“No excuses, no apologies, no regrets.”

*****

“You do realize we’re only going for a week, right?” Justin called from outside the closet, where Brian was retrieving more suits and ties for their trip to Pittsburgh. “Do you really need all of these clothes?”

“I need work clothes, club clothes, and comfortable clothes.” Brian felt that was reasonable -- after all, you can’t wear work clothes to the club and vice-versa, and when you’re relaxing at the hotel, you want to be comfortable.

“Did you just say club clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, who the fuck are you and what did you do with the Brian Kinney I’ve been living with for the past four months? You haven’t been to a club since I dragged you to Babylon and tried to make you dance with me.”

“And tried to fuck me in the VIP lounge.” Brian came out the closet door with a lap full of shirts and jackets and pants that he knew probably wouldn’t fit in his luggage.

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Justin said, rolling his eyes. “I fucked up big time that night.”

“Hey, it worked out in the end.”

“If you say so,” Justin said as he folded a pair of jeans.

“I ended up here, didn’t I?”

“True. And I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” Brian looked up at Justin and smiled. He was glad he’d decided to take the plunge and move to New York. Even though things hadn’t started off as easy as he’d hoped they would be, this new place had brought with it a lot of positive change for Brian. He finally felt like he was seeing the light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. Now, he just had to make it through this trip back to the Pitts.

Pittsburgh was where he was when he’d been at his lowest. And he needed to not let that goddamn town and the people in it drag him back down again. It wasn’t his family -- his chosen family, that is -- that he was worried about. It was the other people who had once made him feel like he’d rather be invisible than exist in the world as a disabled man. A man who’d been shaken to his very core. Pushed out of the persona he’d become infamous for. Ripped away from the life he’d known and become comfortable with, and tossed haphazardly into a completely foreign situation that had turned his entire world on its ear. And just a few months ago, he hadn’t been sure how he’d make it through -- if he’d make it through.

But he had. And he’d realized that he didn’t really want to be invisible at all. He just wanted for people to see him for the man that he was, outside of his disability. To not expect him to still be the same old Brian Fucking Kinney. And most of all, to not pity him because he wasn't that person anymore.

Getting there had been a rough road for sure, paved with a lot of emotional upheaval and self-doubt. But he’d gotten there, with Justin’s encouragement.

Brian honestly had no idea where he would be right now if it weren’t for Justin. If they hadn’t reconnected last Christmas Eve at Debbie’s house. If he’d never told Justin what happened to him and had gone on pretending that everything was fine, forever. Would he have been able to keep pretending?

They took a cab to the airport, checked two large suitcases at the ticket counter -- still way too many clothes for a week, Justin said -- and proceeded on to the fucking fun and games that was airport security. Since he and Justin were traveling together this time, Justin got to bear witness to the full-on feel-up and pat-down that happened in a small cubicle off to the side of the metal detectors, where a strange man groped Brian in places that would have been considered seductive if this was Babylon instead of the airport. They inspected every inch of Brian’s wheelchair, swabbing his hands and random spots on his chair for explosives residue. Like terrorists were making some kind of a habit of hiring people in wheelchairs to do their dirty work, Brian thought to himself.

By the time they made it through security and to the gate, their flight was about to begin boarding. As always, Brian got to board first, and again Justin got to come with him. He’d learned from his past mistakes and booked a seat in the first row, where he would be able to get on the plane in his own wheelchair instead of having to deal with the embarrassing aisle chair. He barely had enough space to do that, but he’d be damned if he was going to deal with the indignity of someone else pushing him if he could avoid it. Justin knew to keep his hands to himself when Brian struggled a bit with the weird angle of the transfer, but the flight attendant didn’t know any better. It still bugged the everloving shit out of Brian when someone tried to help him without asking him if he needed help, but he was trying to not be outwardly rude, so he settled for saying, “I’ve got it, thanks.” And she backed off too.

He’d decided to sit on his wheelchair seat cushion this time, to see if that might help his back pain, so once he got into his seat, he had to immediately slide over into Justin’s, remove the cushion from his wheelchair, situate it in his own seat, and then slide back. Once he’d gotten everything secured on his chair, an airline employee tagged it and took it off to be gate checked. Even on flight number three, he still felt nervous about letting his chair out of his sight. It was a fundamental part of him now. He depended on it, and he felt more okay with that now than he ever thought he would. Because it was really just an accessory. It had played a role in turning him into a different person, but it wasn’t the end-all, be-all of his identity anymore, like he’d allowed it to be for so long. Too long.

After Brian was settled in his seat, Justin hoisted the carry-on bag they’d brought up into the overhead compartment and climbed over Brian’s legs to get to his own seat.

“Don’t step on me, asshole,” Brian said jokingly.

“How the hell are you going to know if I did?”

“Fuck if I know. Just don’t do it.”

“I didn’t. I promise. So did you find us someplace fancy to stay downtown?”

“Sure did. Booked a rental car too.” Brian leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. “You’ll have to do all the driving though.”

“I’m sure you’re thrilled about that.”

“You’d better not get us killed.”

“Hey, I’m a good driver. You’re just biased.”

“Can I get you anything to drink, gentlemen?” the flight attendant interrupted them.

“Apple juice,” Justin said.

“Jack and coke,” Brian told the flight attendant. She turned and walked to the galley as Brian looked at Justin with a raised eyebrow. “Apple juice? What are you, five?”

“What is this, pick on Justin day?”

Brian closed his eyes again. “Sorry. I’m really fucking nervous about this trip.”

“Why? What is there to be nervous about?”

“The last time I was in Pittsburgh, things weren’t good for me.”

“I know.” Justin slipped his fingers through Brian’s and squeezed his hand. “But you’re okay now. You’ve dealt with all of that. You’ll be okay.”

“I just don’t want it to come back. The ghosts are there, you know. All of them.”

“I know. But they don’t have power over you anymore. You're stronger than they are. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Brian sighed and hoped that Justin was right. That he’d be able to deal with whatever ghosts from his past came back to haunt him on this trip.

It was a short flight, and Brian spent most of it on his laptop, working on some last minute things for one of the clients he was going to be meeting with at Kinnetik while he was back in Pittsburgh. He was impressed with how well Cynthia and Ted had been holding down the fort in his absence -- he hadn’t had to come back to bail them out of any emergencies at all. His company seemed to be a well-oiled machine, even when he wasn’t there in person. He tried to feel proud of that, and to not feel slighted or like he wasn’t needed.

When they landed in Pittsburgh, they had to wait for everyone else to slowly make their way off the plane, before one of the gate agents brought Brian his chair and he got to do the oddly angled transfer in reverse. The flight attendant stood back this time, but Brian could see that Justin was watching him attentively and was ready to step in if needed, to avoid any potentially embarrassing situations. Brian wasn’t quite sure how that made him feel. Thankfully, no such situations arose and not long after that, they had picked up their luggage at baggage claim and were on their way to pick up the rental car.

They drove to the hotel and checked in, dropping off all of their things. Justin said he needed to make a phone call, so Brian headed down the street alone to grab some food from a nearby deli. Brian hadn’t even thought of the fact that this was Wednesday evening, and that the hotel was near the cathedral where his mother sometimes attended mass, until he heard someone call his name from behind him on the sidewalk.

“Brian?” the voice called. He recognized it immediately as belonging to his fucking joke of a mother, whose last contact with him had been to shout at him about how he was paying his penance now for the life of sin he’d lived, while he sat in a hospital bed, in pain and wondering what the hell was next for him. He certainly hadn’t needed her to come and show her so-called love in the twisted way in which she always did it -- trying to force him to change to save his soul, and probably hers too, at least in her mind.

He whipped around in the direction of the voice and found himself face to face with Joan.

“What, you don’t even recognize your own son now?” Brian said sarcastically. “Is the chair too much for you?”

“Of course I recognize you, Brian.” She still wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, as was typical for her any time they were having a conversation. She could never look him in the eye. He often wondered why. What she was afraid she’d see there. Or what she was afraid he’d see in her. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“Do you care?”

“Would I have asked if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know, I guess I thought maybe it was in some handbook on mothering that you forgot to read when I was a kid, and you decided you’d catch up now.”

“Brian--”

“I’m fine, mother. Fabulous. The most fabulous fag in Pittsburgh. That is, if it’s possible to be fabulous in Pittsburgh.” It had been a long time since he’d said those words, but they made him smile to himself here, so it seemed like the right time to bring them back.

“I heard you moved to New York.”

“How did you hear that? Let me guess, Debbie.”

“Yes, I ran into her in church.”

“Is that all you two do is talk about me?”

“Well, I shouldn’t have to depend on someone else to keep me updated on what’s going on with my own son.” Joan looked down her nose disapprovingly, like she was trying to intimidate Brian. It wasn’t going to work, in spite of their obvious height difference now. He hadn’t been intimidated by her in a long time -- not since he was a kid. And he wasn’t going to start again now. He sat up straighter and stared her down.

“If you wanted me to keep you updated, maybe you should have acted like you gave a shit about me, instead of constantly telling me how your God is punishing me for engaging in the terrible sin of homosexuality. We both know you don’t care about me -- all you care about is making yourself look good in church. Oh, St. Joan has a gay son? Well, that just won’t do!” He could hear the anger starting to creep into his voice now, but he didn’t really care. She deserved whatever he could throw at her. He’d been too quiet the last time they’d “talked.”

“Of course I care about you, Brian. You’re my son. I love you.” Those last three words sounded like she had to choke them out. And she still couldn’t fucking look him in the eye.

“You’ve sure got a strange way of showing it.”

“Why don’t we go get a cup of coffee and talk?” She gestured toward the coffee shop across the street.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I want to hear how you’re doing. How things are going in New York.”

“You’ve never cared about me in the past, so why the fuck do you care now?”

“Watch your language.”

“Why? Because we’re in front of a goddamn church? I’ll say whatever the fuck I want, and if you don’t like it then you can stop talking to me. You’re the one who started this conversation. And I’m about to end it.”

He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

“Brian,” she said. “Please. I just want to talk to you.”

“If you’re wanting to give me another speech about hellfire and brimstone, thanks but no thanks, I’ll pass.”

“I don’t. I just want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“I can't go have coffee with you.” Brian sighed as he turned back to face her. Why was she pushing this? What the fuck did she really want? “Justin is waiting for me back in the hotel room. I'm just out getting us dinner.”

“Oh, you're still together? I had always heard you had quite the...reputation…”

“That I fucked around a lot, you mean? You heard right. But all that's over now, thanks to this.” He smacked his hands on his wheelchair tires so hard it stung, but he didn't care. He was making a point. “You remember. You were glad that I wouldn't be able to, what was it, ‘engage in the sinful act of sodomy’ anymore, right? Anyway, yes, Justin and I are still together. And we still have sex, in case you’re wondering. So, you didn’t get your wish after all.”

“I shouldn't have said what I did that day,” she said, her tone almost contrite. Almost.

“Oh? You think maybe you should have had a little more compassion and a little less condemnation for your own goddamn son when he's lying in a hospital bed with a fucking permanent injury?” he spat. “You know, I didn't think I had anything to say to you, but I changed my mind. I do.”

Brian took a deep breath. Joan said nothing.

“I'm doing okay, just like I always have, no thanks to you. I didn't fucking kill myself -- I know, another sin -- and I'm getting by just fine. Actually, I really am fabulous. I'm finding my own way. Trying to help other people. Justin and I are happy. We're sharing an apartment in New York. Living in sin.”

Brian paused again. Joan was still quiet.

“When I was a kid, I used to want nothing more than for you to love me. To earn your approval. For you to be proud of me. I gave up on all of that a long time ago though. And I still don't care now. I'm living my life. I'm going on, in this chair, and I'm okay with it. I'm fucking happy now. And I'm not going to let you ruin that or take it away from me.”

“I'm glad you're happy, Brian. I really am.” Fuck if she didn't actually sound sort of sincere. Sort of.

“Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go. Justin’s waiting on me. We’re done here. Actually, we're done, period. Have a nice life.”

And with that, he left his mother standing in the middle of the sidewalk. As he turned to go into the deli, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, hurrying up the steps of the church. Probably going to pray for his soul. He didn't really care. He'd said what he'd wanted to say for so long, and he felt better. Lighter.

The enormity of what he’d just done hit Brian as he sat alone in front of the counter at the deli, waiting for their order. He let out a shaky breath, and realized that his hands were shaking too. He’d just told his mother that he never wanted to speak to her again. And he didn’t regret it. It felt like he was letting something go -- letting go of any expectation that he would ever be able to earn her love or approval. That she would ever be proud of him. That she would ever be able to look him in the eye and tell him that she loved him and cared about him. He’d held onto those hopes for his entire life. No matter how apparent it had been that it was never going to happen, some small part of him had still held out hope that the woman who had given birth to him might have loved him, somewhere deep down. She said she did, but it never felt like she meant it. Their relationship was toxic, and it had been poisoning him for years.

There was always a distance between them, even when his mother had felt they were close, back when he was a kid. She was always cold. Unfeeling. And in sharp contrast to the warm, accepting nature of Debbie Novotny, whom he considered more of a mother to him than Joan Kinney ever could have been. He’d been drawn to Debbie like a moth to a flame from the first day he ever went over to Michael’s house. Debbie gave hugs. Lots of them. She’d nursed his wounds when his “real” mother had failed to protect him from his father’s drunken rampages. She’d let him in when he showed up on her doorstep at midnight, bruised, bleeding, and blinking back tears, and she let him sleep in Michael’s room, where he felt safe. She’d shown him what love was -- what it felt like to be loved. But it had taken him a long time to feel like he deserved it -- to break free of the prison that his loveless upbringing had put him in. Sometimes he still struggled to feel worthy of love.

“Here you go,” the man behind the counter said as he set a paper bag down in front of Brian, bringing him back to the present. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks, you too,” Brian said numbly as he picked up the bag and nestled it in his lap to take back to the hotel.

He was still in a daze when he entered the hotel room, where Justin was lying on the bed, propped up on the pillows, watching television.

“Hey,” Justin said. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”

“Nope. I ran into my mother.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah, that’s probably what she’s saying right about now. I’m sure she’s at mass, praying for my soul.”

“What happened?” Justin sat up straighter on the bed and turned off the TV.

“Same shit, different day. She pretended to be interested in my life. Acted all surprised that we’re still together. Said she wanted to get coffee and talk.” Brian tossed the bag of food onto the desk.

“Maybe she wants to repair your relationship -- smooth things over between you.”

“Sunshine, that’s not possible. There’s no fixing it. Anyway, I told her off. Told her that I didn’t need anything from her and I never wanted to see her again. That I’m happy without her. That I don’t need her to be proud of me, and I don’t need her to love me.” His voice was breaking a little now, and emotions that he didn't want to feel about this were starting to bubble up. Fuck.

“She’s your mother. You only wanted her to act like a mother.” Justin, who looked to be on the verge of tears himself, came over and sat sideways in Brian’s lap, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m just sorry that she didn’t want to be.”

Brian pressed his forehead against Justin’s. “I’m okay,” he said quietly. “I promise. I’ve needed to say that to her for a long time. I needed to let that shit go.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

Justin pulled away and reached for the food bag, opening it up and digging out his sandwich. He started to hand Brian’s salad to him, but Brian stopped him.

“Put it in the fridge,” he said. “I’m not hungry right now. I want to take a shower.”

“Brian…” Justin was giving him a knowing look. There was more to this than just wanting to take a shower, and Brian knew Justin was well aware of that.

“I’m okay. I just need some time to myself. To think.”

Brian could feel Justin’s eyes on him as he turned, opened his suitcase to grab a pair of sweatpants and some clean underwear, and went into the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and cursed how long it took to take off a fucking pair of pants now. Gone were the days of kicking his shoes off and shoving his pants down to kick them off as well. He vaulted his body onto the seat in the shower and turned on the water. He took the handheld shower nozzle and held it up over his head, letting the water run down his body, relishing the feeling of the warm droplets falling over his chest and back, which was aching from sitting still on the airplane for over an hour. He wondered if that was ever going to go away, or if he was stuck with it forever. He’d been trying to train himself to ignore it on most days, because the pain medication his doctor had prescribed him made him feel sleepy and slow. Tonight, though, he wanted it -- needed it -- because it would dull everything, including the feeling of loss he was dealing with right now, that he didn’t want to be feeling at all.

He used the grab bars to shift himself back, leaning against the rear wall of the shower and closing his eyes. Why was he feeling this way? He’d said what he needed to say to his mother for so long. He was free now. But he remembered the words Rebecca had spoken to him nearly a year ago in rehab: there was still a loss. Letting go of the hope that his mother ever love him the way a mother should love her son. It did make him feel a little sad, and he knew he needed to acknowledge that, feel it, and let it go. Pushing it aside and trying not to think about it wasn't going to work. It never had.

So he let himself cry. Let himself mourn the subconscious desire he’d felt for most of his life, to earn his family’s affection and approval, so he could feel worthy. He let the tears wash down the drain along with the water that warmed his body. Healing his soul. Letting go, once and for all, of that fruitless pursuit of the last 35 years that had brought him nothing but torment.

When the water started to run cold, he turned it off, wiped his face with his hands, and dried off. He fought with his underwear and pants again -- it would have been much easier from the bed, but he wanted a few more minutes to collect himself before he went back out into the room and rejoined Justin. He dug one of his pill bottles out of the small bag that held their toiletries, and downed two of them. Now, he’d wait for them to numb his pain -- the physical and the emotional.

Ten minutes later, he exited the bathroom and found Justin back on the bed, watching TV again. Brian joined him and wrapped an arm around his partner, pulling their bodies together tightly. Justin rolled over so he could wrap both of his arms around Brian and press his face into Brian’s chest, and they stayed that way for a while, letting the noise from the television fall into the background as they breathed together.

“Better now?” Justin lifted his head up to look at Brian.

Brian nodded. “Yeah.”

Justin kissed him. “Good. I’m glad.”

They spent next hour watching some stupid cop show on TV that Justin liked. Brian was slowly losing track of what was going on, as the pills he’d taken started to kick in. Everything was blunted now, like he’d wanted -- his back wasn’t aching anymore, and neither was his head. The emotions that had been swirling slowed down, and he felt himself slipping off into a dreamless sleep.

He woke up briefly a few hours later to find that Justin had turned off the TV and the light, covered them both up, and fallen asleep himself, with his head resting on Brian’s chest.

Yes, Sunshine, Brian thought to himself as he ran his fingers through Justin’s hair. I’m still here. I’m alive. I’m here with you.

*****

The next morning, they had breakfast in the hotel restaurant before heading off to Kinnetik, where Brian hadn’t shown his face, except by video call, in months. He idly wondered if his staff was still scared of him, or if Ted and Cynthia had made them soft. Although it didn’t really matter -- because aside from the art department’s occasional fuck-up, things seemed to be running fairly smoothly, even with the boss 400 miles away.

Justin had accompanied him to the office, since he didn’t have anything to do until lunch, when he was supposed to meet up with Jennifer. Brian was going to be meeting Michael for lunch at the diner, and he wasn’t sure if he was excited or apprehensive. He loved Michael and he knew Michael loved him, but he could be a little overbearing sometimes. And today was not a day when Brian wanted to deal with that.

While Brian spent the day reviewing artwork and boards and presentations for his long list of meetings on Friday and Monday, Justin was sitting on the couch in Brian’s office, his feet up on the cushion and his sketchbook on his knees. He drew for most of the morning, taking periodic breaks to stretch his hand and let it rest. During one of his rest breaks, he drifted over behind Brian and was looking over his shoulder at a proof for a print ad for Eyeconics.

Brian was trying to decide what he didn’t like about it, when Justin said, “The text needs to go over there, not here. It’ll be more visually balanced that way.”

And he was right. That was exactly what Brian didn’t like about it and hadn’t been able to put his finger on.

Brian showed him a few more things that the art department had come up with that he wasn’t pleased with, and Justin made some suggestions, even sitting down at Brian’s computer at one point to completely redesign something. Brian couldn’t help but notice how Justin lit up when he worked on something creative -- how passionate he was about doing his best work, no matter what the project was.

“You sure you don’t want to come work for me?” Brian asked, knowing full well that Justin was about to refuse him again.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Justin sighed. “Like I’ve told you over and over, I need to be independent.”

“But wouldn’t you rather spend your day creating something? I know I’d die if I spent most of my day waiting tables for selfish, demanding assholes, and I’m not even an artist.”

Justin shrugged and went back over to the couch, picking up his sketchbook again.

“You seemed to really enjoy the internship at Vangard,” Brian reminded him. “Even if you were there just to antagonize me.”

“It worked, didn’t it? I got what I wanted.”

“You did enjoy the job too, though -- and you were good at it.”

“Yeah,” Justin said, his voice almost wistful. “I’ll think about it.”

That was the most agreeable answer Brian had gotten out of Justin in the dozen or so times he’d asked him to come work at Kinnetik, so he decided he’d take it, and just wait and see.

Justin headed off to lunch first, and fifteen minutes later Brian was rolling down the sidewalk toward the Liberty Diner to meet Michael. It felt so different than the last time he’d been here -- he was no longer wishing that the sidewalk would swallow him up or a wall would somehow pop up to shield him from view. A few people seemed to recognize him and nodded their quick, wordless greetings, but for the most part, people were just going about their business and he was just another face in the crowd. Had it really been just his own perception before that had made him feel like everyone here was scrutinizing him? Or had the passage of time simply lessened the shock factor of encountering the new Brian Kinney?

Michael didn’t even let Brian get all the way to the diner before he was hurrying down the sidewalk to meet him, bending down to give him a hug and to kiss him on the lips.

“It’s so good to see you,” Michael said as he stood back up, a smile spreading across his face. “You look good. Like New York has been treating you well.”

“It has, it has. Thanks. Shall we?” Brian led the way to the door and beat Michael to it, pulling it open himself and then holding it behind him until Michael caught it.

“I could have gotten the door for you,” Michael said as they entered the diner.

“I know. I was there first, so I got it. I open doors all the time, Mikey.”

They didn’t make it halfway to the booth against the wall at the back of the restaurant before Debbie swept out of the kitchen and nearly suffocated Brian with one of her infamous, neverending hugs. This one didn’t hurt like the one she’d given him around this time last year, though. It felt nice. Warm. Comfortable. Like he’d never been away at all. And it helped take away some of what he was still feeling after running into his mother the previous night. Reminded him that he did still have a mother in Debbie, even if they weren’t biologically related.

“I’m so glad you’re here, honey,” she said once she’d finally released him, her hand still resting on one of his shoulders. “We’ve missed you. You and Sunshine are going to have to tell us all about New York on Sunday.”

“What’s Sunday?” Brian asked incredulously.

“Family dinner, of course!” Debbie exclaimed. “Did you really think we were going to let you come for a visit without having a family dinner?”

He knew what else Sunday was -- his birthday -- but he decided to let that go for now. He also could see Michael giving his mother a look that seemed to say, “Shut the fuck up.”

“You’d better be there, you little shit.” Debbie smacked his arm playfully as she turned to go back behind the counter.

“Don’t worry, I will,” he called after her, before adding in a lower voice, to Michael, “because I’d like to keep my one remaining ball.” He slid into the last booth and pushed his wheelchair back against the wall.

Michael chuckled as he took his seat across from Brian. “Shit, I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“What, you crying over me, thinking I was going to die, and telling me you didn’t know how you were going to go on without me? And I ended up comforting you, when I was the one who’d just had a ball removed? I was fine. I was going to be fine.”

“Well, I didn’t know that. God, that seems so far away now. With everything…” Michael let his voice trail off.

“Everything that’s happened since then?” Brian finished for him.

“Yeah. I really did think I was going to lose you a year ago. I’ll never forget that day. It was fucking scary.”

“How do you think I felt?”

“I can’t imagine.” Michael shook his head. “But you’re okay now. And I’m really grateful for that.”

“I can see Zen Ben is rubbing off on you. Talking about gratitude and shit.”

“I mean it.” Michael’s dark brown eyes were staring directly into Brian’s. “I’m glad you’re still here. I know it hasn’t been easy. And I know you didn’t tell me the half of it.”

“You’re right.” Brian looked down at the table and toyed with the silverware. “I didn’t.”

“You’re a strong person. You always have been. Because you had to be. But I think you’ve come out of this even stronger.” Michael suddenly looked very nervous, and Brian wondered why. Michael swallowed hard and opened his messenger bag. “Speaking of that, I have something I want to show you.”

Brian looked up at Michael and raised an eyebrow. Michael pulled a comic book out of the bag and pushed it across the table toward Brian. “This is a proof,” he said. “It’s the only copy right now. If you aren’t comfortable with what’s in here, it won’t be published. It will go no farther than right here. I want you to know that I mean that.”

“What’s it about?” Brian asked.

“Open it and see,” Michael said. “We wanted to tell the world how strong you are -- how strong Rage is. I hope that comes through in the story.”

As Brian turned the pages of the comic, he saw his own story of the last year depicted in cartoon form, with a few changes to make it into more of a superhero story. Rage was zapped by Ice-Tina’s ray gun and ended up paralyzed. Thinking that he’d lost all of his powers, including his power of mind control, and his superhuman charisma and persuasiveness, Rage sank into a depression. He felt like he had nothing left. Zephyr tried to pull him out of it but failed. J.T., who had been away for a while but returned once he heard Rage was in trouble, was able to make a connection, however. And though it took some effort, he ultimately helped Rage realize that he still had all of his powers, even if he never recovered the ability to walk. He could still make the homophobes think they were gay so they’d attack each other, and he could still charm the pants off anyone he wanted to -- both literally and figuratively. He just needed to have the right perspective. To see how strong he still was. Much like Brian had needed the right perspective to see past the self-doubt that had held him down for much of the past year.

“Well, what do you think?” Michael said eagerly, but with a note of apprehension in his voice. He was studying Brian’s face intently.

Brian didn’t know what to say. It was overwhelming to see all of this down on paper -- the way Michael and Justin had seen the events of the past year.

“If you don’t want it published, it won’t be.” Michael reached across the table and laid his hand over Brian’s. “You have my word on that. I know this is personal. It’s private, and it probably still feels raw. So we wanted you to have the final approval.”

Brian looked down at the last page for a while, running his fingers lightly across the corner. Was he ready for this -- the story of how his life had changed so much in an instant, and how he’d struggled to grasp it -- to be in print? A few months ago, he definitely would have said no. But now, things felt different. He was starting to come into his own and get a good grip on who he was in the world now, and although he was different from the person he had been for so long, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He had felt like he’d lost everything when this happened -- like he was never going to find any more purpose in his life. But, thanks to his friends and family and the real-life J.T., he’d realized that he just needed to approach things in a different way. So, before he could change his mind, he spoke.

“Do it. Print it.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Michael smiled. “Let’s do it.”

“Sorry for the delay, boys,” Debbie said as she walked up to the table with two glasses of water. “Kiki’s out with the flu and as you can see things are a little crazy around here today.”

“No problem, Ma,” Michael said. “It gave Brian and I some time to talk.” He reached across the table and closed the comic book, then stuck it back in his bag.

Debbie took their orders and left the table, and Brian and Michael talked while they waited for their food, and later while they ate -- catching up on everything that was going on in their lives. It still felt so strange to Brian to not see Michael practically on a daily basis, the way he had for more than 20 years. They still talked on the phone regularly, but it wasn’t quite the same. It felt right for Brian to let Justin take on the role of being his number one confidant and primary support -- he was his partner, after all -- but he still missed Michael, and it was good to be able to sit and talk for awhile. Michael was still his brother. Eventually, however, they both had to go back to their respective businesses, and the two friends went their separate ways with a hug and a kiss, like they always did.

When Brian got back to Kinnetik, Justin was already in his office, standing behind the desk, looking at something, running his fingers over it.

“What’s up?” Brian asked.

“These turned out great,” Justin said, holding up what he’d been looking at -- it was one of the images from his disability advocacy campaign, blown up and mounted on foam board. They must have arrived while he was out to lunch, and someone had left them on his desk.

“Yeah, it did. Wow. It feels so different to see it in print. To see me, in print.”

“Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“Not at all. I can’t fucking feel them anyway, so how would I know?” Brian came up behind Justin and pulled him down so that the younger man was sitting in his lap, and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Justin’s shoulder. “That comic book was awesome.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Justin breathed out what Brian assumed was a sigh of relief. “I was worried that you might not be okay with it. That you might not want to be that open with the world.”

“Maybe it’s time to be. It happened. It sucks. But I’m getting through it.”

“You are.” Justin planted a quick kiss on Brian’s lips. “And you’re still our superhero. So who are you presenting your campaign to?”

“Remson. I figured there’s some good synergy there. Hell, I take so many prescription drugs that I feel like I’m carrying around half the pharmacy sometimes. Anyway, the meeting is tomorrow morning. We’ll see how it goes. Sometimes he’s a tough nut to crack.”

“I’m sure you’ll win him over, no problem -- you always do. Or did you already forget that Rage still has all of his powers?”

Justin stood up, stretched, and walked back over to the couch, where he picked up his sketchbook again. For the next two hours, he went back and forth between sketching and appearing to be lost in thought, while Brian checked his email and made sure, one last time, that everything was taken care of and lined up for his long day of meetings tomorrow. Remson would be up first.

He and Justin headed back to the hotel around dinnertime, ordered room service, and spent the rest of the night unable to keep their hands off each other. Just like old times.

Brian had finally talked with his doctor about the headaches and the pounding heart he was getting every time he took the Viagra -- and holy fuck had that been the most uncomfortable and embarrassing conversation he’d ever had in his life. But he’d done it, and had left with a prescription for something injectable instead, that shouldn’t cause those problems. They were trying it out -- so far so good -- when Justin reached for a condom, and Brian grabbed his arm to stop him.

“What?” Justin asked, obviously puzzled.

“We don’t need that.”

“Why not? Did you change your mind? Are you feeling okay?” Justin rolled off of Brian and looked up at him, with clear concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine. I just...we don’t need it.” Brian nervously raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t...do that anymore.”

“What?”

“Are you going to make me spell it out for you? You’ve probably already fucking noticed.” Shit. He really didn’t want to have to say it out loud. He already felt like less of a man because of it, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.

“No, Brian, I--” Justin stammered. “Well, I had noticed, but I didn’t want to ask, and I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“It’s just one of those things. A spinal cord injury thing. Christ, that makes it sound so clinical.” Who knew ejaculation was such a complex process? Apparently it was. And when your neural superhighway was caved in, well...that went with it. It was fucking depressing. Maybe the most frustrating part of all of this.

“Anyway, I haven’t been with anyone but you in the past year,” Brian said. “And I’m clean. How about you?”

“Two people. Right after I got to New York. But they weren’t you. So no one else after that. And I’m clean too.”

“You hadn’t been with anyone for months, before we got back together?”

Justin shrugged. “I was busy with my art, and work. And tricking isn’t really my thing, you know.”

Brian knew. Better than he cared to admit. After all, Justin had walked away from him twice because he wanted a boyfriend who only wanted him, who wanted to stay home sometimes, instead of always going out to the club. Who wanted to get married and be monogamous. At that point, Brian had been utterly unwilling to give up his life of sucking and fucking around. He’d acquiesced to Justin’s rules of no repeats, no kissing, and coming home by 3 a.m., but that was as good as Justin was getting. At least, back then. Even when they’d planned to get married, there had been no promise of monogamy.

But now, tricking made no sense for Brian. What he enjoyed about sex now wasn’t the physical sensation of getting his dick sucked or having it inside someone’s tight ass -- it was the intimacy that he shared with Justin.

“So, if we’re only going to be with each other, I figured…” Brian let his voice fade.

“...that maybe we don’t need the condoms anymore.” Justin finished Brian’s sentence.

“Right.”

“Okay.” Justin leaned in and kissed Brian before climbing on top of him again. This time, they would connect with nothing between them. For the first time. And it made Brian feel a little melancholy, because it reminded him of all he’d lost that he would never get back. But he knew he couldn’t dwell on that, because it wouldn’t fix anything. He had to focus on what he’d gained — how his relationship with Justin, and his relationship with himself, had changed for the better.

Later that night, as they drifted off to sleep, Brian could feel Justin’s fingers lightly tracing the scar on his back.

Reminding him he’d survived.

*****

Friday was Justin’s day to spend with Daphne, so he dropped Brian off at Kinnetik for his full day of meetings. Starting with his meeting with Remson. He set the boards up in the conference room for their new Endovir ad, along with the boards for his own personal crusade that he hoped they’d sign onto. Rolling back a little, he took another look at himself -- the new version of himself -- in print. Ink on paper forming the image of a man who had once felt broken beyond repair, whose gaze now clearly showed a hunger to be seen and accepted for exactly who he was now.

Brian was particularly nervous about the meeting with Remson because this would be the first time they’d seen him in the past year. The last time they’d had an in-person meeting, it had been with Cynthia, and the time before that, it was with Ted, because he’d been laid up in the hospital. The encounter was just as awkward as he figured it would be -- just like every other first encounter he’d had with people who knew him before. There was the usual sputtering and awkward hand-shaking and people not knowing where to look, or whether or not to look at all.

He took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, remembering Rochelle’s words: “You have to figure out who you are outside of your disability. And own that.” Now was the time to own being strong, capable, and intelligent -- none of those things had changed about him just because he was now sitting in the conference room instead of standing.

They approved the Endovir ad quickly and without hesitation, and soon it was time to reveal the other reason he’d asked them to be here in person. As he uncovered the images of himself and the one of Alison, he hoped they couldn’t see how much his hands were shaking. This was it. He was putting himself out there. Brian Fucking Kinney didn't do that shit. Cynthia shot him an encouraging smile that he caught out of the corner of his eye.

“I have another campaign I’d like you to consider,” Brian said, trying to push down the nervous feeling in his stomach and willing his hands to stop trembling. “When you first came in here today, I know it was jarring for you to see me -- to see this.” He gestured down at his wheelchair. “You didn't know where to look, how to look, what to ask, how to act. I'm used to that now -- it happens all the time. But it shouldn't. Society teaches us not to stare at those who are different, but we forget that means we are overlooking those people. Pretending they don't exist. But we do exist.”

He took a deep breath and evaluated their faces before continuing. They looked intrigued, if a little self-conscious.

“I've been to hell and back in the last year. As you know, I was in a car accident almost a year ago. I lost my ability to walk. But I felt like I lost a hell of a lot more than that. I lost my identity. The core of who I was as a person. Finding that again has been a long process, but through it, I've found that I can help myself as well as others by being an advocate for disability rights. By reminding the able-bodied that disabled people exist. We deserve to take up space, we shouldn't be objectified or overlooked, and we shouldn't have assumptions made about us. That's what this campaign is all about. By putting your name on it, you'll be creating a positive name for yourself in the disability community, which seems like a natural fit for a pharmaceutical company such as yourself. People will associate Remson with standing up for their right to be treated like a human being, in spite of their differences, obvious or otherwise. Eventually, I’d like to expand this to include all types of disabilities, even the ones you can’t see. That is, of course, contingent on finding a company such as yourself who would like to partner with me. So, what are your thoughts?” Brian’s palms were sweating, and he was more apprehensive now than he had been before -- almost feeling as if their approval or rejection was personal, this time. And maybe it was.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lawrence Remson finally responded. “I like it,” he said. “I think you’re absolutely right, as uncomfortable as it might be to hear. And I’d love to associate our company with this. I’d also like to commend your candor.”

Brian felt like he could breathe again. He’d passed the test, and he now had a backer in his mission to find a purpose for his life. To own who he was now, and to feel just as powerful and in-control as he had before.

The rest of the day’s meetings went well, and although Brian was incredibly tired from the long day -- longer than he’d worked in a while -- he felt like he’d accomplished something. He’d finally overcome feeling like he couldn’t possibly measure up to the ghost of Brian Kinney past.

They ate breakfast on Saturday morning at the diner with Michael and Ben, and went out to Babylon on Saturday night with the entire gang, most of whom seemed very surprised that Brian was going to join them. But he did, and he even danced a little -- no longer feeling like it was something he couldn’t or shouldn’t do. Just like everything else, this was all about perception. Justin had been right when he’d dragged him out there at Christmas -- no one was staring at him, and there were actually a couple of guys who seemed to be cruising him, although they weren’t his type. He had a good time, but he was happy to be going home with Justin at the end of the night -- just as he had been on many occasions before, except this time he was actually willing to admit that to himself.

Then came Sunday. Brian’s birthday. He really didn’t like to think much of his birthday anymore, because he still couldn’t get his 30th out of his head. The sight of blood on cement, being soaked up by the silk scarf he’d bought as a gift to himself. The blood smeared across Justin’s face and lips, that had ended up all over his own face and neck as he struggled to see if Justin was still breathing. Still alive. The cold, hard concrete against his legs as he knelt beside Justin’s lifeless body, shielding it with his own as if to provide a measure of protection -- too little, too late. He’d been so numb that he didn’t even remember dialing 9-1-1, or the ambulance ride, or most of that first night at the hospital. He’d rather not remember his birthday at all, than to have to consider the guilt and the pain that had come about because he’d showed up to Justin’s prom, danced with him, and kissed him in front of everyone. He still felt like it was his fault that Justin had been attacked -- he was the responsible party, and the reason Justin had lost so much.

For his own loss, Brian had no one to blame but himself. Himself and the universe. And it didn’t do him any good to be angry at himself, or angry at the world. It still didn’t change a damn thing. But he couldn’t get past the shame and blame he felt over the bashing, and he honestly didn’t think he ever would.

Today was also Father’s Day, which wasn’t helping Brian’s mood, because he missed Gus -- a phrase that just a few years ago, Brian didn’t think would ever cross his mind. He hadn’t seen his son in months. Not since Christmas. And he hated missing out on so much in his son’s life. Most of all, he hated how the fear he’d had of becoming like his own father, had kept him from being more involved when Gus was younger. When Gus was just a few streets away, instead of living in another country. But he couldn’t turn back the clock, and he’d have to accept that. Another item on the list of Brian Kinney’s mistakes that he was going to have to live with, because he didn’t have a choice.

Thankfully, Justin was keeping things pretty low key and seemed to be following Brian’s lead. He was all for the room service breakfast and spending the morning in bed, watching television and enjoying each other’s company, in more ways than one. But there was also Deb’s suspiciously-timed family dinner later to come in the afternoon, and Brian was fairly sure he knew that it wasn’t just a dinner.

“So, we’re going to Deb’s today, right?” Brian asked Justin, who was channel surfing and trying to find something to watch other than cartoons or infomercials. He was absolutely fishing to see if Justin knew anything.

“Uh...yeah, sure.” Justin was trying to keep his tone nonchalant, but his facial expression revealed obvious surprise that Brian had known about the dinner at all.

“She practically threatened me the other day at the diner.”

“Oh? Hmm.”

“Alright, Sunshine. What’s up?”

“Oh...nothing. Sorry, I’m just distracted.”

“Yeah, by trying to keep my surprise party a secret?”

Justin’s face broke out into a smile and he rolled his eyes. “How’d you find out? Did Emmett tell you? He can never keep a secret.”

“No one told me. I figured it out all by myself. I know when my birthday is. Michael thinks I don’t know what he’s up to, doesn’t he? I know this isn’t a regular old family dinner. It’s my birthday, and I know Michael. This is a fucking birthday party.”

“I told him you were going to be pissed. And that you were going to be pissed at me for knowing. Are you pissed at me?”

“No, not at all. And I’m not pissed at Michael, either. But he doesn’t know that.”

They showed up at Debbie’s back door right on time. Brian was ready to act surprised, and to have a little bit of fun with his best friend by pretending to be mad at him. But when they opened the door, and everyone yelled surprise, something inside of him shifted, and he found himself getting a little bit emotional. Here were all of these people -- the people he’d called his friends for so many years but often hadn’t treated as such -- who cared about him and loved him enough to plan this and to be here to celebrate his life. The fact that he was still here. This wasn’t like the death day party they’d thrown for his 30th. He wasn’t dreading being another year older. Now, he was thankful to be. Even if he was starting the last half of his thirties. And forty was getting too fucking close for comfort.

Standing in a corner were Lindsay, and Melanie -- who was even smiling -- and Gus, who wasted no time running at Brian and jumping into his lap, with Lindsay trailing close behind him and telling him to be careful.

“I’m okay,” Brian assured her. “I’m not going to break.”

“Happy birthday, Daddy!” Gus said excitedly, as he threw his arms around Brian and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. Brian had to blink back tears as he wrapped his arms around his son.

After a minute or so, Lindsay gently pulled Gus away. “Let’s let Daddy say hi to everybody else, okay?”

As she handed Gus off to Melanie, Lindsay gave Brian a hug of her own.

“It’s been too long,” she said, her arms tight around Brian’s shoulders as she embraced him. “You look like you're doing really well.”

“All grown up, Wendy.”

“I'm proud of you, Peter.” She smiled at their inside joke as she returned to stand with her own little family.

He looked around the room, taking in everyone who was there: Ted, Blake, Ben, Emmett, Mel holding J.R., Linds, Gus, Michael, Debbie, and even Carl.

Debbie walked up to him, and he could see that her eyes were wet with tears, which made it harder to hold his own back. But he managed it, even as she held him for a moment.

“We know you don't believe in birthdays, but we hoped you'd let us celebrate anyhow,” she said. “I know it's been a rough year, but you made it. Love you, kiddo.” She kissed his cheek before returning to the kitchen to finish preparing what would no doubt be a feast -- Debbie always made way too much food. But it was one way she showed her love.

One by one, everyone greeted him, making him feel more overwhelmed with every hug.

Finally, Michael, who had been leaning against the wall, grinning, came over next to give Brian a hug and a kiss. “Happy birthday. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

“I wanted to be. But I can’t be.” Brian shook his head. “Thanks, Mikey.”

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Michael said softly into Brian’s ear. “I wanted to celebrate that. So did everyone else. We love you.”

Those last three words were still hard to hear -- he didn’t feel like he deserved it. He hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

There was too much food and too much wine and too much cake, and countless memories shared around Debbie’s dining room table, just as there had been on so many different occasions. This was his family. Bound together by love, even if not by blood. And even though he didn’t feel worthy of their love, it was clear that they thought he was. He wondered if he’d ever be able to feel like he deserved it.

He still wasn’t much on birthdays, but he had made it to 36. And he had to admit that it hadn’t been easy. So maybe it was worth celebrating, after all. This one wasn’t just a birthday; it was an achievement.

Four days later, Brian and Justin were back in New York. Justin had decided to quit his restaurant job and accept a position at Kinnetik, and Brian was wondering if Justin would connect the dots and realize what today was. June 21st. The day when Brian’s life had changed forever -- be it for better or worse.

Six months ago, Brian would definitely have said it was for worse. He’d felt like he had lost everything -- lost sight of himself -- and had no idea how he was going to go on, or how long he was going to be able to fake it until he made it. If he’d make it at all. But now, his vision was clearer. He didn’t have to fake it anymore. He’d gotten past things that he thought he’d never be able to make it out of, and realized some things about himself along the way. Realized that he was still a strong, intelligent, capable person -- and he didn’t need to be able to walk to be those things. He’d dealt with the denial, the anger, the bargaining, and the depression, and made it to acceptance. Finally. To accept what had happened to him, and go on with his life, unencumbered by the ghosts of the past. Ready to embrace his present and his future.

Maybe he could do great things. Starting now.

“You know what today was, right?” Brian asked Justin as they lay together in bed that night, tangled in each other’s arms.

“I do.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to be reminded.”

“It wasn’t my best day. But it brought me back to you. So that’s something.”

Justin wove his fingers through Brian’s and squeezed his hand. “Yes, that’s something.”

While this day certainly still held a note of sadness for Brian, and he did feel mournful for what he’d lost, that feeling didn’t eclipse how thankful he was for what he’d gained. Perspective. Empathy. Strength. Purpose. Love.

Brian and Justin were inextricably connected -- they each understood what it was like to have everything you knew, everything that was familiar, snatched away in an instant. And they each knew what it was like to work your way through the tragedy and the trauma, and all of the progress and all of the backsliding and the victories and the frustrations, and come out on the other side. To have to accept what was, because you didn’t have a choice. To come out a different version of yourself, but one that was still, at its core, the person you’d always been, only made better thanks to the benefit of perspective.

They’d always be united. They’d never needed rings or vows to prove that they loved each other. But there was still something to be said for making it official.

“How about marrying me?”