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?”

*****

“Yes,” Justin said, knowing that his complete and total elation was clear on his face and in his smile. He placed a hand on each side of Brian’s face and captured his lover’s lips in a passionate kiss. “God, yes. Can we do it, like, yesterday?”

Brian laughed. “I can see that I had no reason to be nervous, then.”

“Why the fuck would you be nervous? Were you afraid I’d say no?”

“Well, I am the worst candidate ever for marriage,” Brian said as he interlaced his fingers with Justin’s once again and pressed their palms together.

“You aren’t that person anymore, Brian.”

“What? Young, hot and not ready to settle down? Now I’m old and saggy and I better get myself married off before it gets any worse?” Brian had a teasing grin on his face.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’re so old and saggy.” Justin rolled his eyes and traced a finger across Brian’s chest, where the powerful muscles of his upper body were prominent. “More like strong and sexy.”

“Sure, until you look down.” Brian cast his eyes down briefly in the direction of his legs, which were a stark contrast to his strong upper body.

“Then don’t look down.” Justin pressed his lips to Brian’s again, pushing his gaze back upward. “So, if we can’t do it yesterday, then how about tomorrow?”

“What about all of those grand plans you had last time? Golden gardenias and shit? I thought you wanted the princess wedding of your dreams. Anyway, what’s your hurry? Afraid I’m going to run off with someone? I’m not sure anyone else is going to want my crippled ass.”

“Hey...” Justin knitted his brows together and tried to read Brian’s expression. Even though Brian was kidding, Justin could tell there was a note of seriousness there. And given that today was the anniversary of Brian’s accident, it was understandable that he was feeling a bit melancholy about it, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear him call himself a cripple. “Don’t talk about my boyfriend that way. No, wait, my fiance.”

Brian sighed and rolled over onto his back. Justin pulled himself in closer and laid his arm over Brian’s chest, then laid his head on Brian’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Justin asked.

“Yeah… it just kind of... hits me sometimes. It’s weird. I’ll be completely fine, it’s all good, and I feel all fully realized or whatever-the-fuck. Then I look at my body, and I feel like I don’t recognize this person. Or I see my wheelchair out of the corner of my eye when I’m lying in bed and I have this thought like, ‘Oh, whose is that?’ Then I remember it’s mine. That if I want to get out of bed in the morning, it has to be there.”

“I feel the same way when all I want to do is finish a sketch, but my hand has other ideas. Like I should be able to do it, no problem...but, oh yeah, my hand doesn’t work right anymore. Sometimes it’s kind of nice to forget, though. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Yeah… I guess so.” Brian’s voice was suddenly quiet. Pensive. Like he was a million miles away.

Justin leaned up and kissed Brian’s cheek. “I love you,” he said. “All of you. Even the parts that remind you of things you don’t want to remember.”

Slowly, he started kissing his way down Brian’s jawline with small, tender movements. He noticed how Brian leaned into the touch and allowed his eyes to close. The first time he’d done this, when he and Brian were only beginning to reunite last December, he hadn’t really thought about what he was doing. He did it because it felt natural, and then he kept going, because Brian seemed to like it. That night had been their first foray into experimentation with what sex would be like for both of them now -- not just for Brian. They were in this together.

Running his tongue down the side of Brian’s neck, over his shoulder, and down his chest made the older man shudder, but not in a bad way. Brian’s nipples were more sensitive now than they ever had been before -- nerves creating new pathways to gratification, apparently -- and gave Justin something he could work with to prolong the pleasure by teasing Brian. He could lick and squeeze and pinch and then move along to something else, leading Brian to try to redirect his actions back to where they gave him a more intense sensation.

But Brian’s most sensitive spot was the line just below his navel, where he went from feeling everything normally to feeling nothing at all. The area in between seemed to be a place where the nerves were noticing every little thing -- every touch, every caress, every change in pressure and temperature -- and responding by sending frantic messages back to Brian’s brain. Brian had told him that being touched there felt different, like the message was being relayed in a different way than it had been before the accident. Sometimes it was so sensitive that Brian didn’t like to be touched there, because the sensation was too intense. But most of the time, he liked it, and would use his own hands to direct Justin’s and make it as pleasurable as possible.

Justin would watch as Brian’s breathing changed, gradually speeding up until it approached a pant. How Brian’s hands moving against Justin would become more frantic -- his fingers scrabbling for purchase on Justin’s body. Gripping him tightly. Digging into his sides and his back.

Sometimes they’d use a shot to give Brian an erection that would last a while, but other times, they’d go with the reflex erection, and gamble to see how long it would last. Justin didn’t really care if his own orgasm came from penetration or touch -- both were amazing to him, because he was with Brian. That was all that mattered to him.

Tonight, they would take the gamble.

Justin made sure to keep up his ministrations in the area where Brian could feel his touch, then moved one hand downward to Brian’s cock, touching it with gentle strokes until it started to respond, while Brian started preparing him with his fingers. This was one time when Brian seemed to like looking down, so he could see what Justin was doing. Drawing pleasure from the visual, for what he couldn’t from sensation alone. Once Brian was hard, Justin moved on top of him, getting himself into position to ride him, while still leaving himself able to kiss and tease and touch so that Brian was getting as much out of it as he was.

He moved himself against Brian until he could feel his lover’s erection beginning to flag, then seamlessly transitioned to focusing on the movement of Brian’s hands touching his cock, continuing the slow build of his orgasm. He noticed that Brian’s breathing and movements were building to a crescendo of their own. Justin was trying to relish the pleasure of how it felt to have Brian caressing his body, but it wasn’t long until Justin could no longer hold back, and he came with a gasp and a shout, collapsing on top of Brian.

Over the past several months, Justin had essentially been playing the part of both spectator and teammate, watching and helping Brian explore his “new” body. Watching as Brian let go of inhibitions and expectations -- and the self-consciousness that came with them -- and started to open up to new experiences. Experiences that were different from before, but that could still be really good.

He’d noticed that Brian now seemed to have a more distinct peak when they’d have sex. It wasn’t like what it was before -- there was no sudden burst of release and spasm, then collapsing into the bed, completely spent. Instead, it was subtle -- a shift in Brian’s breathing, in the noises he made, in the way he moved his head, and the way he moved his hands along Justin’s body -- but it was there. Justin wondered what Brian was experiencing there -- if it felt like an orgasm, where your senses seem to suddenly fall away, replaced with intense white-hot pleasure, or if it was something else entirely. But he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to intrude, or make Brian feel like he was giving him some kind of a measuring stick to compare himself to. It was what it was, and all that mattered was that they were able to connect with each other in an intimate way, and they both seemed to enjoy it.

Fuck convention. Fuck normal. Fuck the before and the after. All there was, was the here and now. This was what was. Brian was living. Moving on. Becoming this new version of himself. Blossoming, transitioning... almost like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. Fully embracing the present moment, and letting go of the ghosts of the past.

Justin knew what it was like to have relearn one’s body. To have to create new pathways to achieve the same thing -- something you desperately wanted, a connection to your past. It was exactly what he’d gone through when he’d been in rehab, relearning how to use his right hand. He clearly remembered what his hand had felt like when he first awoke from the coma. It had felt odd -- sort of like it wasn’t quite there. The sensation wasn’t completely gone, but it was muted, and some of it had been replaced with a strange pins-and-needles feeling. He’d tried to move it, to flex his fingers, which had lain curled on the mattress, but his fingers didn’t respond. The message didn’t arrive, because the connection between his brain and his hand was jumbled. Not severed, just...not following the path it should have been.

He also knew that Brian’s experience was different. In a way, Brian’s mind had been separated from the lower half of his body. It was as if there had been an impenetrable brick wall erected just below his waist, and nothing could get through in either direction. The lower half was just existing. You could touch it, and it was there, but unless Brian was looking at you, he’d never know you were doing it. It wasn’t completely useless, however, because the weight of his lower body provided an important counterbalance that allowed him to sit up without a struggle, and to lean over in his wheelchair to pick something up off the floor without falling out on his head.

Justin was learning more about what Brian could and couldn’t do. What muscles worked and which ones didn’t anymore. What he could feel and what he couldn’t. What felt good and what just felt...strange. He’d become very attuned to watching how Brian did things -- the small adaptations he’d make in order to make things easier for himself. How he’d keep one hand on the wheel of his chair when he leaned over, because it helped him keep his balance and gave him leverage to pull himself back up if he needed it. How he’d use his arms to help himself sit up, until he got far enough that his abdominal muscles were taking over from the hip flexors he couldn’t control. Justin wondered if these were things Brian even thought about anymore -- if they came from conscious thought, or if they were now just something he did. Unconscious actions, as natural as breathing.

Even though their experiences were different, Justin knew he could still relate to what Brian had been through and was continuing to go through. And probably would for the rest of his life. Even five years later, Justin was still learning new things about himself and his own capabilities. Like how it was easier to hold a paintbrush than it was to hold a pencil, because he didn’t have to hold it as tightly, and if he held it a certain way, he could paint for even longer. Why he could draw for much longer on his computer, using the stylus, than he could on paper, because he didn’t need as much fine motor control. The key was accepting those things without judging them. And sometimes that was a tall order.

Over the past six months, he’d watched Brian go through much of the same thing -- learning, accepting, and letting go of the judgment. He watched his own experience after the bashing be echoed in Brian’s recovery from spinal cord injury. But every time he tried to tell Brian that he knew where he was coming from, it seemed like Brian didn’t believe him. It was as if he thought their experiences were too different, and Justin wasn’t sure why. If Brian thought it was different because they were talking about Justin’s right hand, versus fifty percent of Brian’s body, or because Justin had some use of his hand, while Brian had no use of his lower extremities. But for Justin, it wasn’t about capability at all -- it was about the mental aspect of wrapping your brain around the fact that your life was going to be different from now on, in a way you hadn’t expected.

There were many parallels and similar experiences, even though the basis was different. Justin remembered how embarrassed he’d been when he returned to work at the diner a few months after the bashing, and sometimes his hand would just stop working. He’d spill a glass of water all over someone, or slosh more coffee on the counter than went into the cup, or send dishes crashing to the floor when his hand suddenly shook and let go while he was clearing a table. He needed to learn where his limits were, and the only way to do that was to push them.

The same was true for Brian. He had to learn how hard he could push himself, and what was too far. He’d told Justin stories of what it was like to relearn how to take care of his basic body functions, and how screwing that up -- pushing too hard -- could lead to an embarrassing situation. He was lucky enough to be able to feel when he needed to go, but if he didn’t take action quickly, the results would not be good. And the sensation wasn’t usually strong enough to wake him when he was asleep, so he depended on keeping a fairly rigid routine of how much he ate and drank and when, to avoid having problems.

Brian would also often push himself too hard by staying in his wheelchair for too long, either because he got so absorbed in his work that he lost track of time, or because he simply didn’t want to admit that sometimes he needed to take a break and get horizontal for a while. Either way, he’d be rewarded with swollen feet and increased spasticity, and on rare occasions, a return of the neuropathic pain he’d struggled with more at the beginning of his journey, that had mostly faded as time had gone on. Or he would push himself to the point of exhaustion and physical pain by trying to pretend that he could still spend the entire day rushing around from one meeting or appointment to another, without accounting for the fact that he was now depending on his upper body exclusively to move around, which took a lot more energy, and that he now had a shit ton of hardware in his back that would cause him pain if he wasn’t mindful of how he moved and how he sat.

Brian had just as hard of a time accepting that there were going to be some things he’d have to do differently now, as Justin had accepting that his hand was never going to be the same again. But Justin still wasn’t sure what to do to show Brian that he understood more than Brian thought he did.

Justin had noticed that Brian had been doing a lot better since he’d started seeing Rochelle, a therapist he’d been referred to by someone he’d worked with during his time in rehab. It sounded like she asked him tough questions, and she didn’t mince words or hold back, or treat Brian any differently because he was in a wheelchair. Instead, she’d made Brian finally realize how he was holding himself back. Justin had tried to make Brian see that, but in the end, it was Rochelle who truly seemed to get through to him.

Brian seemed to be a lot happier now, and that made Justin happy.

Even happier, now that Brian had asked Justin to marry him, again.

Neither of them knew if going through with the wedding the first time would have been a mistake, but that was water under the bridge. No point dwelling on it, because it wouldn’t change anything. They were both completely different people now, as a result of the things that had happened between their canceled wedding and now. But they’d found their way back to each other.

Justin felt practically giddy with anticipation of marrying Brian -- of finally getting what he’d wanted for so long. They’d taken a long and winding road to get here, but it felt like they’d finally arrived.

The next morning, the first thing he wanted to talk about was the wedding, even though he knew talking to Brian about much of anything before he’d had coffee generally wasn’t a great idea. Justin was the first one out of bed, which was rare, and ended up spending some time in the office working on some drawings for Rage. Almost an hour had passed before he heard Brian get up. He guessed that the travel and the jam-packed schedule of the previous week -- which they’d spent in Pittsburgh -- had taken its toll. Again, that was Brian pushing himself too hard. But Justin knew better than to say anything about it. He’d just keep his mouth shut and try to ignore Brian when he was grouchy because he was tired or in pain.

Brian wouldn’t have listened, anyway. He wouldn’t be Brian Kinney if he wasn’t stubborn. Both of them were stubborn, really. And sometimes that got them in trouble, because once they got something in their minds, neither of them was willing to budge or compromise. Their stubbornness had come between them more than once, when their desires were headed in two totally opposite directions. Justin was thankful that now, it seemed like he and Brian both wanted the same things.

When Brian finally came out of the bedroom, Justin had moved into the dining room and was drinking a cup of coffee and leafing through an art magazine, although he wasn’t really seeing the contents of the magazine -- his mind was focused on wedding planning. And it was immediately very clear when Brian came into the room that today was definitely not going to be a day when Justin wanted to talk to Brian before he’d had coffee. Maybe not for another hour or so after coffee, honestly. Brian’s hair was still wet from the shower and sticking up in every direction, he was wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hadn’t bothered to put socks on, and he looked exhausted, even though he’d just slept for 8 hours. Yes, the trip to the Pitts had definitely taken its toll.

Something else Justin had become attuned to over the past few months was how to read whether or not Brian was hurting, because he’d almost never say anything about it. He’d just keep pushing until he couldn’t take it anymore, and sometimes even past that point. Again, stubborn.

It took Justin less than two seconds of watching Brian’s stiff, slow movements to see that his partner was in pain. He didn’t even make his usual cut through the kitchen for coffee, instead coming straight over to the table.

“What the fuck did we do last night?” Brian groaned.

“I think it has less to do with what we did last night and more with what you did all last week, which was work yourself to the bone.”

“I should have just gone back to bed.” Brian put his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, letting his eyes close briefly.

“Well, why don’t you?”

“Work.”

Of course. Brian the workaholic, always thinking about how to get ahead, even when he was too tired to hold his head up. This vaguely reminded Justin of Brian’s battle with testicular cancer -- or, more accurately, his battle with radiation side effects -- during most of which he’d insisted upon going to work instead of staying home and resting.

“Take the day off, then,” Justin said, fully anticipating that Brian would argue. “Take care of you today, instead of everybody else. You’ve worked a lot this week. It’s Friday -- take a long weekend.”

“Maybe. I already had to take a painkiller, so I’ll probably be falling asleep on my desk in an hour or so, anyhow.”

“Then you should probably just sleep in the bed.”

Justin was a little surprised that Brian was giving in so quickly, but that was a pretty good indication that he felt really bad, and he needed to rest today, or he’d really be paying the price later. Justin hoped he could get Brian to listen to his body.

The day before had been an unusually long travel day, due to a canceled flight and trying to get rebooked onto an oversold one. Because it was oversold, they couldn't get their pick of seats, and the gate agent didn't seem to understand Brian’s pleas for a bulkhead seat in the first row of the plane. They'd ended up farther back, necessitating the use of the aisle chair to get Brian on the plane. Justin could tell he was pissed, and it seemed to shift into embarrassment and self consciousness when the time came to actually board. Brian had refused to let anyone help him, even Justin, and had physically swatted the flight attendant’s hand away when she started buckling him in with the five-point harness attached to the chair.

“Don’t hit her, Brian,” Justin had said. “She’s trying to help.”

Brian had glared at him, making Justin wish he hadn’t said anything at all.

“I don’t need her help,” Brian had grumbled, under his breath. He did manage to get the thing on and buckled by himself, even though his legs kept trying to flop out to the sides, no matter how many times he physically pushed them back together. Justin could tell in that moment that Brian was getting really frustrated, but he kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself. He’d realized earlier that morning that this was the one year anniversary of Brian’s accident, and he wondered if that was what was putting Brian in a bit of a raw mood, particularly when it came to all things paralysis-related.

“I feel like a fucking refrigerator strapped to a goddamn dolly,” Brian had groused as they moved down the aisle. He was holding his knees together with his hands, the cushion from his wheelchair sitting in his lap. They’d had to part ways with Brian’s chair at the end of the jetway, where Brian folded the back down and made sure the brakes were locked so it wouldn’t be rolling around in the cargo hold, then passed it off to the gate agent, muttering that they’d better not break anything.

When they arrived at their seats, Brian practically threw his cushion into the seat, which was the aisle seat in a row of three. They’d been unable to get him a window seat so no one would have to climb over him, so the window seat in their row belonged to a stranger. He transferred to the aisle seat and sent the flight attendant away without a word. Justin stowed the carry-on they were sharing in the overhead compartment and took the middle seat, carefully climbing over Brian’s legs. He’d pulled them back as much as he could. But Brian was tall and this was coach, so there wasn’t much space.

Since they’d boarded the plane first, they had a couple of minutes alone before anyone else got on the plane.

“I fucking hate that,” Brian said as Justin was shoving his messenger bag under the seat in front of him.

“I know.” Justin sat up and laid his hand on Brian’s thigh in a sort of automatic gesture of comfort or solidarity, not even thinking of the fact that Brian couldn’t feel it. He could see it, though, and Justin guessed that was what mattered. He had wanted to tell Brian that there was no need to be embarrassed; that no one had been watching except him, and he certainly wasn’t judging. But he didn’t guess it really mattered. Brian felt that way because he didn’t like needing help or drawing that kind of attention to his disability, even with as far as he’d come toward accepting everything in the past couple of months. Brian was very independent, and he liked to stay that way at all times. He also didn’t like his paraplegia to be the focal point, and it very much had been during the process of boarding the plane.

“I guess we don’t get drink service back here in coach while everyone else boards, huh?”

“No, probably not,” Justin laughed.

“We should. I bought a fucking first class ticket on the flight that they canceled. It’s not my fault that first class was already full on this flight. Why the fuck did they cancel the flight when this one was already oversold anyway? Who the hell wants to be stuck in the Pitts?”

Yeah, Brian was definitely in a bad mood.

Justin knew they were lucky that they were able to get rebooked on this flight. There had been a long line of irritated people at the service counter at the gate trying to rebook, and Justin had a feeling that Brian’s frequent flyer status was the only reason they were able to get seats on this flight instead of spending another night in Pittsburgh. Although Brian hadn’t been doing much flying in the past year because he didn’t like the added inconveniences that using a wheelchair created, so he did a lot more teleconferencing now. He still had the status, though, because he’d once done quite a bit of business travel when he worked for VanGard and when he’d first started Kinnetik. The experience they’d just been through while boarding the plane was one of the things Brian had been cagey about the first time he’d visited Justin in New York. He’d refused to talk about how the flight went, instead choosing to focus on Justin. Now, Justin saw why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

It took forever for everyone else to board, which meant a very long time of sitting and waiting. When the person who had the window seat in their aisle got to them, he looked positively annoyed at the fact that there were two people already in his row. He bumped his suitcase hard against Brian’s knee as he hoisted it overhead to put it in the overhead compartment, then stood there, seemingly waiting for the two of them to get up and come into the aisle so he could pass through. Justin did stand up and move into the aisle, and Brian tried to shift his legs out into the aisle to make more room for the man to pass through. The man gave Brian an irritated look, then stepped over him to come into the row and take his seat. Justin hoped and prayed that the man would be staying put for the rest of the flight, and wouldn’t be trying to get up and down to get things out of his luggage or go to the restroom.

“This is why I bought a fucking seat in first class,” Brian muttered, so low that Justin hoped he was the only one who heard it.

“It’s okay,” Justin whispered back. “We’re all in now, hopefully we’re good. We’ll be home soon.” Justin knew this was probably a difficult day for Brian, and he likely had a lot on his mind. He was sure that the added stress of trying to get home wasn’t helping. Justin was looking forward to being back in their apartment, and hoping they’d have some time to unwind together on the couch tonight. Maybe watch a movie or have a drink, and just relax.

But soon, twenty more minutes had passed and they were still sitting at the gate.

“I should have fucking gone to the bathroom again before we boarded,” Brian said as he pushed down on the armrests and shifted his weight a little.

“Do you want me to go get someone?” Justin had no idea what they’d be able to do, but he’d figure it out.

“No, I’ll be okay.”

“Brian--”

“I said I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Justin acquiesced, not wanting to push the issue. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He laced his fingers through Brian’s and snuggled up against his shoulder. He could see the man they were sharing a row with out of the corner of his eye, giving them a strange look. So this guy was going to be one of those types. Perhaps they could give him a bit of a show. Justin knew Brian would be all for that -- he loved pissing off homophobic heteros, and making them squirm. And maybe it would help shift Brian’s mood a little.

So Justin reached up with his other hand to turn Brian’s head to face him, and kissed him. There was probably a little more tongue involved than was appropriate on an airplane, but Justin didn’t really care.

“What was that for?” Brian asked, raising his eyebrow as Justin pulled away.

“Just because I love you.”

Brian smiled and leaned his head back against the seat. The stranger on Justin’s other side seemed to be glaring at them furtively. Mission accomplished: Brian was happier and the jerk they were forced to share a row with was a little bit pissed off.

They made it through the flight without incident, although Brian stayed fairly quiet and seemed to be a little uncomfortable. They landed in New York around 6:30, then had to wait for everyone else to deplane, including the asshole they were sharing their row with, before they could get off. But eventually, they made it off the plane and retrieved Brian’s chair at the bottom of the jetway. Thankfully, it was already there waiting for them, speeding along what had already been a very lengthy process. The first place Brian went as soon as they were in the terminal was the restroom. Justin went also, then waited outside for Brian to take care of whatever he needed to do. Then they had to go retrieve their suitcases from baggage claim, since Brian had taken way too many clothes for a week in the Pitts. Sometimes Justin had to laugh to himself at how much thought Brian gave to his appearance, even now that he was no longer actively trying to maintain his status as some sort of gay super stud.

Two hours later, they finally made it back to their apartment in Chelsea. Justin was exhausted, and he was sure Brian was as well. Probably even more so. A particularly active day seemed to consume a lot more energy for Brian now than it did for Justin. Brian immediately rolled into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey, offering to make one for Justin as well, which he declined. He wasn’t sure Brian needed to be drinking either, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Suit yourself,” Brian said as he stuck the glass between his thighs and moved over to the sofa, setting the glass down on the side table before he nudged his feet off the footplate of his chair, scooted forward, then hoisted his body onto the cushions, pushed his chair back out of the way, and leaned back into the pillows. They’d ended up spending a couple of hours cuddling together in front of the television, watching some old movie that Brian seemed to know all the dialogue from, that Justin could care less about. All that mattered to him was that they were back home, safe and sound, and he was with Brian.

Later that night, as they settled into bed together, Brian had surprised Justin by proposing to him. But this wasn’t like his proposal two years before -- this time, it wasn’t motivated by panic and fear of loss, generated by the bombing at Babylon. This time, Justin was sure it was out of a desire to intertwine their lives for good, the way they’d been for the past six years. Even when they’d been apart, they were still connected. Now, they could be connected forever. They just had to figure out when they were going to get married, and where.

With an obviously tired and hurting Brian sitting in front of him at the table, Justin wanted to do what he could to help. At least, as much as Brian would let him. So he closed his magazine, got up, and went into the kitchen.

“Do you want breakfast, or do you just want to go back to bed?” Justin asked, kind of hoping Brian would choose going back to bed. He really looked like he needed it.

“I should probably eat, but bed sounds good.”

“I can make you something. It can even be breakfast in bed if you want.”

Brian shook his head slightly, still sitting with his chin propped up on the heel of his hand and his elbow on the table. “Too hard to sit up in the bed. I’ll eat here.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep at the table.”

“I’ll try not to...no guarantees though.” Brian yawned. Yeah, Justin had to find a way to get him to rest today.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Surprise me,” Brian mumbled, already sounding half asleep.

“Do you want your laptop, so you can let Ted and Cynthia know you’re taking the day off?”

“Are you making that decision for me, Sunshine?”

“Brian, you can barely keep your eyes open.” Not waiting for an answer to his initial question, Justin went down the short hallway to their shared office and retrieved Brian’s laptop from his desk, setting it down in front of him. “Now, do whatever you need to do, while I make breakfast, then you’re going back to bed.”

Brian gave Justin a look, but he didn’t argue. A couple of minutes later, he was typing, presumably sending messages to the two people managing his company in his absence. Well, physical absence, anyway.

Justin decided to make Brian his usual preferred breakfast, an omelette with veggies and a very small amount of cheese. He made two this time, so he’d have one for himself as well, even though he usually preferred a higher carb breakfast like pancakes. It was easier to not have to make two different things. And he didn’t really have time to make two different things anyway, since he needed to finish up his drawings for “Rage” before he was due at the cafe for his shift -- where he also planned to put in his two weeks notice.

“So, do you have grand wedding visions dancing through your head yet?” Brian said as he took the first bite of his omelette.

“Actually, I was thinking we’d just do something simple.” Justin brought his own plate over to the table and sat down in the chair across from Brian.

“Who are you, and what did you do with the man I almost married two years ago?” Brian quirked an eyebrow upward and stuck his tongue in his cheek in that way that he did.

“I’m still me, I’ve just realized that what’s important here is that you and I are together, not that we have some extravagant party of the decade.”

“Emmett will be very disappointed, you know. He loves throwing extravagant parties with my money.”

“He’ll get over it. He can plan us a reception in Pittsburgh.”

“So we’re not getting married in the Pitts?”

“We can if you want to; it’s your wedding too. But I was thinking about it this morning...and I think I’d like to go somewhere, where our wedding can actually be legal. Like Michael and Ben did. But not Canada. Boston, maybe. Just us, maybe my mom, and Daphne and Michael standing up for us as our best woman and best man.”

“Best woman,” Brian chuckled. “I like it.”

“The idea of a best woman, or the whole thing?”

“The whole thing. Boston. Just us and a few of our people. I love it. So when is this shindig?”

“When do you want it to be?”

Brian shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. As long as I’m marrying you, I’m happy.”

Whoever would have thought Brian Kinney would ever utter those words? Not that Justin was complaining.

“What about a Christmas wedding?” Justin said as he watched Brian take another bite of his breakfast. “I’ve always thought those were so beautiful, with all of the lights, and the rich colors, and the greenery. Everything will already be decorated. And there might be snow.”

“I’ll pass on the snow, but everything else sounds good.” Brian paused for a moment. “Who would’ve thought we’d be here again, you know? Do you think the family is going to shit a brick when we tell them?”

“I don’t think they’ll be too surprised. Not like last time.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Brian yawned again.

Justin reached across the table and laid his right hand over Brian’s left, which had been resting on the table next to his napkin.

“Finish that up so you can go back to bed,” he said. “You look like shit.”

Brian raised that eyebrow again and gave Justin a sardonic half-smile. “Thanks a lot,” he said. “I love you too.”

Fifteen minutes later, Brian was sitting on the bed, and Justin was filling the nightstand with water and snacks and prescription bottles, so Brian would have everything he could possibly need within reach.

“Jesus, Sunshine...I’m not dying,” Brian said, rolling his eyes as he pulled his legs up onto the mattress, then crossed them at the ankles. Justin knew he did that so they’d straighten out into the right position on their own when Brian rolled over onto his stomach. It was something Justin would have never thought twice about doing, but it made sense. He wondered if it was something Brian had learned in rehab, or if it was just something he’d figured out over time.

“I know,” Justin said. “I just don’t want you to have to get up.”

“I’m not an invalid, either.”

“I know. Just trying to make things easier. Let me, okay?”

Brian sighed as he used his arms to push his body over so that he was lying on his stomach, then pulled the duvet up around his shoulders. He turned his head sideways on the pillow so that he was still facing Justin. “You going to work today?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m turning in my notice. No more waiting tables for me.”

Brian smiled. “I’m glad I finally won you over.”

“Yeah, well, who could give up the distinct advantage I’ll have, sleeping with the boss and all?”

“Don’t be thinking you’re going to get any preferential treatment.” Brian was starting to mumble, and his eyes were closing.

“I know,” Justin said. “I don't want any. Now go to sleep.”

Justin spent another week working at the cafe, before the manager found his replacement and told him he could stop coming in. So he did, and he started formally working for Kinnetik, which meant spending a lot of hours in the office at home with Brian. At first, Justin had been afraid they might drive each other nuts, working together in such close quarters all the time, but it actually worked out pretty well. He had to admit that Brian had been right -- he was enjoying doing this much more than he ever had waiting tables. But he still felt a little guilty for depending so much on Brian. He needed and wanted autonomy -- to feel like he could support himself. But he also needed more time to work on his own art, and waiting tables hadn’t given him that. This would. And he knew Brian would see to it.

They called the family, one by one, to let them know of their impending nuptials. Jennifer, Daphne, and Michael were excited about making the trip to Boston to see Brian and Justin finally tie the knot. Ben, of course, was coming along as well, so his husband wouldn’t be making the trip alone. Daphne told Justin she always knew he and Brian would be together forever. Justin rolled his eyes. That was just Daphne. Always team Brian, right from the beginning.

Deb was a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be having a big ceremony, but the idea of a huge reception in the Pitts to celebrate seemed to placate her. Emmett was thrilled to be planning the party, even if he was bummed that he wouldn’t be planning the wedding this time. And everyone else sent their congratulations. But absolutely no one was surprised to hear that they were planning on getting married, finally.

A month or so later, Brian had an appointment with one of his many doctors, and refused to let Justin go with him when he offered.

“Don’t you need to work on your painting?” Brian said, referencing a piece Justin had been working on intermittently for the last week, in between projects for Kinnetik.

“Well, yeah, but--”

“But nothing. Stay here and paint. I’m fine. It’s just a routine...thing.”

So Justin stayed at the apartment and painted, even though he really didn’t want to, and it was hard to focus his mind on the task at hand. He was wondering what was going on with Brian. He’d been oddly quiet lately, although not like he was when he had been depressed and struggling several months ago. This was more like he had something weighing heavily on his mind. It still worried Justin, though. He was afraid there was something Brian wasn’t telling him. And that feeling only got stronger as the weeks turned into months, and Brian was spending more and more time at appointments, or otherwise out of the apartment. Most of the time, he’d come home looking totally spent. Any time Justin tried to ask questions, Brian would shut him down quickly, and make some excuse to be out of touch for a while, usually with a shower or a nap.

Brian kept on working at the same pace he always did. He kept going to the disability support group where he’d found friendship and camaraderie in spite of his fears that they’d all be a bunch of “sad sacks” feeling sorry for themselves. A couple of the people he was closest to from the group would come over to their apartment occasionally, and Brian would talk to them in a low voice in the living room while Justin worked or painted in the office. He strained to hear what they were talking about, but couldn’t quite make it out most of the time. When he could, everything sounded vague. He tried to convince himself that it was none of his business.

Brian was eating normally, seemed to be sleeping normally, and they were still having sex regularly. All of that seemed fine. Aside from Brian spending so much time away from home, everything seemed perfectly normal. So what could possibly be going on?

There were far too many worst-case scenarios running through Justin’s head, ratcheting up his anxiety. Was Brian sick? Was he having some kind of an embarrassing complication from his spinal cord injury that he didn’t want to talk about? Was he avoiding Justin because he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to get married anymore?

They were about to get married. And you weren’t supposed to keep secrets from your partner like this. They were supposed to be sharing everything. No more secrets.

But Justin never could get anything out of Brian, and it was incredibly frustrating. He tried talking to Daphne about it, but she kept telling him she was sure it was nothing, which only made him more frustrated. December crept closer and closer, and Brian was gone more and more. He would come home in a strange mood, like he was happy about something but trying not to show that, and at the same time, very tired.

Two weeks before they planned to be married, Justin finally decided he’d had enough.

“What’s going on with you?” he’d asked one night at dinner, on a day when Brian had spent two hours of the afternoon gone to some mystery appointment. Justin was officially done trying to mind his own business.

Brian gave Justin a strange look. “Nothing, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been gone so much lately...and you’re… Well, you’re acting like you don’t feel good. Are you sick? Tell me what’s going on.” Fuck beating around the bush. He was just going to ask the question outright, and get it all out on the table. If Brian was sick, he wanted to know about it this time. He didn’t want to have to fight to be included. They were partners now for sure. He should be included by default.

Brian laughed and smiled and shook his head, and Justin was honestly a little surprised at his response. What the fuck was going on?

“I’m fine, Sunshine. I promise. Just working on some things with my physical therapist, that’s all.”

“Well, I’ve been worried about you. You haven’t seemed like yourself.”

Brian’s expression softened. “Really, I’m fine. I’m sorry if I made you worry. If something is wrong, I promise you’ll be the first to know. We’ve just been working on some new things. Sometimes it makes me tired. But it’s worth it.”

Justin wondered why he hadn’t thought of that before. He remembered from his own experience how exhausted he’d always be when he would come home from his outpatient therapy appointments years ago, and that had just been to work on his hand. So this made more sense, although Justin was still wondering why Brian was suddenly meeting with a physical therapist so much again, over a year out from his injury. But Justin also had to admit that this was something he didn’t really know anything about, and Brian wasn’t very forthcoming when it came to the particulars of how he dealt with his paraplegia. Justin had always tried to respect that, even though he really wished Brian would be more open. And he was going to have to try to respect it now, and fight the urge to ask more questions. He’d have to wait for Brian to tell him. If Brian would tell him.

In two more weeks, they’d be together in Boston, with their best friends standing beside them, pledging their lives to each other. Lives that were so different than they had been just two years before, the first time they’d planned to be married. But back then, there had been hesitance. Tension. Questioning whether or not they were doing the right thing.

This time, there was no question, at least not for Justin. He hoped that the same was true for Brian. But he’d have to take him at his word -- that everything was fine.

They would be married on December 21st, a year and six months to the day after the accident that changed Brian’s life in an instant, setting off the chain reaction that had eventually reunited them, as different people, but better. Better for the time they’d spent apart. But ready to commit to each other, forever.