Brian staggered a few paces backward as Justin fell into his arms. He was amazed to maintain his balance when the unconscious blond bundle hit him. It had been a long time since he had been on skates, and this had been an extremely unexpected parcel to land in his arms. In ordinary circumstances, it would have been more than welcome... but now it was alarming, along with inconvenient. Because now, he had a professional decorum to uphold. He couldn't give the impression he knew this boy, outside of what he knew through his judging of him - this development made it even more difficult to maintain that false air of objectivity.

Unbeknownst to the world, Brian reluctantly admitted to himself, if no one else, he did care for the little shit to a certain degree. He admired his tenacity, his skill, and without a doubt, his more than obvious charms. The more he got to know the little blond, he realized those charms were becoming far too numerous to count. Brian reflected those thoughts would keep another day. For now, he needed to get them through this night with his decorum intact... and this delectable boy - now champion - walking out of here with his gold medal dangling from his neck.

Brian peered closely down at the unconscious boy, grimacing as the cameras moved in closer, the only sound heard following the almost deafening gasps that had initially echoed around the arena. He adjusted the bundle in his arms, to attain a more comfortable stance, before he asked, "Mr. Taylor? Can you hear me? If you can... open your eyes please."

The attendant that had been passing the medals to Brian, spoke up drolly, "He does appear to be breathing."

"That's quite obvious," Brian snapped in response. His eyes glared at the cameras that hovered near them. "Can you back off? There's no need to film this..."

"Relax, Mr. Kinney. We have the camera on standby. This isn't going to be broadcast."

Brian snorted, not believing that for a moment. It was publicity. Good, bad, indifferent... the committee would jump on it all. "The ceremony is obviously over. The boy needs a doctor. Now... are you going to get those cameras out of my way, so I can move him off the ice... where he can get the attention he needs?"

"Sorry, Sir... but the presentation isn't complete until the gold medal is placed around Mr. Taylor's neck," the committee leader said from directly behind him.

Through clenched teeth, Brian spat, "Fine! Then put the damn thing around his neck... then he can go. Do it now... or I swear I will give you a PR nightmare of such gigantic proportions that this event will NEVER be held in this city again!"

"Mr. Kinney, there's no need for threats. This is not a live broadcast, of course, we can work around this, but it would be preferable if Mr. Taylor would be standing to finalize the presentation."

Brian took in a harsh breath, before clipping out, "Well, it appears Mr. Taylor's medical condition is not considering your preferences. Now, I suggest you just drape the medallion around his neck immediately." He looked down at Justin, glimpsing his eyelids beginning to flicker, gratified to see it - not only to end this evening's event - but for the boy's well-being.

"Justin, can you hear me?" Brian asked sharply, his voice tinged with concern.

Brian watched with irritation as everyone that flanked them began to move in for a closer look. He edged his skates closer to the podium, sensing that Justin was beginning to revive as he felt the slight stirring in his arms. He watched as Justin's eyes slowly fluttered open, dazed, and confused. Brian quirked a brow, before saying, "Such dramatics, Mr. Taylor. One would think you didn't want this medal..."

Justin's eyes slowly began to focus, a deep crimson flush rising into his cheeks upon realizing Brian was holding him. Looking around him in embarrassment, Justin whispered, "You can put me down now, Mr. Kinney. I think I'm feeling a bit more grounded now."

"Well... if you're sure. You are quite the handful," Brian answered, tongue in cheek, wishing he had the privacy to say much more, but that would come later.

"Thank you for catching my fall. I'm still not quite sure what happened..." Justin said, his mind still partially foggy.

The committee leader and the attendant that had been handing the medals to Brian for awarding stepped forward. They watched as Justin stepped gingerly upon the center podium; each of them taking a deep sigh of relief that this would be over soon - for all of them. The committee leader was about to speak when the arena erupted in boisterous cheering upon Justin's return to the podium. They waited several minutes for the crowd to quiet, before moving to address Justin. The question was posed curtly, "Are you able to continue, Mr. Taylor?"

"Yes. I apologize for the delay. I struggled with flu-like symptoms all night long, and I guess in all the excitement it finally caught up with me," Justin tried to explain.

"Not a problem, Mr. Taylor. If you are sure you can go on, we just need to finish recording your award presentation."

"Please... let's finish. As wonderful and exciting as this day has been, right now all I want is to go home and crawl into bed," Justin said, relieved to find his equilibrium returning.

Brian gave a nod to the cameramen that they were ready, making sure they picked up exactly where they had left off. The camera touched on the silver and bronze winners, before zooming in on Brian as he accepted the gold medal to place around Justin's neck. Focusing on Justin, Brian could see the ecstatic look in his eyes as he leaned forward to receive the heavy, gold medal. Brian smirked, trying to keep the admiration - and so much more - out of his gaze for the little blond. What a little fighter he was, Brian thought. A true champion in every sense of the word.

Once final congratulations were expressed and final bows given to the crowd, Justin watched as Brian gave him one last lingering glance before he skated off the ice, knowing this would not be the last time he was in the presence of his idol. Justin had the feeling this had only been the beginning. He cautiously moved off the ice in preparation to change and meet with his mom and friends. Justin hated this feeling of weakness at a time when he should be celebrating this major accomplishment in achieving his dream.

Moving toward the changing rooms, Justin thought, one step at a time. First, he had to completely recover... then he could focus on what came next. Executing his dream of an Olympic gold without the guidance of a coach was going to be a precarious position to be in, but Justin held strong to the thought that anything was possible. After what he had not only endured - but triumphed over today - he now believed he could do anything.

Two hours later, Justin was finally able to convince his mother he would be fine, with the condition that he would call her first thing in the morning. Her coddling was the last thing he needed right now. Justin knew he was going to be fine. He just needed sleep... lots of it. In the last couple of hours, he had drunk a mass amount of clear liquids. The debilitating symptoms he had suffered last night seemed to be all but gone now, leaving him with just the feeling of weakness and exhaustion. He knew sleep and getting his body hydrated again would get him back on his feet.

As he lay in his bed, thankfully devoid of any well-meaning friends or family, Justin relaxed and reflected on the day. Smiling from ear to ear, he looked at the gold medal that for the time being was on his nightstand. Tomorrow, he would encase it properly, knowing he would want to hold onto this for a lifetime; he wanted to cherish the memory of it forever. He couldn't believe he had successfully performed the quad... most especially following the physical limitations he had been enduring. He wasn't sure what had provoked him to attempt it - he only knew it was something he had to do, whether he failed or not. Thankfully, he had not.

He remembered focusing on Brian's face when he had completed his performance. That alone had almost made him stumble on his skates. There had been an unmasked look of admiration in Brian's gaze, one that he would have never imagined being on the receiving end of - never in a million years. That Brian had been there to not only watch but genuinely approve of his program, gave Justin the greatest sense of accomplishment he ever thought to have. Justin felt his insides quiver remembering Brian's declaration of intent mere days ago. He had promised to pounce when this was all over. He wondered if Brian still felt that way, or had it been a momentary affliction that Brian had now recovered from?

Justin hoped that wasn't the case. Instinctively, he didn't believe it was either. He just wanted to take it slowly... not rush into too much too soon. Before falling into a deep and much-needed sleep, Justin was tormented with the thoughts of what Brian's intentions could be regarding him on a personal level. He didn't think he could stand being one of Brian Kinney's one-offs. He thought he was more than that, but he couldn't be sure. Until he was, could he hold him at an arm's length? For he knew, without a doubt, for as long as he had dreamt about his hero, such an occurrence would certainly break his heart.

Coach Thompson picked up the phone with a hesitant mumble - recognizing the caller ID - knowing exactly who was on the other end. He grimaced knowing he was due for a tongue lashing if nothing else, but he had done all he could do - safely. He had to understand that, didn't he?

"I understand Justin won the gold..." began the outraged man.

"Umm, yes, sir. I did exactly as you told me to. Perhaps, the kid didn't get enough in his system..." he stammered, easily hearing the ferocity in the voice set on berating him.

"It would have been enough if you had followed my instructions and given it to him on the day of the event as well. I pulled a lot of strings and had many questions left unanswered when I had his performance time moved up. He should have been still running to the bathroom and weak as a kitten at that time. What the hell happened?"

With a long-suffering sigh, the coach answered, "I don't know exactly, sir. I would say he realized straight away he was ill... and got the medicine to hold it at bay. He was taking over-the-counter medicine this morning. It was probably enough to get him through it. He wouldn't let me get him anything this morning."

"I'd say he had some help. With as ill as he should have been that night, he wouldn't have been able to get the medicine so quickly. But that's beside the point. Now, we must move on. That little faggot will NOT win the Olympics. You will see that he fails... or I swear there will be hell to pay," came the snarl directly into his ear.

"But sir... how am I to do that? I'm no longer his coach. Remember, you fired me?" he stumbled about in confusion.

Raising his voice, Craig Taylor uttered in quiet menace, "I remember only too well. It should have been over now, with his failure at the Nationals. It seems I need to rethink that. You will wait a few days, then you will go to my son to tell him there's been a change of plans. His father was so impressed by his incredible performance he is going to continue to underwrite the expenses. Then, when the time is right... his dream will be crushed, once and for all..."

TBC