Brian closed his eyes, willing the headache away. The pain intensified, and he reached to push the button that summoned the nurse.

"Yes, may I help you?" came the anonymous voice over the intercom.

"I've got a headache. Can I have some Tylenol?" Brian asked. Tylenol. I remember that first night Justin came home with me and he said he was allergic to Tylenol. I told him no one was allergic to Tylenol; then he changed his mind and said it was codeine. I swear, the kid was a fucking public service announcement that night. Telling me we needed to use a condom; telling me not to take drugs from strangers. Jeez, why didn't I kick him out that night? It went against every thing I believed in. No repeats, no virgins, and no twinks. Yet, six, almost seven fucking years later, and he's still here. I even asked the man to marry me? Christ, was I that delusional? Had I had too many hits of E that day? No Kinney, you were stone cold sober when you asked him to marry you, and you were dead serious about it, too. You didn't want to lose him, and were very relieved that he wasn't hurt in the explosion. How the fuck did that happen?

The nurse's tinny voice over the small speaker interrupted his trip down memory lane. "Let me check your chart, but I'm fairly certain you can have Tylenol."

A nurse came into his room a few minutes later. "Mr. Kinney, here you are," she said as she handed him two tablets. "You still can't have anything stronger, as your kidneys are still weak; also, you shouldn't take too many Tylenol or ibuprofen in a 24 hour period. They can damage your kidneys. Your liver, too."

"Whatever," Brian sighed as he listened to the mini lecture. "Can you get me a glass of water to take them with? It's a pain to walk with this stupid cane."

The nurse poured some water from the bedside table in a glass, handing it to Brian. "Lunch will be here shortly. Why don't I turn out the lights and you can rest until the dietary aide comes with your food? I'll make sure she doesn't skip your room."

Brian groaned from the pain in his head, which the nurse took as an affirmative. She turned out the light as she left the room.

______________________________________

"So Brian, you going to admit there is a problem?" Vic said as he grabbed a chair.

"You here again? You know, you're getting to be really annoying."

"I was always annoying, but I was always honest. I didn't sugar coat things, and I didn't let you get away with anything, either."

"You're telling me I have a problem, too? Is this pick on Brian week, or what?"

"You know the answer to that. You missed Justin, and used drugs and alcohol to hide your pain. You've just been using drugs and alcohol as your method of coping with life for so long that you've forgotten about the alternatives."

"What the fuck are you saying, Vic? Speak in English, not fucking metaphors," Brian instructed.

"You were beaten by your alcoholic father as a child. Your mother is an alcoholic who drinks all day to cover her sorrow and loneliness." Vic began his explanation.

"Look, I was there. I don't need you to tell me what I already know," Brian admonished. But Vic continued.

"As soon as you were able, you left home and drank and drugged your way through life to forget the rotten time you had growing up."

"And, so... your point being?"

"You should think about what the counselor said, Brian."

"I'm not a fucking addict. I don't need treatment!"

"Not that dumb woman, the other guy, Charles. Maybe you were using drugs and alcohol to fill the void Justin left when he went to New York. You're so used to using alcohol and drugs to escape your childhood traumas that you started using them to escape from your adult hurts, too. Think about it, Brian. You admitted that your use has increased over the last six months. You and Justin ‘broke up' about the same time."

Brian listened quietly. "Okay, so let's say, for the sake of argument, that you are right. I was using drugs and alcohol to cope with my loss. I'm still not giving them up."

"No one said you had to give them up. I'm just saying that you need to be honest why you're using them. It's one thing to use when you go to Babylon, or to relax a little after a hard day. It's another to use all the time, in order to escape from your pain. Tell me, Brian, is your escape worth the price of admission to the hospital and a big-ass scar that goes down your entire leg?"

Brian looked at Vic, his honesty and caring coming through in his relaxed pose and soft voice. Brian always trusted Vic. His reply was barely a whisper. "No."

"Good. So what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Drinking and drugging aren't the answer to Justin's leaving."

"I didn't say they were," Brian defended.

"You have to find a new way to cope with your feelings."

"Fuck you, Vic!" Brian responded. "I am not talking about me feelings. That is for lesbians!"

"Haven't you heard a word I said?" Vic admonished.

"Yeah, I heard. What about it?"

"Your method of pain management didn't work. It landed you in the hospital and you almost died. You were managing pain that you brought on yourself because you refuse to admit that Justin is important to you, in more ways than one. Tell him you want him in your life! Figure out some way to keep the world's best bubble butt in your bed! It isn't rocket science, Brian. You are the CEO of a major advertising agency, and you're well respected among your peers. It's your friends that don't know you. No one but Justin knows you that well. He's on to you, has been since the beginning and you don't like it one bit."

"He needs to be in New York, not in Pittsburgh. He's young and has his whole life to live. I can't do that to him," Brian weakly explained.

Vic sighed.

"How old is Gus?"

"What's he got to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question," Vic admonished.

"He's seven."

"Does he go to school?

"Sure."

"If he said he hated school and wasn't going anymore, would you let him stay home?"

"No, he's a kid. He needs to be in school."

"If he asked to come to your loft unexpectedly, would you let him come?"

"Sure. Unless I had something I couldn't rearrange, like a client meeting. I can go to the Babylon or Woody's anytime. Besides, Melanie thinks she's depriving me of sex whenever Gus visits, so she is always eager to have him come and stay. She doesn't realize I love having him there, that I would have him more often if I could."

"How old is Justin?"

"25"

"When Justin dropped out of PIFA, could you make him go back?"

"No."

"Did you think he should have done that?"

"No. He should've finished his education. He still should."

"Why?"

"Because you should finish what you start. It shows character."

"But Justin didn't go back. He didn't feel he needed it."

"Yeah."

"Does Justin live on his own?"

"He has a roommate of sorts."

"Does he pay his own bills?"

"Well, I don't help him. I guess he does."

"Did you call him when you were brought to the hospital?"

"I was fucking unconscious! No, I didn't call him. He came on his own," Brian said, exasperated.

"So help me out here... Gus is not old enough to decide to drop out of school, and you would make him attend even if he said he didn't want to go. If Gus said he wanted to come to your home and spend time with you, you would let him unless you had some business obligation. But you don't give Justin the same choices. Justin, who is three times Gus' age, by the way. You feel he should return to school, even though he has said he doesn't want to. He lives on his own, pays his own bills, and, by all appearances, makes his own decisions. Why don't you think he can make this decision?"

Brian put his forefinger up to his tooth and flicked the tooth, then dropped it back to his lap. "He'll be giving up too much. This is his dream."

"Don't you think you should let Justin decide what he wants to give up, and what his dream is?"

"Maybe."

"That's a start. You should talk to him."

"Why would I do that?"

"Brian Kinney. If I weren't dead, I would smack you upside your head and knock some sense into you. Justin is a grown man. He loves you. You love him. Figure this out before it's too late! Stop hurting him and yourself! Some people are lucky enough to find love. Don't let it get in your way because you think you know better." Vic stood up from his imaginary chair and walked toward the door. "I hear the dietary aide walking this way. Time for lunch. He'll be back in three days, Brian. You've got that long before you have to face the music." Vic walked out the door...

...And the aide walked in, bringing Brian back from his strange hallucination.

"Lunch," she said as she placed the tray on the bed cart.

"You can turn on the light. I'm not sleeping. It appears the sick and the dead share the same fate. No rest for the wicked."

The aide looked at Brian with a frown, but said, "I'll be back in a while to pick up the tray."

Brian picked up the top of the hot plate and looked at the meatloaf. It was slightly green in tint, and was covered in deep red ketchup. A scoop of white mashed potatoes was on the side, and a small cup of fruit was placed on the plate as well. Brian picked up his fork, stabbed the meatloaf, and tentatively brought it to his mouth. He tasted it, finding it tasted like ketchup, and took a few bites. He scooped some mashed potatoes on his fork, but spit them out when he discovered that they tasted like paste. He ate some of the fruit and then pushed the tray away again. It was silent in the room, no television or radio blaring, and few noises coming from the hallway.

Brian pushed himself up on his cane and hobbled to the bathroom, where he took care of things. Looking in the mirror, he saw the pale and sallow skin of his face.

"Damn, I'm scary. It's a wonder that anyone stays to visit. I don't even think I'd visit me. Although Sonny Boy wasn't fazed and I thought kids get scared easily. Hmmm...better get out of the john or they'll think I've fallen in.

Shit. Fallen. That word will never have the same connotation again. Brian Kinney does not fall. Ahh, but I did; I fell hard and far.

"Brian! Brian are you okay," Jose yelled when he walked into the room.

"I'm fine, just give me a minute. I'm not as fast as you," Brian yelled back.

Brian walked out of the bathroom, and over to the chair where he had been sitting. Jose watched him, therapist evaluating his patient.

"Good job. You're pretty steady using your cane. Get in the wheelchair, and I'll wheel you down for therapy. Don't want you to get tired before we do any real work."

"I'll have you know I've been working all morning, and it was hard," Brian countered.

"We're talking physical therapy, but I know you know that. Where's Justin? He hasn't missed a session yet, and I know you enjoy his rubdowns more than you enjoy mine," Jose asked as he wheeled Brian into the therapy room.

"Justin's in New York. His show is this weekend," Brian explained without expression.

"Oh. You must be really proud of him. An art show in New York is pretty impressive. Has he had many shows?"

"He's where he needs to be, making a name for himself," Brian muttered.

Jose looked at Brian with a puzzled expression, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, but didn't ask anymore questions. "I want to see you stand and walk over to the table."

Brian did as instructed without any difficulty, albeit a little slower than normal speed.

"Great, Brian! You're doing great. Now...it's time to try stairs. How many stairs are in your home?"

Brian visualized that loft. "Just three, leading up to the bedroom. It's a loft, with wide open spaces. Really, just one big living space."

"Great. Any stairs to get into the building?"

Brian grimaced. "Shit. Yeah, there's a whole flight of those. Six or seven steps, but then you can either take the stairs up to the loft or the elevator."

"Okay, that isn't too bad. Is there a ramp at the entry, in case you're tired or fatigued?"

"I don't fucking know. I never paid attention."

"It's okay. We've still got a few days to work on your stamina, and I'm sure you'll be fine. Most buildings have ramps anyway; its code these days."

"Shit. Let's get started. I want to go home. Get away from therapists and social workers," Brian threw out.

"Therapists and social workers? What do they want?"

Brian sat down in the wheelchair, as he was getting tired of standing, and Jose had not made a move to continue his therapy. "Seems some bitch in the CD department thinks I belong in a treatment program." Brian explained and then stopped before he went further. "Why the fuck am I explaining this shit to Jose or to anyone? They are all full of themselves and their righteous treatments. They don't really give a fuck about me, just want to fill another hospital bed and make more money.

"Oh, yeah, I can see why you'd want to get away from that. Well let's continue your therapy. We started really early today and with all the walking you've done, you'll probably be very tired." Jose wheeled Brian over to the short rise of therapy stairs. There were three stairs up to a small platform, then three stairs down. "I want you to use your cane to help support your weaker leg. Hold on to the rail at all times," Jose instructed.

"I'm not five. I get the whole cane thing," Brian quipped. He stood up and walked the few steps to the stairs. He placed his foot on the first step and walked up the step as he was instructed. He slowly climbed the other stairs and stopped when he came to the small landing. He felt sweat droplets drip down his forehead and down his back. "Damn! You didn't tell me that you were going to torture me today."

"You're doing great. Your body is still recovering, and it's been sitting for the last several weeks. It's weak; you have to build up your strength." Jose explained. "Ready to go down?" He asked.

"Sure." Brian slowly made his way down the stairs, finding the descent a little scary in his unsteady condition, and then took a few steps to the wheelchair, where he promptly sat down. "We done?" he panted.

"Not quite. I'm going to put you on the mat and give you some electrical stimulation. The current helps the healing process."

"You're going to do what?"

Jose wheeled Brian over to the mat and helped him lay down. He showed Brian the TENS unit, with its thin electrical wires attached to small circular pads. "I'm going to place these sticky pads several places on your leg, and a small electrical shock will come through the wires. It will tingle but won't hurt. Research has found that electrical stimulation really helps healing."

"Kinky. Justin would find this really amusing. Brian Kinney being shocked to heal."

I wish Justin were here. I've grown used to seeing him every day, and that Sunshine smile has brightened my world. Stop it Kinney, you know he needs to be in New York right now, and you cannot think about him being here.

Jose hooked up the wires and pads, and turned on the machine. As he adjusted the voltage, he asked, "Is this uncomfortable?"

To Brian's surprise, it wasn't. He answered, "No, feels kind of tingly, in a good way. I wish I'd found this therapy years ago. I love it."

Brian finished his session, and Jose completed his range of motion exercises. "All finished. I think you could probably use some rest. Have you been out of bed this entire time?"

"Yeah."

"Don't overdo it Brian. Your body is still healing. Rest."

Brian shook his head, ignoring the directive. "Hey Jose, now that I can stand, can I take a shower?"

"Don't see why not. Tell the nurses before you start so they can keep an eye on you. Don't want you undoing any of my great work," Jose kidded.

"Sure," Brian agreed, already envisioning a long, hot shower.

Jose took Brian back to his room and watched as Brian made his way to his bed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

As he lay in bed, he realized how tired he really was. Brian closed his eyes, and fell quickly asleep.