked, the detective in him kicking in. "And who has it?"

"We changed it about two months ago," Brian said, thinking back; they usually changed it every six months. "As for the people that have it; Ted and Cynthia do since they take care of things if we're gone for extended periods of time; but I trust them with my life. I haven't told anyone else."

"Deb knows it," Carl said, his brows pinching thoughtfully.

"How the fuck does Deb know it?" Brian asked, outraged to find out that someone had had loose lips; although, he'd swear on his life that neither Ted or Cynthia would do such a thing. "I know that I never told her; and I'm pretty sure that Justin hasn't either."

"I don't know," Carl shrugged. "I know I heard her saying something about needing to write it down not long after you changed it. I just assumed you had told Michael and then told him to pass it on to her."

And no; no he did not do that; he'd stopped giving Michael the code when he'd had the locks changed a few months after Justin's return. He'd gotten sick of having good old Mikey letting himself in whenever the hell he felt like it. Typically when they were busy and interrupting the two of them.

"Mikey," Brian spat, his ire growing as this was yet one more transgression to add to the growing list of them. "Great, this day just gets better and better."

"I can talk to her when I get home and find out," Carl offered, but likely knew that it would do little good. While Deb had gotten better about facing Mikey's bad points, she was his mother and find a way to make this Brian's fault.

"Don't bother," Brian said grimly, knowing that he needed to have a word with Mikey as soon as possible. He'd been trying to corner the little asshole for over a week now, only to be put off by Ben and the others; all telling him that Mikey was sick. But he called bullshit; he knew better now and Mikey was going to get a firm talking to even if he had to kick his fucking door down. "I'll take care of this myself."

"If that's what you want to do," Carl said blandly; and Brian gave him a faint smirk knowing that the man planned to be as far away as possible when it happened. "I need to head into the precinct and give this new information to the detective working your case." Carl walked over to him and squeezed his shoulder. "Be careful, son; and take care of our boy."

"We'll see you later, Carl," Brian said, a lump in his throat as the older man walked away "Thanks for being here."

"Anytime, Brian," Carl called as he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Brian let out the breath he'd been holding and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked over to Justin, who was still staring blankly at his ruined work and sighed. He had no fucking idea how to fix this for him. And, honestly, he didn't think he could. There was no way that the painting could be salvaged, no matter how much he wanted it.

Walking over to his husband, Brian sank to his knees and then sat down, pulling the blond into his lap as he did so. He pressed a kiss against the other man's temple, his heart breaking anew as a tear slid down Justin's cheek. Rolling his lips between his lips, he pressed his cheek to Justin's, offering him the silent comfort he needed.

"Hey, Sunshine," Brian whispered after a moment. "You okay?"

Justin choked out a bitter laugh. And yeah, he got that. The question was so laughably lame that he wanted to kick himself for even asking it; but he still had no idea what to say and he wasn't about to offer up pithy platitudes.

"Who…" Justin swallowed as his voice cracked, his fingers trembling as they sifted through the wreckage. "Who would do this, Brian? Who hates us so much that they'd destroy all of our pictures?"

Brian closed is eyes; fuck, Justin would start with the question that he had no answer to; the one he'd been dreading. Especially as, by his wording, he still hadn't yet realized the most of the violence was perpetuated against, not them as a couple, but Brian as an individual and his place in Justin's life.

"I don't know, Sunshine," Brian said, kissing him softly on the cheek "But I have faith in Carl's friends; they'll figure this out." And well, so much for not offering platitudes; but he did believe it to be so.

"They destroyed our painting, Brian," Justin said hoarsely, his voice thick with tears. "Our painting; the first one I painted when I came home for good. Why would they…it's gone; completely destroyed. There is no way I can salvage it."

Brian blinked, fighting back his own tears as he needed to stay strong for Justin right now; he'd deal with his own grief later. Burying his face into Justin's hair, he breathed in deeply, finding strength in Justin's scent and presence; at least enough to make it through this conversation without completely losing it.

"Then you'll paint us another," Brian said with a soft sigh, kissing along his jaw. "And this one will be bigger and better because we are in a better place. Don't let this asshole get to you, Sunshine. That's what he or she wants."

"I just…" Justin trailed off; and then clenched his hands into fists and hissed. "God, I'm so furious that someone broke into our home and touched our things, destroyed our things. I just can't…" Justin swallowed and pressed his fingers to his eyes, as if trying to stave off tears. He sighed. "I'm just glad that nothing happened at Britin."

"Did you get a hold of Anna and John?" Brian asked, glad that one of them had had the presence of mind to contact their house and grounds keepers.

"Yeah, they were at the cottage most of the weekend," Justin said, slumping back against Brian's chest, the fight draining out of him for now. "No one came by that they are aware of; and when they went to look; nothing was missing or destroyed. Thank God."

Well that was one less thing to worry about.

"Hmmm…" Brian hummed, the question that had been preying on his mind since they'd first opened the loft door reasserting itself at those words.

"What?" Justin asked, well aware that Brian had something on his mind.

"Nothing," Brian said, and then smiled sheepishly when Justin shot him the look. The one he'd developed when he was a teenager and said, 'don't even, I am so on to you.' Brian huffed. "Just wondering why they broke into the loft; we rarely stay here and only have a few basics for when we do. Our life is at Britin. And honestly, if it were me, I'd want to make as big a statement as possible, so I'd target the manor."

"Maybe they couldn't," Justin said with a small shrug of his shoulders; and really it was a simple, but relevant, and likely, answer. "The manor is much more secure than here; not to mention the fact that we have a private security company that is wired in, unlike here."

"Different companies too," Brian mused, cursing himself for not putting the loft into the contract with the new company. "I keep meaning to switch the loft over, but haven't gotten around to it. Although, this is as good as an incentive as any."

Justin just nodded and then reached out his hand to touch the shreds of the painting once more, his face a mask of heartbreak. And God, if Brian ever got his hands on this asshole, he or she was so fucking done for doing this to him. Inhaling deeply, Brian pressed a kiss to the top of Justin's head and held him close.

"Paint it again, Sunshine," Brian said, his cheek resting on Justin's head. "Paint it for me again; only this time, add our wedding bands as the focal point, not our clenched hands. And I will love it just as much as this one."

Justin chewed on his bottom lip as he looked at what had become a symbol of their reunion with growing determination; just as Brian knew he would.

"Okay," Justin nodded again, his jaw firming with determination and his eyes holding the fire that had drawn Brian in from the minute he'd seen a teenage twink standing under a lamppost. "But not this one; I have a better one in mind; one that will show off all of our family."