"That wush fun, Daddy!" Gus lisped, the large gap between his front teeth causing the boy to slur some of his words as he skipped down the sidewalk beside Brian. 

If he'd had a free hand, Brian would've tousled Gus' hair, but with one hand clutched by his son and the other cradling a grass- and dirt-stained soccer ball, that wasn't possible.

Two of the boy's baby teeth had fallen out right before his seventh birthday, creating the gap. Gus didn't mind since the tooth fairy - several of them, in fact - had compensated him for the loss as part of his birthday celebrations. The most enthusiastically received gift, however, was the soccer ball from Brian, signed by the Atlanta gold-medal team.

Brian was still a little disconcerted that his Sonnyboy had wanted a soccer ball from the winning U.S. Women's Olympic Team of 1996, but as Gus had succinctly put it, "The men suck, Daddy."

He had to grin as he recalled the months-long campaign Gus had waged because he wanted to be Harry Potter for Halloween. In Brian's opinion, one of the other characters - like Severus Snape or a Dementor - would have been far more interesting than Harry, but understandably, the kid wanted to be Harry. For that reason, he ended up raking in quite a few costume-related gifts: a floppy, black wizard's hat with the Hogwarts' crest embroidered on it from the girls; a wand from his fairy godmother, aka Auntie Em; and a reversible wizardly cape - red on one side and black on the other - from Ted and Blake. The best of the themed gifts, from Justin, was a ten by eight foot painting of Harry in front of Hogwarts with some of his classmates - Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna, with Draco hovering beside Harry on his Quidditch broom.

After unwrapping the painting, Gus had shrieked in delight. He took his time examining all the details, ignoring his moms' admonishments about opening his other presents. The boy had only reluctantly put the picture down after extracting a promise from ‘his Jushun' that he would paint the scar on his forehead for Halloween - because, as Gus put it, he was the only one who could get it "zackly right."

Brian was recalled to the present by a strong tug on his hand. His son asked eagerly, "Would you gif me shome more poingers nex week?"

The way Gus uttered ‘pointers' - a word he'd mispronounced even before losing the baby teeth - made Brian grin again as he looked down at his son. The boy smiled broadly back at him, a dimple popping into view as he skipped down the sidewalk holding tightly onto his father's hand.

Brian's heart banged hard against his rib cage, and his smile wavered as he clasped Gus' small hand in his larger one. What the fuck had he ever done to deserve the love that Gus was radiating? For the first few years of the boy's life, he'd only wanted to be a drop-in dad - and barely that.

If there was some kind of benevolent divine power somewhere out there, Brian owed it a huge fucking thank you that he hadn't missed a whole lot more of his son's life. Given his less than stellar role models, it was surreal how much he enjoyed spending time with his son - more so that Brian wanted to devote time to Gus. He sure as heck couldn't remember Jack ever holding his hand, not even when they crossed a street at a busy intersection. Joan either, although she might have, further back than his memory stretched and before she buried herself in a bottle and the Bible. 

"You 'kay, Daddy?" Gus asked, slowing down and tugging on Brian's hand. He pointed at Brian's bruised and scraped right knee.

Brian flushed a little - he still couldn't believe he'd tripped when he went to kick the ball to his son, taking a tumble to the ground. 

"It doesn't really hurt," he told Gus, manfully ignoring the throbbing.

"Ice will help," Gus informed him. "I always feel bether when Mommy or Mama puts some on my brooshes."

"I'll ice it after I've cleaned my knee."

That satisfied his Sonnyboy, Gus increasing the speed of his skipping steps, towing Brian after him toward his house. 

Thank fuck the munchers were back in the home they'd lived in before their sojourn to the Great White North, Brian mused. Even though they'd all been crammed into a small, two-bedroom apartment for close to a year, the girls constantly sniping at each other, they refused Brian's offer to relocate them to better, more spacious accommodations. Well, Melanie had refused, not wanting her pride to take another knock after failing to make a go of it in Canada. Despite their straitened financial situation, Lindsay hadn't been able to convince her to give in. Not until their old house became available anyway. Even then, Mel had only conceded after drawing up a contract with terms for repayment - terms that Brian didn't give a fuck about. 

As long as Gus was back here in Pittsburgh, he didn't mind opening the Bank of Brian and subsidizing the girls until they could get back on their feet. Fortunately, Melanie was able to rejoin her old firm a few months after they moved back into their original home - albeit without a partnership since she could no longer contribute enough for that - which had somewhat eased the tension between the two lesbians.

"C'mon, Daddy," Gus urged, bringing Brian's attention back to him. He gave his father's hand another tug as he turned under the trellis and pushed open the gate to the front yard. "Gonna make you all bether." 

As they approached the front door, Brian eyed the carved pumpkins that were crowded together on the stoop. Some of the gourds were more expertly sculpted than others, but the lopsided ones just made him think that the carving must have involved a lot of fun.

A twinge of regret hit him as he looked at a three-toothed jack-o'-lantern with one small, triangular eye and one large, rectangular eye, both in the middle of the pumpkin's forehead. Brian had never carved a pumpkin. Michael had tried to convince him to do the carving with him, back when they were fourteen, but Brian didn't want to look like an inept fool and declined. He'd scoffed that it was childish and hurt his best friend's - his only real friend's - tender feelings and earned himself a lecture from his surrogate mom. Debbie still directed dark looks at him every year come All Hallows' because Mikey had stubbornly refused to carve another pumpkin after that. Brian had felt guilty for ruining his friend's fun, but he was also a little ticked off that Mikey wouldn't think for himself, instead letting Brian influence his decisions.

Gus interrupted his morose thoughts. "Do you like the jackal lannerns, Daddy? Me 'n Mommy 'n Mama cut faces for them. JR helped too," he added, "but moshly, she puts her mouf all over them - like she does with her toof ring."

Brian chuckled at the image of JR gumming at the pumpkins like they were teething rings. Studying the carved gourds once more, he laughed again at the elaborate cut-out of a witch on a broom. Mel must've modeled for that one. When he was done looking at all of them, he pointed at the one with the three teeth and the differently shaped eyes. "That one's not bad."

Recognizing the ‘not bad' for the praise it was, Gus beamed at him so brightly that it rivaled one of Sunshine's trademark grins. "Thash mine! I did the stenshell and cut it myself."

"Not bad," Brian repeated, thinking it was a pretty impressive effort for a seven-year-old. He rapped his knuckles against the door a couple times before turning the handle and easing it open. When he'd picked Gus up earlier, Lindsay indicated she might not be home when he got back but that Melanie should be here. He'd tried to time it so his blonde friend would've returned from her errands, but a loud, escalating wail, with only one voice responding - the wrong fucking one - let him know he was out of luck.

Shit. He was gonna have to beard the bulldyke in her den.

He was still gearing himself up to step over the threshold, when Gus took charge, asserting, "I'll get shome ice for you, Daddy." Evidently unbothered by his sister's squalling, Gus pulled on Brian's hand, leading the way to the kitchen.

If he didn't have Gus with him - and if the piercing screams emitted by the she-devil's spawn weren't drilling into his brain - Brian might've chortled out loud at the sight that greeted him. The kitchen was a disaster zone, with food-encrusted pots, pans, plates, and cutlery everywhere. Yellowish, unidentifiable blobs - something eggy? - decorated the counter, cupboards, and kitchen table.

Melanie wasn't in any better shape. The brunette looked utterly frazzled, bouncing a fretful, red-faced JR in her arms. Her hair was in disarray, tufts sticking up in all directions; more of the yellow stuff was smeared across one cheek; and her ratty sweater top was unbuttoned way too low. As Brian watched, JR grabbed hold of one of the remaining two buttons and yanked, sending the button pinging wildly across the floor and exposing even more skin.

Christ. Brian realized the toddler must be teething again - she never seemed to stop - and Melanie was obviously at her wits' end.

"Mama?" Gus said uncertainly, a wail from JR almost drowning out his voice.

Mel jumped and JR let out another ear-splitting screech.

Brian dug his teeth into his lower lip in an effort not to laugh. Fuck, but it was tempting to launch into a caustic lecture on proper parenting, like the bitchy dyke used to give him in regard to Gus - whenever she and Linds had something urgent to do and didn't have anyone else to look after the baby.

"Fuck!" Mel exclaimed. "You almost gave me a-"

Gus earnestly interjected, "Swear jar, Mama." 

"Shit," came the grunted response.

"Ten!" Gus' blue eyes rounded in excitement. "Ten dollars, Mama."

"Fu- udge," Melanie ground out, correcting herself mid-word. "Go get my purse," she directed her son, speaking over JR's crying.

This time Brian couldn't help it, a loud laugh bursting out of him.

Mel commented sourly, "Like you'd say anything different if I snuck up on you. "Just so you know" - her grimace morphed into a smirk - "the no-cursing rule applies to you too, Kinney, whenever you're in this house. Each curse word'll set you back five dollars."

"Sh... oot," Brian purposely drew out the word, barking out another laugh at the bulldyke's disappointed look. He'd have to be careful, though, or his wallet might be empty before he could escape Maison de Munch. 

He was planning to ask where Linds was when Gus returned, toting a large handbag that was stuffed full, what looked like a couple of legal folders sticking out of the top. 

"Here." Melanie plopped the howling devil-spawn into his unprepared arms.

"What the fuck?"

"Five dollars, Daddy."

"Je-" Brian bit his lip, barely stopping himself from spitting out the entire ‘Jesus fucking Christ.'

Gus' mouth hung open as he waited to see if anything else would emerge, sighing when it didn't.

Brian scowled at Melanie as he attempted to remove JR's grubby fists - they were coated in the yellowish gunk - from his T-shirt. The little brat just clung on tighter. Where was Michael when he needed him? Brian wondered. Since he couldn't easily get to his cell to call for Mikey to get his ass over here, he instead asked the bulldyke, "What's the deal with the swear jar?" It was definitely a lezzie notion, one that his son appeared to be unfortunately attached to.

Gus piped up, lisping strongly, "It's the vakey fun, Daddy."

"The what?"

Melanie, who was digging through her handbag, piling things on the kitchen table as she went, replied, "He means the ‘vacation fund.'"

He watched as what might be either a sewing or manicure kit - both were practical, although he doubted the lawyer knew how to sew - joined the file folders. Of the two girls, he'd only ever seen Lindsay use the sewing machine or wield a needle. A manicure kit then, he decided. Next came a packet of wet wipes and then a lacy, red brassiere. The dyke kept a bra in her purse? Rather than look at women's lingerie - definitely not his thing - Brian gazed down at the toddler in his arms.

Momentarily ceasing her crying, JR gave him a gummy smile and then promptly spit up more of the gunk on his neck and T-shirt. "Hurry... up," he growled at the attorney, omitting ‘the fuck' at the last moment.

"Your choice. Either dig through my handbag or hold JR," came Mel's curt response.

It was a close call, but Brian determined that it was better to hold JR than take the chance that another bra or - God forbid - panties might pop out at him. "Where's her teething ring?" he asked, becoming desperate to stop the child's cries. 

"Who the fu- uh, fudge knows? JR won't need them anymore, once the last of her baby teeth finally come in, which should be any day now. She's a bit of a late bloomer, unfortunately." Mel sighed wearily. "Anyway, I've been trying to wean her off of using the teething rings, but sometimes that's the only thing that helps. Michael keeps finding all these cutesy pink ones with frilly cutouts meant to imitate lace. They have Electra Woman - whoever that is - Batgirl, and Princess Leia on them." Her lip curling, she added, "As if a dippy pink teething ring would make a badass female feel better."

Brian grunted in agreement. Sometimes Mikey had the weirdest fucking taste.

"Aha!" Mel triumphantly held aloft a Michael Kors wallet before opening it and digging through the billfold section.

He had to give the bulldyke credit for good taste - as far as brands, if not color - Brian thought. He was about to snark that the Kors wallet must've set her back a pretty penny when he noticed it was rather worn around the edges and clamped his mouth shut. Uncomfortably reminded of the months immediately post-Stockwell, he felt an unexpected stab of sympathy for Mel. Heck, he'd almost been reduced to visiting the second-hand shops, so he wasn't going to make fun of Melanie if that had happened to her. It could be a wallet that the bulldog lawyer had been using for years, Brian supposed, but he doubted it. Mel was normally as fashion conscious as he was. Besides, that putrid shade of green was not her color - it made her skin look sallow, for fuck's sake.

"Go put this in the vacay jar," Mel instructed, handing two fives to her son.

"Nuh-uh." Gus shook his head. "Fifteen."

"What do you mean, fifteen?" Melanie narrowed her eyes at the boy.

"You said the word for-" Gus pointed at his behind by way of an explanation.

Mel opened her mouth, doubtless to explain that ‘badass' wasn't a ‘bad' word. Like Brian, however, she probably envisioned her newly minted seven-year-old running around screaming, ‘I'm a badass,' at the top of his lungs for the entire neighborhood to hear. While Brian would have enjoyed that, it must've deterred Mel, since all that emerged was, "Guh," rather like one of the sounds Gus used to produce as a baby. She flicked through her fugly wallet some more before admitting in defeat, "I'm plumb out of cash, sweetie."

Gus turned expectant blue eyes on his dad. Christ, Brian thought. He was so fucking whipped. All either of his sonnyboys had to do was look at him like that, and he caved - maybe not right away, but the outcome was inevitable. In this case, though, he was grateful for an excuse to get rid of the bawling and spitting-up demon in his arms.

"I've got this," he magnanimously declared, taking a couple of long strides over to Melanie and depositing JR in her mother's arms. He then quickly stepped back so that the bulldyke couldn't palm the toddler off on him again. Gross, he mused, noting the booger on her philtrum. He wouldn't have remembered the name for that part of the face, except that it started with a man's name. He'd long ago determined to never fuck a Phil since he didn't want to get snotted on.

As he thought that, he watched fresh mucous dribble out of JR's nose, down the trough of the philtrum, and onto her lips. Jesus. The brat was a total snotball. 

And so was he, Brian realized, his nose twitching in disgust as he glanced down at his stained T-shirt, on which spit-up, tears, and snot now mingled. If he had an audience other than Mel, he'd whip off his shirt and throw it in the trash. The hard-boiled lesbian, however, unlike her wife, had no real appreciation for the male form. Even so, he might've torn off the rancid tee, but Gus' presence restrained him. He didn't want the boy asking about the fading bite marks that littered his collarbones and neck - his blond playmate having ignored his injunction not to bite where it would show.

To hide the marks, he'd ended up in a long-sleeved, high-necked tee that reminded him of something Honeycutt might wear. In fact, given the garish shade of orange, he suspected the shirt might actually belong to the flamboyant queen. The only saving grace was that the T-shirt didn't look bad against his tan. He still had no idea, though, how the garment had ended up in his closet - which was a fashionista's wet dream. That discounted the section relegated to the twat's ‘eclectic' wardrobe. Not Justin's good stuff, though. Brian carefully stashed the blond's suits and other high-end pieces behind his own Armani; he'd learned that was the only way to keep his lover's clothing from acquiring paint stains.

This morning, as he'd searched through closets and dressers for something to wear while playing soccer, he was totally discombobulated to discover the shirt he ended up wearing. His first thought was that Justin hadn't paid attention when he stuck one of his ‘rags' in the closet, not realizing that he was infringing on Brian's space. His second thought was that Justin had done it intentionally because he wanted to be ‘punished.' That had Brian smiling and planning said punishment until he took a closer look at the shirt. Then an inarticulate growl had been ripped out of him. No way did this T-shirt belong to Justin. The arms were too long - in fact, it was too big all over - and the color was wrong. The boy's fashion sense might sometimes be lacking, but he never wore hues that didn't suit him. That meant his young lover had for some reason borrowed one of Emmett's shirts. It didn't matter that Brian knew nothing was going on between them; the swishy queen still got under his skin. He was just too damned touchy-feely with his ‘Baby.'

"Daddy!" Gus impatiently yanked on the bottom of his tee, adding a slightly grubby handprint to the other discolorations.

An idea struck Brian as he fished his wallet out of his shorts, making him smirk. He'd deliver the T-shirt to Emmett in its current state, which was bound to give the southerner the vapors. 

Other than a couple of singles, he only had a fifty in his wallet. Without thinking twice about it, he extracted the banknote and handed it to his son. "Your mom's got a cursing credit. That covers the next several slips of her tongue, okay?"

Gus frowned in puzzlement.

Brian clarified, "The next seven times she curses don't count. Got it?"

The boy pouted for a moment, making both Brian and Mel laugh. Then, a good-natured smile replacing the pout, Gus skipped over to a cheaply made pottery jar, which had been painted with a scene of two children building a sandcastle, a whale blowing a plume of water, and a sandy beach strewn with seashells.

"Cripes," Mel chuckled. "He really does take after you."

Brian shrugged and then bestowed a boyish grin on the dyke, unknowingly displaying a smile identical to the one his son sported. "Double or nothing," he joked, eliciting another chuckle.

Right then, JR started bawling even louder, and Brian backpedaled out of the kitchen into the dining area, thinking Mel might fob the kid off on him again. Thank fuck Gus had never been a little terror, unlike Mikey and the she-devil's get. "No Linds?" he questioned a little desperately, eyeing askance the unhappy tot.

"She's off to see Sidney," Melanie replied, a trace of bitterness leaching into her tone as she followed him. "There's some big do at the Bloom Gallery. Linds figures if she shows up dressed to the nines and wows a couple of the patrons that Sidney will finally hire her back."

"The teaching job didn't pan out?" Brian was surprised, certain that his blonde friend would be a shoe-in to teach a couple of basic art courses in the Allegheny Community College campus system. After teaching art to high schoolers for years and then working at the Bloom Gallery, Lindsay had strong recommendations. It was true that she lacked a master's degree, but she had a shitload of practical experience, which usually made all the difference, at least for adjunct faculty hires.

Mel sighed heavily, jiggling JR in an attempt to pacify her daughter and so she could be heard over the child's wails. "Yeah, she got an offer. One of the classes was even over on the North Shore, so she wouldn't have had to travel far for that one. The other was a bit of a hike, though; she'd need to take the bus out to Monroeville twice a week." Another sigh. "If I knew for sure when I'd be needed in court for this big case we're working on, I'd give her the car and take the PAT, but..." 

How the girls made do with one car, Brian wasn't sure. Not, he supposed, that it was all that different from him and Justin, albeit without two kids to ferry around. The twat still insisted on taking the bus most of the time instead of getting a car. Justin had refused all of Brian's offers to buy one for him, despite the adman lowering his standards enough to suggest a fucking used vehicle. The up-and-coming artist could've bought a decent car, twice over, if he hadn't first insisted on paying Brian back for his PIFA tuition. It didn't matter how many times Brian insisted that there was no fucking rush - he knew better than to say Justin didn't need to pay him back at all - the lad still plowed ahead with using his earnings to pare down his debt. Brian was left without a strong counterargument about using the money to further his education because Justin didn't have to pay for the one or two courses he was taking each semester as he worked to finish his degree. PIFA's administration were practically falling all over themselves in an effort to bring the budding Picasso back into the fold and claim him as a student now that he was making a name for himself. They'd given him degree credit for ‘work experience,' waiving otherwise required courses. The art institute also canceled the tuition fees for his remaining classes as long as he was willing to give the occasional guest lecture.

Before Brian could start dwelling - again - on a way to get the stubborn little shit to see sense, Melanie shrugged, going on, "The thing with the bus just gave Linds, uh, I mean us a good reason to turn down the job. It's way beneath her skills."

Brian raised a mental eyebrow at that. The high school teaching job had also been deemed beneath the blonde's skill level, all because Linds would have had to teach an English class as well as a few art classes. Although Pittsburgh was an art center, there still weren't many schools that could support a full-time art faculty, even if it was just one instructor. That job would've made a huge difference to the lesbians' finances, especially since it came with a regular salary and benefits. The community college job, on the other hand, might've had a higher hourly salary, but it was just two classes, with no guarantee of continued employment and no benefits. She'd also had a good shot at a museum job - at the Carnegie Museum of Art! - but Lindsay stuck her nose up at that as well, since she'd be stuck in an office for at least a year before working her way up to leading tours.

"I just want her to find a job that makes her happy, you know?" Melanie commented wistfully. "Linds deserves that." 

Brian had to give Mel credit for supporting her wife in her pursuit of a gallery job, at the Bloom Gallery or elsewhere, especially when it made it more difficult to accumulate the funds to buy back into her law firm as a partner. He totally got the rush that came from making a sale - there was nothing else like it - but two years in, and Lindsay still wasn't working steadily. She was tutoring a few kids, but that wasn't for more than four or five hours a week and the pay was peanuts. Linds did make the rounds of all the galleries weekly, also attending every possible event, but none of that had yet resulted in a job. If his friend and Mel had just come to their senses and returned from Toronto a month earlier than they did, Sidney would've welcomed Lindsay with open arms. In that month, however, the new person Sid had hired proved their chops, netting two new clients with deep pockets and selling four pieces of art. Brian was still stunned that it had been Emmett who'd recommended the former Torso employee cum belly dancer cum waiter to Sidney. Up till then, he would've sworn the flamboyant southerner knew nada about art - except for whatever knowledge of manga had rubbed off from once sharing an apartment with Michael - but it turned out that Honeycutt had an appreciation for more than just a hunky male body. He'd attested to his former colleague's expertise in modern art, and Bloom accepted his recommendation, hiring the guy after a short interview.

It didn't take much of a guess on Brian's part to realize that Melanie felt guilty for turning tail and hauling off to Canuck Land, instead of standing up for herself, her family, and her community, like she'd once regularly ranted about doing. He'd enjoyed seeing the bitchy brunette get taken down a peg or two, eating crow and struggling to get back on her feet financially. Now, though, he felt the stirrings of pity. He'd never be so dumb as to say that out loud - knowing Mel, she'd twist his balls off - but it couldn't be much fun to frequently be left alone to contend with a restive, cranky two-and-a-half-year-old in addition to Gus.

"God," Melanie muttered, bouncing her bawling daughter some more. "She used to be such an angel."

Brian scoffed to himself at that blatant lie. Fat chance that Melanie and Mikey's spawn would ever be an angel - not unless whining suddenly counted as an angelic attribute. Feeling another unaccustomed twinge of pity for the frazzled brunette, he queried, "Didn't you say something about a Halloween sleepover for the kids?"

"Yeah." Melanie's countenance brightened a little as she revealed, "They're going trick-or-treating with Marie and Dusty's kids-"

"Timmy!" An exuberant Gus ran back over to his mom. "Can Timmy come over for dinner?"

"Not tonight, hon." Melanie ran a hand through her son's hair, probably in an attempt to get his cowlick to lie flat. 

Brian grinned, knowing how futile that was. His own cowlick was just as stubbornly recalcitrant.

"Marie and Corinne took the kids over to their grandparents'."

"Carrie?" 

"Corinne," Mel corrected him.

Brian thought the name sounded vaguely familiar, although he couldn't remember where he might have heard it. Probably one of the girls' butch friends that he preferred not to encounter up close and personal.

"She's the reason Linds isn't too keen about the Halloween sleepover."

Brian gave the bulldyke a blank look. Why would Lindsay care about Karen or Colleen or whatsit?

"That's the woman I was dat- uh, friends with," Mel quickly amended when Gus looked at her curiously. "She, uh, helped out after your sister was born, sweetie."

Gus shrugged, no longer interested, and took a sketch pad from a stack to one side of the dining table.

Brian barked out a laugh. ‘Helped out.' Right. More like Cindy infringed on Lindsay's turf, even if she and Melanie had been split up at the time, pretending to amicably share a house.

"It kinda weirds me out," Mel admitted, helplessly shrugging one shoulder. "I mean, it's not like she's still interested in" - she glanced over at Gus, who was leafing through the sketchbook, and perceptibly altered what she'd been about to say - "uh, helping me. She's totally into helping Marie now. It's just-" She made a vague gesture with one hand.

Brian decided to interpret the gesture as meaning ‘awkward.' If it had anything to do with LBD and how to fix it, Brian was not the man to help out. Rather than dwell on such a frightening topic, Brian suggested, "Since you're gonna be without kids, how about getting your freak on at Babylon's Halloween show?"

"Getting our freak on?" One finely shaped eyebrow rose until it was in the middle of Melanie's forehead.

"Adult trick or treating. Munching... or whatever." Brian grimaced, not entirely able to repress a shudder at the thought of what the girls might do.

"Damn, Kin-"

"Five dollars!" Gus interrupted her with a happy shout.

That was immediately replaced with a crestfallen look when Brian reminded his son, "Your mom's still got a credit. Six more freebies." Not that Brian thought of ‘damn' as a curse word. Talk about fucking ridiculous.

"We can't," Mel informed Brian shortly. "The tickets are all sold out, except for a handful that a couple of scalping queens are selling for a buck fifty a pop."

Brian barely kept a straight face. Those queens were working for him, driving up interest in the event - another fuckin' genius suggestion from his blond. Even at a hundred and fifty dollars, the attendees were getting a bargain as far as he was concerned.

"I set aside tickets for friends and family. That includes two for you and Linds."

Obviously nonplussed, the bulldyke retorted, "Huh?"

Not about to say that over the years, Mel had somehow come to belong to both categories - family and friends - Brian rolled his eyes, feigning indifference. "You want them or not?" 

Mel adopted an equally blasé attitude, although a growing smile spoiled her attempt at nonchalance. "Yeah, okay. I wouldn't want the tickets to go to waste."

Abandoning his sketchbook, Gus trotted back over to Brian. "Daddy, when will my Jushun be back?"

Brian was secretly pleased that Gus persisted in calling Justin ‘Jushun,' even though he'd long been able to pronounce the ‘T'. Normally, anyway, as long as he had his teeth. "On Halloween," he replied.

"Jushun'll see me in my coshume?" the boy begged.

"You betcha," Brian assured him. "But you'll have to share, Sonnyboy. He's my Jushun too." It was doubtless bad form to be jealous of the time his two boys would be spending together, but fuck, phone sex and sexting only went so far. He missed Justin. The occasional anonymous suck-off or foray into some stranger's ass no longer provided much excitement, the tricks proving to be meager substitutes for his warm, horny blond.

"Daddy, I forgot 'bout your broosh," Gus apologized, reaching out to touch his dad's knee.

Shit. His knee really did hurt, Brian realized, wincing. 

"I've got some Bactine," Melanie offered, gazing around at the disaster behind her. "It's in the bathroom... I think."

Hoping the sheen of tears in his eyes wasn't apparent, Brian countered, "It's nothing. Just a scratch. I'll clean it and put something on it when I get back to the loft. Speaking of, I should get going." He edged around the table and toward the front door.

Melanie kept pace with him, teasing, "You're such a tough guy, Kinney."

She sounded both amused and approving, which Brian was more than happy to settle for. He'd been handed the caustic side of the bulldyke's tongue more than a few times and wasn't in the mood for another dose, thank you very much.

"Do you hafta go, Daddy?" Gus asked, latching onto Brian's left hand.

"Why don't you work on the drawing you're making for your Jushun?" Melanie suggested, distracting Gus from what appeared to be an incipient tantrum.

Thank fuck, Brian silently thanked the bulldyke. One wailing kid in his vicinity was more than enough, even if the toddler's upset was finally tapering off into hiccupping cries.

Gus protested, "But I need Mommy's help for that."

"Not to choose the colors, though, right?"

"Oh, right!" The boy promptly cheered up. "You're bether with the colors than Mommy." He abandoned the two adults, beelining back over to the table.

Melanie laughed. "I can hardly draw a stick figure, but I apparently have a better understanding of color than Linds does. As far as a seven-year-old boy is concerned, anyway."

That made sense to Brian. Gus liked bold, vivid hues, where Lindsay often went for more muted ones. "I'll leave you to it then." He jerked the door open, and ducked through it, intending to get out while he could.

"I was wrong," Mel suddenly blurted, placing a hand on his arm. "You were right."

"I usually am," Brian agreed, arching a questioning eyebrow at the bulldyke. He couldn't imagine what she was apologizing for; they hadn't even had a decent spat lately.

A constipated expression on her face, Melanie reiterated, "You were right. Justin didn't need to go to New York. It would have been a stupid, pointless sacrifice - from both of you - if he'd left. I'm glad you two had the sense not to listen to us."

Forcing himself to keep still - shifting from one foot to the other was bound to betray his uneasiness to the sharp-eyed legal eagle - Brian just rolled his eyes. Best that Melanie continued to think it was no big deal and that Justin staying in the Pitts had been a mutual decision.

JR chose that moment to let out a piercing, "Wah!" which fortunately removed Melanie's attention from him. 

Brian sure as fuck didn't want anyone finding out that twat had been in town for a full month before he discovered Justin was still there - that he'd never left. Because he'd been keeping a low profile - painting up a fucking storm the whole time - the little shit didn't even show up for the reopening of Babylon.

After he'd found out Justin was still in the Pitts, the blond had refused to be swayed by Brian's profanity-laced tirade about not ever having a chance like this again. When he'd finally wound down, Justin, with a smug smile on his face, informed him that he was going to be in three shows in the coming months - one in Harrisburg, another in Allentown, and a third in Youngstown, Ohio. All shared shows, but it was still an excellent start for a young artist. The agent he'd found - by way of Adrienne Bennett - was excited about representing him and had a plan mapped out that would see him raking in the dough within the next decade. Not that Justin really cared about that - he just wanted his art to speak to people, to tug on their emotions. 

After Brian had finally conceded that Justin was right - that he could make a go of it from Pittsburgh - they'd indulged in a forty-eight hour reunion fuckfest that left Brian with a dick so worn out he was half convinced it was gonna fall off. On top of that, he'd had to stand during meetings and presentations for the first half of the work week. The speculative looks from both Theodore and Cynthia had him threatening to fire them at least twice a day.

"Wah! Wah!" JR ratcheted up the noise, flailing her arms and legs so hard that the bulldyke almost lost her grip on her ‘angel' of a daughter.

"I've gotta find one of those darned ‘superhero' teething rings," Melanie said in lieu of a proper farewell, abruptly closing the door in Brian's face. A moment later, the door opened again. "Nice hickey," the dyke snarked before closing the door a final time.

"What's a hickey?" Brian heard Gus ask his mother through the closed door.

Chuckling about the hickey - at least no one at work had seen it - Brian sauntered toward his Vette. Who would've thought it would be Melanie who issued that kind of apology, albeit in her own unique way? Up till now, he'd been convinced that the whole thing was water under the bridge, that neither Lindsay's nor Melanie's opinion had affected him. The issuing of an apology, however, unknotted something inside him, weirdly making him feel better. 

Whatever. He shrugged the whole thing off as he unlocked his car, thanking the powers that be that he wasn't a muncher. He had everything just how he wanted it - both of his sonnyboys and no absurd, lesbianic, emotional entanglements.