“Sometimes a man needs to know when to ask for help.”

*****

Justin hung up the phone and brushed Brian’s hair back off his forehead with the fingertips of his left hand. He could feel the heat radiating off of Brian’s skin. Brian’s face was flushed, his skin was slick with sweat, and even in his semi-unconscious state, his face was twisted into a grimace that told Justin how uncomfortable he was.

Obviously Brian was very sick, but Justin had absolutely no idea what was wrong. All he could guess was that it had something to do with Brian’s kidneys or his bladder, and the only reason he knew that was because of the pinkish-red liquid that soaked Brian’s clothing and a significant portion of the sheets on their bed, underneath Brian’s body and spreading out in both directions.

It was a lot. Much more than Justin would have expected Brian’s body could hold.

Then, of course, there was the blood. Blood meant that whatever this was, it was serious. Not that the seriousness of the situation wasn’t already immediately obvious in the fact that Brian couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open, and Justin wasn’t sure if he was entirely coherent or not.

It had come up so suddenly, too. Just a few hours before, Brian had been fine. He was tired, sure -- so exhausted that Justin had to help him into bed -- but Justin would have never guessed he would wake up to this in the middle of the night.

Justin knew that Brian had been overdoing it with work, and he’d been doing his best to try to encourage Brian to do what he needed to do to care for his body, but in a lot of cases, Justin still wasn’t sure specifically what that meant for Brian. Brian was very private about those kinds of things, and Justin respected that, but right now, he wished he knew more. Wished he could have had some idea that this might have been coming, so he could have pushed harder for Brian to take better care of himself.

He’d really thought Brian was just tired. That he just needed to get a few good nights’ sleep, and then he’d be good as new. Justin felt awful for not picking up on how serious the situation actually was, and he hoped that Brian wouldn't end up paying the price for his lack of perception.

He knew that thought was stupid -- Brian was an adult, and Justin wasn't his keeper. But on some level, Justin still felt responsible. Like he should have noticed something.

He was his husband. He should have noticed that something wasn't right.

Justin laid down next to Brian -- not caring that they were both wet and the bed was wet, too. He would deal with that later. What mattered right now was being close to Brian. Comforting Brian. Justin gently rubbed Brian’s back, as he tried to calm the anxious feeling that was currently twisting his own stomach into knots. The last time he remembered being this worried about Brian was when the older man had cancer, and Justin had found out about it via answering machine message because Brian had chosen not to tell him. He’d been so scared, because at the time, he had known nothing other than the fact that Brian had been to Johns Hopkins, he’d had surgery, and the doctor who left the message specialized in testicular cancer. He hadn’t known what type of cancer it was, what stage, or what the prognosis was as he lay there in bed with Brian, hugging him close, kissing his chest, wondering what would happen to the man he loved so much. Scared to death that Brian could die.

That was the last time Justin could remember Brian being sick -- as in, really sick, not just a cold or the flu or something -- but he couldn’t be completely sure. And that was more than a little bit upsetting as well. He wished he could remember. So many things felt foreign to Justin now, or foggy, and it was really fucking frustrating. But he couldn’t let himself get dragged down in that now, either. He had to focus on Brian -- getting Brian the help he needed.

“You’re okay,” Justin whispered as he softly kissed Brian’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.” In a way, he felt like he was trying to will those words into fruition, because honestly, he didn’t know what was going on, or what was about to happen.

He’d unlocked the door for the paramedics and gathered up all of Brian’s medications while he was still on the phone with the dispatcher, so all there was left to do was wait.

Justin closed his eyes and continued trying to steady his breathing. He couldn't freak out. He had to stay calm. Brian needed him to stay calm. When he opened them again, Brian was looking at him, eyes half closed and lids heavy with exhaustion. Justin gave him a small smile that he hoped wasn't as hesitant as it felt, then took Brian's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“You're going to be okay,” he said again, as much for his own benefit as Brian's.

“Stay with me,” Brian said softly, his voice raspy and his words slightly slurred. His eyes closed again, and Justin could tell Brian was riding out a wave of pain.

Justin squeezed Brian's hand a little harder. “I will,” he said, trying to sound less afraid than he felt. “I'm staying right here with you.”

He wished there was more he could do. He wanted to fix this -- take it all away, make it better. But he was powerless. And at this point, he didn't even know what they were dealing with.

It felt like it took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and when they finally did, Justin was swiftly but gently pushed out of the way. He stood numbly in the corner, watching them as they turned Brian over, checked his vital signs, and tried to triage as best they could, given Brian’s limited capacity for responding to questions. Justin told them Brian’s name and answered everything he could and gave as much of Brian’s medical history as he knew. Justin still felt helpless, because he couldn’t provide any additional information when it came to what was actually going on at that moment -- he knew no more than they did, because all he knew was what he was seeing in front of him.

“Try to stay with us, Brian,” Justin heard one of them say.

Why hadn’t he been more insistent that Brian take a break, take a nap, drink more water, eat better, do something? Could he have prevented this if he’d been more assertive?

They had just moved Brian from the bed to the stretcher when Justin saw a pool of red forming under Brian’s hip and starting to extend outward. Justin couldn’t tell if the expression on Brian’s face was one of pain or embarrassment, but regardless, he seemed to be aware of what was happening.

Brian’s eyes closed again and his face went slack. Justin heard one of the paramedics say, “Okay, we need to go now,” as they began to move Brian out of the room and down the hallway. Justin grabbed the bag containing Brian’s medications and followed them, still fighting panic. Trying his best to keep a cool head, because that was how he could best help Brian. And that had to be his top priority.

However, he could feel himself quickly losing that battle.

He’d just grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door when he suddenly realized they’d need to bring Brian’s chair too -- it was his legs, and he shouldn’t be without it.

“I just need to get his wheelchair. I’ll be right back,” Justin said to the paramedic who was holding the door open while two more took Brian out of the apartment and into the hallway.

“He won’t be needing it,” the paramedic said. “Not right now. Probably not for a while. We’re not taking it.” His tone was bordering on rude, and it made Justin want to grab him by the neck and shake him and tell him that was his husband they were talking about, but there was no time.

“Okay, then I’ll just--”

Justin had started to go out the door after them, when he was stopped by a hand on his chest.

“We can’t take you either. Just him.”

“But we’re legally married.”

“It’s not a gay thing -- it’s company policy. You can meet him at Mount Sinai. On 1st Avenue. Check in at the emergency room when you arrive.”

Before Justin could even fully process what had been said, the paramedic turned and left Justin standing in the middle of the open doorway, holding his jacket and Brian’s medication.

Justin felt like he’d been struck dumb as he stood there, staring out the door. He heard the elevator doors close, and he knew that Brian was gone. Everything had happened so quickly. He'd promised Brian he would stay with him, and now Brian was gone and Justin was alone. He felt his breathing start to speed up as he struggled to figure out what to do next.

There were so many decisions to make, and Justin didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know why he couldn’t organize his thoughts, or why he felt frozen. It should have been simple, but it wasn’t.

He wished he had someone he could call -- someone who could just tell him what to do. But it was 4:30 in the morning, and there was no one he could call. Justin was on his own.

He felt like he had about a million different options and possible decisions flying around in his head, but they were moving so quickly that he couldn’t pick out what any of them were. He knew what he needed to do, ultimately -- he had to get to Brian -- but the steps to get there were hidden somewhere in the chaos of his thoughts.

Fucking brain injury.

Most of the time, when he felt like this, he was able to slow down and think it through, step-by-step, but this time, he didn’t feel like he could. There was too much pressure. Too little time. And every second that he couldn’t make a decision on what to do and how to react was wasting even more of that time, only serving to amplify his stress.

Justin’s first impulse was to go running after the ambulance crew and demand to ride with them, but he knew that wouldn’t work -- he’d just been told that it was company policy that he couldn’t. So that wasn’t an option.

Okay, he told himself. Step one, what was step one?

His breathing was coming in short little gasps now, as he fought to get ahold of himself. He felt like he couldn't get enough oxygen. His knees felt weak, like if he moved from the spot where he stood, he would collapse.

He couldn't do this right now. He couldn't fucking do this right now. Goddamnit.

Justin sank down to his knees, let his jacket and the bag fall to the floor, and brought his trembling hands up to his face. God, he was scared...so fucking scared. He had to get to Brian, but right now, he was the one who felt paralyzed.

Then, somewhere, out of the tumult of thoughts swirling through his brain, he heard Rob’s voice.

Just breathe.

He had to breathe.

Justin focused all of his attention on his breath, trying to make it smoother and deeper. It took him a while, and he faltered more than a few times, but slowly, he could feel control coming back to him.

He had to help Brian -- had to get to Brian -- and he could only do that if he stayed calm.

“Okay,” Justin said to himself, out loud this time. “You can do this. You have to do this.”

Justin looked down at his clothes, realizing that he looked like he’d murdered someone. Christ, it was a lot of blood. And it had all come out of Brian. The thought almost made Justin panic again, but he managed to push it down, reminding himself to breathe.

He needed to change clothes. That seemed like a good step one.

Still shaky, Justin pushed himself up to stand. He closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, focusing on taking a couple of deep breaths. Reminding himself that he could do this.

He started down the hallway, trailing his left hand lightly along the wall for balance, because his legs felt like jelly underneath him.

When he got to the bedroom, he stripped off his pajamas and pulled on the pair of jeans and the t-shirt he’d discarded on the floor by his side of the bed the night before.

Step one, done. Now what was step two?

Justin looked around the room, his gaze settling on Brian’s wheelchair, sitting by the closet door. It wasn’t in its usual spot because it had been shoved out of the way at the same time Justin was, so the paramedics could get to Brian. So they could help Brian.

Justin needed to get to Brian.

So that meant he needed to get to the hospital. With Brian’s chair. Fuck whatever the paramedic said about him not needing it -- who the hell was he to judge that? Having Brian stranded somewhere without his chair just didn’t seem right.

Acting on impulse and trying not to think because thinking was getting him bogged down and taking too much time he didn’t have, Justin picked up Brian’s phone off the nightstand and called the car service Brian used sometimes to get to his meetings. They answered on the first ring.

“I, um, this is Justin Taylor… Brian Kinney’s partner, he’s a client of yours.” Just speaking felt like a battle for Justin -- trying to push words out and have them make sense, without sounding as panicked as he felt.

“Yes, sir -- does Mr. Kinney need a ride this morning?”

Justin tried to figure out what to say without mentioning things he was pretty sure Brian wouldn’t want mentioned. But there would be no way to do this without at least mentioning the hospital. Maybe he should have just taken a cab, so it would be anonymous, but Justin was afraid that would take too long. It took a few seconds before Justin was able to speak, and when he did, all he said was, “I need a ride to Mount Sinai. They told me it’s on 1st Avenue.”

“Certainly, sir,” the receptionist said. “I can have Mr. Kinney’s regular driver there in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Justin said. “I’ll be downstairs.”

With shaking hands, Justin hung up the phone and stuck it in his pocket, along with his own. He grabbed his wallet off the dresser and pocketed it as well, before pushing Brian’s chair out into the living room. He laid the bag containing Brian’s meds in the chair, then picked up his coat and put it on. Slowly and methodically, trying to focus on keeping his breathing and his brain under control, Justin walked through the apartment, turning off all of the lights he’d turned on as he’d tried to figure out what was going on and what to do for Brian.

As he stood in the bedroom doorway, his hand on the light switch, Justin noticed for the first time just how much blood was in their bed. It hadn’t looked as big when Brian was lying on top of it as it looked right now. Now, it looked large and imposing, and it made Justin’s anxiety rise once again. What was wrong with Brian? Would he be okay? Why was there so much blood? Where had it come from? The paramedics’ reaction to the state Brian had been in when they arrived hadn’t done anything to quiet Justin’s fears. They’d seemed very concerned, and he knew they saw all sorts of crisis situations every day. They wouldn’t have reacted the way they had if Brian’s condition wasn’t serious.

Justin shook his head. He couldn’t let himself get dragged down in those thoughts. Not right now. He had to keep his promise to Brian that he’d be there. So he turned off the light and let the darkness overtake the disturbing image of Brian’s blood on the sheets.

He pushed Brian’s chair out into the hallway and onto the elevator, then into the lobby once he was on the ground floor. He was thankful that the doorman wasn’t on duty yet, because he knew Brian wouldn’t have wanted to be seen by anyone he knew in the state he’d been in when the paramedics had taken him downstairs.

There was already a black town car outside, and as soon as Justin emerged from the door to their building, the driver came around to the rear passenger door and opened it.

“Is everything alright with Mr. Kinney?” the driver asked. “I was told you needed a ride to Mount Sinai.”

Shit, Justin thought. He didn’t want to talk about this. He knew Brian wouldn’t want him to. But he didn’t have much choice -- he had to at least say something. And the driver looked worried.

“I… I don’t know,” Justin answered honestly. He hoped that Brian wouldn’t kill him for even saying that much. He knew Brian was very private about these sorts of things, and highly protective of his image. Desperate for a distraction, Justin turned his attention to the task of trying to break down Brian’s chair so it would fit in the car.

“I’ll take care of the chair, Mr. Taylor,” the driver said. “I do it all the time for Mr. Kinney.”

Good, Justin thought, because he wasn’t sure he remembered. Yet another thing he should have known that he didn’t. Justin climbed into the back seat of the car. The driver shut the door, then took the wheels off of Brian’s chair, folded the back down, and stowed the pieces in the trunk. Justin tried to commit to memory exactly how it was done, in case he needed to know. Hopefully he wouldn’t, but he needed to be prepared.

Less than ten minutes later, they were at the hospital. Justin was grateful that the driver seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, but at the same time had remained calm and professional. That helped Justin remain calm, too. At least, as calm as he could be.

The driver held the door open for Justin and helped him reassemble Brian’s wheelchair outside of the emergency room doors.

“Please let Mr. Kinney know I hope he’s feeling better soon,” the man said, as he shook Justin’s hand.

“I will. Thank you,” Justin said, trying to smile politely at the man as he turned to get back in the car and drove away. Justin took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stood in front of the sliding glass doors, the red glow of the word “EMERGENCY” over the door making the whole situation seem even more foreboding than it already felt. Justin wished this was all just a bad dream he could wake up from, with Brian beside of him -- conscious, coherent, and okay. But it wasn't a dream. It was real. And Justin couldn’t lose it. Not now.

The wail of a siren behind him jarred Justin back to reality, and he started walking toward the doors, pushing Brian’s chair ahead of him. It felt strange to be pushing an empty wheelchair, but it was what had to be done. He’d never pushed Brian’s chair before that he could recall, and, knowing Brian, he was fairly sure that was probably the case, and not just due to missing memories. Brian was independent. His chair didn’t even have push handles, so if that wasn’t a hint that he didn’t want to be pushed by anyone other than himself, Justin didn’t know what was.

The woman sitting at the desk just inside the ER doors raised an eyebrow at him as he pushed the chair up to the counter. Justin could feel his gut beginning to twist with anxiety again, and he hoped he would be able to speak articulately.

“My husband was brought here by ambulance,” Justin said quickly, the words tumbling out of him in a breathless rush, as if he were trying to get them out before his brain had a chance to fuck it all up.

“What’s his name?” the woman said, almost sounding bored. She had a strong New York accent, and was loudly chewing a piece of gum. Her mannerisms reminded Justin more of a television character than an actual person.

“Brian Kinney.”

She clicked her mouse a few times, still chomping on the gum as she studied her computer screen. The few seconds it took her to locate Brian’s file felt like an eternity to Justin.

“Looks like they’ve taken him for some testing,” she said. Her voice stayed flat, but her words made Justin’s apprehension rise. “You can wait over there,” she said, pointing to the waiting area, which was already full of people -- some of them coughing or sneezing, some of them clutching their stomachs, some of them looking pained, and others who looked like they were waiting for news on someone else. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”

Justin took a seat as far away from the coughing and sneezing people as he could, parking Brian’s chair next to him. He looked up at the clock above the television in the corner -- it was just a little after 5 a.m. now. Still too early to call anyone.

Briefly, Justin considered calling his mom anyway, just because he wanted to hear her voice. But there was nothing she could do for him, so there was no point in waking her up and worrying her before he even knew what was happening.

Someone came out to have him fill out some paperwork, and once again, Justin was frustrated by his lack of knowledge about Brian’s health and his medical history. These were probably questions he should have known the answer to, but instead, he had blank spaces where most of those memories should have been.

Fucking brain injury. Again.

He filled in the spaces as best he could, feeling like it took him fucking forever to do it with his left hand, then turned the clipboard over to the gum-chewing receptionist and hoped the information he could remember would be enough.

Returning to his seat, Justin leaned forward and put his face in his hands, trying to focus on his breath. Keeping it calm and even. It felt impossible at this point, though. He felt anything but calm. At this stage, he was just trying to keep his emotions from overwhelming him.

He wondered what was happening to Brian right now. What kind of testing were they doing? What were they looking for? How long would it take? How long until he could see Brian?

He kept running through the last couple of weeks over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what he’d missed. There had to be something. Some sign, some hint -- something. But that was hard to figure out without even knowing what was going on with Brian.

Justin could feel the panic starting to creep up again as he ran through possible scenarios. He knew he needed to stop, but he couldn't. There were too many possibilities. Too many things he probably should have seen, that even looking back, he couldn’t pick out. There was no way this just...happened. There had to be a reason for it. Something he was sure he should have known that he couldn’t remember anymore.

The next hour passed more slowly than any hour ever had in Justin's life. He had too much to think about and absolutely no answers. He just hoped that Brian was comfortable. That he was okay. That he wasn't as scared as Justin was.

The waiting and wondering finally came to an end when a young woman wearing purple scrubs came into the waiting room, walked up to him, and asked if he was here for Brian Kinney. Justin nodded and stood, and they exchanged a few words that Justin didn't fully process before she led him through a maze of curtains and doors until she'd brought him to Brian. Her voice seemed far away as she told him that a doctor would be in to speak with him shortly, then turned and left. Justin took a deep breath and settled his gaze on his husband. Brian was lying in bed, propped up on pillows, asleep, looking sicker than Justin had ever seen him. His face was still flushed, but if it hadn't been for that, he probably would have been lacking any color at all. Even though he was sleeping, he didn't look peaceful. He looked distressed.

They’d taken off his wet clothes and dressed him in a hospital gown. His hair was matted to his forehead, which was still glistening with sweat. Several different colored wires snaked their way out of the gown near Brian’s collarbone and connected to a machine that displayed his heart rate and his respiratory rate, along with his blood oxygen levels, which Justin knew was coming from the clip that was fastened to Brian’s middle finger on his right hand. His hand was lying on top of the blanket, and an IV line connected to two different bags of fluid fed into it. Another tube emerged from underneath the blanket and attached to a bag that was hanging from the side of the bed, containing a relatively small amount of the same reddish-pink liquid that they'd both been covered in earlier that night.

Justin had never seen Brian like this. He knew that for certain. He almost didn’t look like Brian. He looked...fragile. Vulnerable. Not at all the strong, imposing, self-assured presence that Brian was most of the time.

Justin wondered if this was what Brian had looked like right after his accident.

He didn’t know. He’d never known, because he hadn’t been there. And he never would know.

He could ask, but he would never truly know.

Such was the case for so many things where Justin’s memory was concerned now, and it was really fucking frustrating.

Justin had barely had a chance to take it all in when a tall, dark-haired woman in a white coat came into the room and introduced herself as Dr. Gibson, the physician who was currently handling Brian’s case. Justin tried his best to concentrate on what was being said to him, but there was so much medical jargon that it was difficult to digest it all. What he did pick up was that they suspected Brian had a fairly serious kidney infection, based on his symptoms and their severity. They’d taken a CT scan to see if there were any stones or anything that might have caused it, but found nothing. They’d sedated him to make him comfortable, and they were admitting him to the hospital for monitoring and treatment of the infection. It was too early to tell if there would be any permanent damage. Someone would be down soon to get Brian and take him upstairs, once they had a room ready for him. Justin was welcome to wait with him if he chose.

He couldn’t comprehend why on earth anyone would think he’d choose anything else.

So it was back to the waiting game. Justin didn’t know whether he wanted to scream or cry or throw up or all three. He pulled the single chair that was in the room closer to the side of Brian’s bed and sank down into it. He reached under the blanket for Brian’s left hand and held it tightly, as if he was clinging to a lifeline. Brian didn’t stir at all.

Brian’s hand was warm. Justin’s fingers grazed Brian’s wedding band, feeling the slightly cooler temperature of the metal as compared to Brian’s skin. The ring matched his own exactly, right down to the few words engraved on the inside, that it was likely no one other than he and Brian would ever see or know about: Worth fighting for.

Fighting was exactly what they’d done, over and over again, in the years since their eyes first met under the lamppost on Liberty Avenue. Sometimes it was literal and sometimes it was figurative, but somehow, they always ended up together. It was like they were inextricably drawn to each other -- neither of them could be whole without the other. They’d both tried, but in the end, it simply hadn’t been possible.

When they were apart, they were just going through the motions, trying to get by. But when they were together, they were the best versions of themselves.

Justin couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of losing Brian for good. Of going on, somehow, without him. He didn't want to think that was even possible. He knew he’d probably have to face that someday, but not right now. But the question was still there, in the back of his mind: Had he just come close to having to figure it out right now?

Was Brian even out of the woods yet? Or was there still a chance that Justin might lose him?

The doctor’s words ran through Justin’s head on an endless loop: There could be permanent damage. This was definitely serious. What if there was permanent damage? What then? Dialysis? A kidney transplant? How sick would Brian be in the meantime?

How long would it take him to get over this, even if there wasn’t permanent damage? How long would he have to stay in the hospital? How long would it be until they knew more?

There were so many unanswered questions. So many unknowns. But all there was to do, was wait.

And there was still that niggling thought in the back of Justin’s mind that he was responsible for what had happened to Brian.

Part of being someone’s partner was helping them when they needed help -- stepping in without being asked, just because you saw the need was there. It was knowing your partner inside and out, so that the second something wasn’t quite right, you were aware of it.

Justin was Brian’s partner -- more than that, he was his husband -- but Justin hadn’t done either of those things very well. He felt like he’d missed something huge, and even now, with the benefit of hindsight, he still couldn’t quite figure it out.

Why hadn’t he known the answers to all of the paramedics’ questions as he’d stood in their bedroom, watching them work on Brian? He’d been able to tell by their urgent tone how important his answers were to them -- and to Brian -- but he simply didn’t know the answers to most of them. Then, he’d had to answer many of the same questions when he’d arrived at the hospital, and he still didn’t know the answers. Why didn’t he know these things? He should have known. There was no excuse for not knowing.

At the very least, he should have asked Brian some of these things. He should have taken an interest in knowing more about Brian’s health and what he needed to do to maintain it. Why had he been so self-absorbed, so wrapped up in his own problems, that he hadn’t bothered to try to fill in the holes in his memory that were vital to keeping Brian alive and well? He’d been focusing so much of his energy on doing things for Brian, but he hadn’t done this one simple thing that could have prevented the situation they currently found themselves in.

If he’d known more -- if he’d asked more questions -- maybe there was something he could have done to help.

But he didn’t. And he hadn’t.

Justin felt like he’d failed Brian as a partner.

Now, Brian was lying in a hospital bed, doped up on painkillers and god knows what else, with so much blood in his urine that the bag that hung off his bedside seemed to be getting redder as it slowly filled. He’d been able to tell for several days now that Brian was hurting, even when Brian was making a concerted effort to hide it the way Brian always did, but Justin never could have imagined that Brian’s pain would be from this.

Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the thoughts of guilt and pain and regret and the realization of everything Justin didn’t know and the impact that might have had on Brian swirled in his brain and began to coalesce into an overwhelming anxiety.

Justin was still holding Brian’s hand, but now he was also holding back tears -- trying to keep control over his emotions and not fall apart like some pathetic little faggot. He couldn’t do that in front of Brian. Not here. Not right now.

But the longer he fought with himself, the closer he got to losing the battle entirely and dissolving into the sobbing, gasping, emotional mess he felt like on the inside.

What if his lack of knowledge -- the fact that he hadn’t asked Brian the right questions, hadn’t made him slow down, hadn’t made him take a fucking break -- ended up costing Brian a kidney? Or his independence? Or worse, his life?

Justin could feel his control starting to slip as his heart beat faster and faster, and his breathing sped up along with it. The tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes and threatening to fall. He was trying his best not to squeeze the shit out of Brian’s hand, because he’d already hurt Brian enough, but that was hard to do. He needed something to hold onto. He needed an anchor.

Brian was his anchor. Brian had always been his anchor, for as long as he’d known Brian.

Justin needed to talk to Brian -- to hear his voice telling him everything was going to be okay. He needed to see Brian’s eyes -- always kind and warm whenever he looked at Justin, even if he was trying to act annoyed. Justin needed Brian to be here -- really be here. Present. Conscious.

But he couldn’t do that right now.

Justin would have to pull himself together on his own, but that was a task that felt impossible, particularly as Justin edged closer and closer to an emotional breakdown.

When his grip finally slipped, it felt like a dam had broken, and everything he’d been holding back for the last two hours suddenly burst forth in an unstoppable rush. Like something had snapped inside of Justin, releasing a torrent of tears and fears in the form of a desperate, mournful wail that he tried his best to keep quiet so no one would come in wondering what was going on.

Justin clung to Brian’s hand as he cried, trying his best to keep his touch gentle so he wouldn’t wake Brian up. He vaguely remembered Dr. Gibson telling him she felt Brian would be asleep for the next several hours due to the sedative he’d been given, but Justin still didn’t want to take the chance.

He tried to focus on the warmth of Brian’s hand. The soft rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic beep of the monitor that echoed Brian’s heartbeat. Anything to pull him back to the present moment and out of the downward spiral he was currently trapped in. But it wasn’t working.

The short, shuddering breaths Justin was taking as the tears cascaded down his cheeks were starting to make him feel lightheaded, and he knew he needed to stop, but he didn’t feel like he could. He needed Brian to hold him and tell him he was okay, but he couldn’t have that.

Justin knew he needed to pull himself together for Brian -- stay present for Brian -- but he couldn’t. It was yet another thing he was failing at. Another way in which he was failing Brian, too.

He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to place all of his attention on the movement of his breath in his body, just like Rob had taught him. Filling up his belly with breath, then his chest, slowly, from the bottom to the top. Then letting it out slowly in reverse. Concentrating on how it felt. But every time he tried to take a slow breath, he felt like he was drowning -- like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen -- and his reflexes would take over and force him to gulp in the air instead. He kept trying, but over and over again, the same thing kept happening.

Slowly, Justin started to realize he wasn’t going to be able to do this by himself. Not this time. He needed someone to help him calm down. Normally, that person would be Brian, but that wasn’t an option right now. He could call his mom, but he wasn’t sure that a phone call was going to do him any more good than his own attempts at calming his thoughts were doing. He needed a physical presence -- comforting touch, the soothing pressure of a hug, security in knowing he had someone with him who cared about him. Someone he knew.

With Brian out of commission, Rob was the first person who came to mind.

So he took as deep of a breath as he could manage, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and called Rob. He hated to do it, but he had no other options. If he didn’t call someone, he wasn’t going to be able to put himself back together. The last thing he wanted to be when Brian finally woke up was an emotional mess, completely out of control. But that was exactly where he was headed.

It took Rob several rings to answer, and when he did, he sounded confused and a little bit worried.

“Justin?” he said. “Is everything okay?”

Justin opened his mouth to respond, but words evaded him. It reminded him of his time in the hospital after his accident, when he felt like half of the words he knew were locked away and he couldn’t get to them. His breath was still coming in short, quick gasps, no matter how hard he tried to get control over it.

“Talk to me, Justin. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Rob’s voice was calm and even. Justin wished he could have just one tiny part of that calm.

A few more seconds passed, but Justin still couldn’t manage to speak. He could hear noises now on Rob’s end of the line, like he was moving around, doing something.

“Justin, where’s Brian? Can you get Brian?” Rob said, slightly more urgency beginning to edge into his voice.

“No…” Justin managed to say. He wanted to say more, but the words still wouldn’t come.

“Where are you? Are you at home? Hold on a second, I’m putting you on speaker.”

It took Justin a few more breaths to respond to Rob’s question and eke out the words, “We’re at the hospital.”

“Which hospital?”

“Mount Sinai. On 1st Avenue.”

“Justin, what’s going on? Are you okay? Is Brian okay? What happened?”

Rob was asking too many questions. Justin couldn’t answer them. But he could hear the panic starting to creep into Rob’s voice as well. All Justin could do was keep breathing, trying not to hyperventilate.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Rob said. “Just breathe for me, okay? Remember what I showed you. Focus on your breath.”

“Okay,” Justin whispered, not even sure if Rob would be able to hear him. He also wasn’t sure if he could keep that promise, but he’d try.

“Good,” Rob said encouragingly. “That’s good. You’re okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

Hearing those words did help. Maybe a phone call was more effective than he’d thought it would be. But he still wanted a hug. He needed physical reassurance right now. And he hated to put that on Rob as much as he’d hated to call him at this hour in the first place, but he didn’t have a choice.

“Justin, I have to hang up now so I can get a cab,” Rob said. “But I’ll be there soon.”

The phone beeped three times in Justin’s ear when the call was disconnected. He’d have help soon. He just had to hold on.

Justin’s hands were shaking so hard that he nearly dropped the phone as he took it away from his ear and pushed it back into his pocket. He wanted so badly to stop all of this, but there was nothing he could do. It was like he was aboard a runaway train, speeding through the hills and valleys of frustration and guilt and panic, and he couldn’t even get the window or a door open to jump off and hope for the best.

He laced his fingers through Brian’s again, closed his eyes, and tried to just breathe, but he still couldn’t push the panic down. His chest felt like someone was squeezing it, as he tried to force air in. He was so absorbed in trying to do whatever he could to try to calm himself down that he jumped and nearly fell out of the chair when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

When Justin looked up, he saw two men in scrubs standing beside him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need to ask you to step out while we move Mr. Kinney up to his room,” one of them said.

Justin barely had a chance to get to his feet before he was being gently-but-firmly pushed out of the way, just like he had been earlier that morning by the paramedics. He was standing by the door, watching as they moved around, disconnecting things and starting to prepare Brian to be moved. A nurse came into the room seconds after that, edging Justin the rest of the way out the door and into the hall in the process. She was holding two empty test tubes and told the two men she needed to get a blood draw first.

Once again, Justin felt rooted to the spot where he stood, watching the whirlwind of activity taking place around Brian. Only this time, no one was asking him any questions. They were all just going about their business, and Justin felt like he was being left in the dark.

When the nurse had filled her two tubes with Brian’s blood, she came back out, giving Justin a weak smile.

“You can wait out there,” she said, gesturing back in the direction of the waiting room. “Someone will come down to let you know when he’s settled and you can come up to the room.”

Justin wanted to move, but he couldn’t. He still felt stuck. Like the entire world was rotating around him, spinning out of control. His knees were weak, and he was leaning against the wall to keep from falling, as an unnerving deluge of negative thoughts continued to rush through his head, full of questions and doubts and fears and uncertainty. He didn’t want to be thinking that way at all, but it felt impossible to drag himself out of the downward spiral and back to the light.

Slowly and carefully, keeping a hand on the wall for balance just as he had earlier that morning in the apartment, Justin took one step toward the waiting room, then another. It felt like it took him forever to get there, and he had to keep stopping to catch his breath and make sure he didn’t pass out. People kept rushing past him, but no one seemed to notice him. Or maybe they just didn’t have time to bother. Finally, he made it back to the waiting room, which was now even busier than it had been just an hour before.

Justin practically fell into the first empty chair he came to, unable to force his legs to go any farther. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands once again, feeling like the walls were closing in on him.

He was back in public now. He had to get ahold of himself. As much as he wanted someone to help him, he didn’t want for some well-meaning stranger to try it. Someone who didn’t know him and his history and would probably end up doing more harm than good.

Justin felt like he was falling apart at the seams. He hoped he could keep it together long enough for Rob to get there.

What he really needed, though, was something he knew Rob wouldn’t be able to give him -- the knowledge and certainty that Brian would be okay.