Shit. Brian didn't want to tell Melanie what had prompted him to call her. Murphy's shenanigans might've already hit the news, but the whole thing was more horrific than Mel suspected at this point.

The bulldog of a lawyer was doubtless already preparing to sue the pants off the crazed driver who'd plowed his way through the Strip, terrorizing Gus, Timmy and Corinne and injuring fuck knew how many people. 

Once Brian revealed that it was the person hired for the latest Brown Athletics Thanksgiving commercial, she'd probably blow a gasket - at him.

Brian had no desire to protect Murphy. He wanted the hockey player to rot in jail. Or fry in the electric chair. Unfortunately, death by lethal injection, Pennsylvania's current method of execution, was unlikely, even if you were a serial killer. Murphy would hire a fucking phalanx of lawyers who'd do their damnedest to get him off completely. They'd argue that the hockey player had simply drunk too much, insinuating that was something everybody did, and lost his better judgment. Hell, he'd probably end up with a slap on the wrist and community service. That was the way the criminal justice system worked.

What Brian did care about was preventing negative splashback for Leo Brown and Kinnetik. If - and it was a big if - Kinnetik could throw together something to replace the no longer usable commercial, it would have to be free of any association with the hockey-playing shithead.

Corinne shivered and rubbed at the gooseflesh that had sprung up on her arms. "Has it hit the news already?" she asked.

"Jesus. Has it?" Melanie echoed her friend's question.

"Probably," Corinne reasoned out the answer. "That idiot hollering at the boys about ‘Big Yellow' had to be a newshound. Plus, a bunch of people were holding up their phones and taking pictures."

"Yeah," Brian corroborated. "It made the Internet right away."

"What?" Mel quipped. "Were you online surfing porn and a news window popped up?"

Not a bad sally, considering how shaken up they all were. "That's Theodore's MO," Brian retorted. When Brian looked at porn, he was usually at home, with Justin either right next to him or on the other end of the phone line.

Deciding it was better to just spit it out, Brian admitted, "It was Leo Brown. He called me because the asswipe behind the wheel was Kevin Murphy."

"The star forward for the Penguins?" Corinne interjected, her voice rising in shock.

"The Murph?" Timmy yelled. "No!" He vehemently shook his head in denial. "He wouldn't do that! He's great!"

"Dunno." Gus shrugged when his friend looked at him in outrage. "'member how he pushed that li'l kid outta the way when he jush wanted an autograph?"

"Oh." Timmy deflated, sinking down, his brow furrowed.

"It really was Kevin Murphy?" Corinne muttered.

"Yeah," Brian sighed. "He was in a commercial Kinnetik just shot. It was supposed to start airing tomorrow."

"What a fucking mess," Justin summed up the situation, giving Brian a worried look.

"Jesus," Mel said again, staring at Brian.

Her expression was surprisingly compassionate, thought Brian. He'd been expecting Melanie to be pissed off at him. Fuck knew, he was mad at himself; he should've done a better job of vetting the hockey-playing asshole.

Brow furrowing, the bulldyke questioned, "But how'd Leo Brown know about the accident?"

"Can you believe the scumbag called Leo from the lockup, expecting him to provide legal representation?" Brian scoffed.

"What?" Melanie gasped. "There's no way Leo's responsible for Murphy's fuckup."

Brian breathed a little easier. Melanie wasn't blaming him. Really, she hadn't done that for quite a while, but Brian had yet to adjust to the change.

"Can I see your phone?" Mel asked Corinne in a seeming non-sequitur.

"Uh, sure?" Despite the confusion written across her face, Corinne handed over her cell.

After pressing a couple of buttons, Melanie muttered, "That's what I thought." She then started rapidly pressing the keys, inputting something or other.

It almost made Brian dizzy. How the heck could she do that so fast? It took him for-fucking-ever to enter anything on his cell.

"There," Mel declared in satisfaction. "Now you've got all of Brian's numbers: loft, cell and his direct line at Kinnetik."

Brian's jaw dropped. The bulldyke knew all of those? By heart?

"Careful, you're gonna catch flies," Mel snarked, brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

As Brian snapped his mouth shut, the bulldyke added, "You're Gus' daddy. Of course I've got your number."

Brian chuckled, ruminating on how odd it was that Mel, not Linds, had his number nowadays. And that it had nothing to do with his nine and a half inches.

A little later, all three of the boys' plates, and the one Corinne had passed over to Timmy and Gus, were sparkling clean. Jenny had also done double duty, polishing off most of what Melanie'd had on her plate. Kid was gonna have a helluva stomachache, thought Brian. Not that he cared, as long as she didn't barf up her pie on him.

"Carl, honey," squealed Debbie, alerting everyone in the booth to the veteran cop's arrival.

Deb forgot all about making a new pot of coffee. Dropping the measuring scoop into the giant can of Yuban, she trotted around the counter and planted a big kiss on Horvath, which clearly pleased the man to no end.

Carl gathered Deb up in his arms and deepened the kiss.

Jesus, was that tongue? Brian quickly looked away, feeling nauseated.

"Ew," muttered Justin, burying his face in the crook of Brian's neck.

"Jesus fuck." Melanie whipped her head back around, looking like she'd bitten into a lemon.

"Ten dollars!" caroled Gus, his lisp once more no impediment when it came to money.

"Gus," Melanie said warningly. "Didn't I just agree to put a ten-spot in the jar?"

"But... but that was a long time ago!" Gus objected. "Right?" He turned beseeching eyes on Brian.

Shit. Brian didn't want to be caught between his son and the bulldyke.

Fortunately, before Brian could say anything, Timmy piped up, "I want a ‘vakey fun' too!"

"You don't need one," Mel replied, confusing everyone at the table. Except, Brian thought, for Corinne, who was smirking as if privy to a secret no one else knew.

"Huh?" asked Timmy.

Melanie chuckled. "You've already got one. You'll be coming on vacation with the Peterson-Marcus clan."

Four lesbians and fuck knew how many screaming kids all on vacation together. Brian shuddered. Thank fuck he wasn't a muncher.

"Who's going on vacation?" rumbled a deep voice.

"Me and Gus!" Timmy shouted at Horvath, who was standing next to the booth, an arm around Debbie's waist. "We're goin' together." He slung an arm around Gus' shoulders, the wide grin on his face making his freckles stand out.

"First I've heard of this," observed Debbie, manifestly put out not to have been consulted.

"We haven't made any real plans." Melanie smiled at the redhead, ameliorating any hurt feelings. "So far, we're just saving up for next summer."

"I wanna go to Dishyland," Gus voted, speaking too fast and mangling the name of one of his favorite places.

"Mmm," Justin whispered sotto voce into Brian's ear, "Dishyland." He nipped at Brian's lobe, making it clear what he had in mind.

Brian, already half-hard from being next to Justin, sprang a boner. "Stop that," he hissed and then wanted to kick himself. When did he become the responsible adult?

"Dontcha mean Disneyworld?" Deb inquired. "It's way-"

"Closher. I know." Gus heaved a world-weary sigh. "But I've been to Florida. I wanna go to Cali."

Smart, Brian thought, shortening the name of the Golden State like that. It allowed Gus to get out a couple of sentences without lisping; he knew the boy was sick of sounding like a ‘baby.'

"It's gonna take losh and losh of cuss words," Gus noted mournfully before turning a speculative eye on his grandmother.

Debbie's "What the-" clashed with another stern "Gus!" from Melanie.

Carl smirked, looking like he'd already sussed it out. "Horvath's not a detective for nothing," Brian murmured in Justin's ear, making the blond giggle.

"I hear you had to do some fancy drivin'," Horvath remarked, his mien going from jovial to serious as he looked at Corinne.

Corinne nodded, her eyes shadowed with the horror of what had nearly happened.

"There better be a good prosecutor on the case," growled Melanie.

"No way will the perp get off scot-free," Horvath assured everyone. "There's too much footage of him ki- uh-" He stumbled to a halt, plainly not wanting to talk about the casualties in front of Gus and Timmy. Brian reckoned Carl also had to be careful not to say anything that might affect the case against Murphy.

"There's dead people, right?" Timmy muttered, much more subdued that he had been a little while ago. "The little boy on the ground in front of Klavon's... He wasn't moving."

The veteran detective appeared at a loss for what to say. Same for Debbie, who opened her mouth and then closed it. A rare occasion when his surrogate mother was speechless, and Brian couldn't even tease her about it. 

Melanie and Corinne traded glances, leaving Brian certain that he was gonna have to step in and play the heavy. Fuck. All because he was known for being honest.

But then Justin spoke up. "You're right, Timmy. Sadly, some of the people Murphy hit were killed."

How did Justin know that? The Internet hadn't confirmed anything, and Carl hadn't either... yet.

"Cedro, don't you have a son that works at Klavon's?" Brian heard someone ask from a neighboring booth.

"Yeah, why?" came the response.

"'Cause some drunk guy plowed through a buncha pedestrians down on the Strip, right by Klavon's," his friend stated. "Look, it's on TV."

"Jesús!" Cedro exclaimed. "I've gotta call Juan. Make sure he wasn't hurt."

That explained it, thought Brian, looking up at the television that had been installed on the wall behind the bar. The volume was muted, but a chyron was scrolling across the bottom of the screen. As the text scrolled, details jumped out at Brian: 2 confirmed dead, at least 6 more injured in ‘Big Yellow' Strip District carnage. Kevin Murphy, Penguins' star forward, arrested for fleeing the scene and DUI.

Fucker. Brian's hand curled into a fist that he wished he could smash into Murphy's face. Total him like the bastard had totaled the people outside Klavon's.

"They're yooshin' our name!" Gus nudged Timmy, directing his attention to the television.

The two boys beamed at each other, bouncing on the seat in excitement.

"Yeah!" Timmy pumped a fist in the air and then high-fived Gus.

"You two must take after Sunshine. He's always naming things." Parking herself next to the lesbians, so it was next to impossible to see past her to the TV, Debbie tilted her chin at Gus. "Like you, for instance."

"It's a popular name," Melanie threw in, going along with Deb's unsubtle effort to distract the two seven-year-olds. "For teddy bears as well as newborns. Or so I've heard." She smirked at Justin.

Justin pinkened, leaving Brian curious. What was that about? "Teddy bears?" he breathed into Justin's ear.

"Later," Justin hissed, his flush deepening.

Debbie blew a bubble with her gum, the youngsters watching in awe as it grew and grew. Slurping it back into her mouth, arms akimbo, the redhead inquired, "So where else you thinking of goin' on vacation? And what's a coupla F-bombs got to do with it?"

While most of the table was looking at Debbie, Horvath placed a meaty hand on Brian's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked.

Brian reckoned he must look like his comic book alter ego, like he was gonna fly into a rage. Or fly apart.

"I've only been that fuckin' scared two other times," Brian replied quietly. His hand in Justin's hair, he ran his thumb under the hairline and over the ridged scar, remembering bats and bombs. He didn't know what he'd do without his sonnyboys.

Carl patted him on the shoulder, and Brian gave him a lopsided shrug in response. At least the longtime detective knew better than to spout useless platitudes.

What helped was Justin squeezing his thigh and smiling reassuringly, letting Brian know he was here, warm, alive. And so was Gus.

Sliding his fingers down Justin's arm until he found the hand on top of his thigh, Brian laced their fingers together and smiled softly, allowing himself to relax against his partner and forget everything else for a moment. He didn't hear the bell above the door jingle, and if not for the draft of air that sent chilly fingers all the way to the back of the diner, he wouldn't have registered the door opening.

His druthers aside - Brian'd didn't give a fuck about who'd arrived or departed - he wasn't left in suspense. There was no mistaking the ebullient voice that announced, "Oh my goodness. Doesn't everyone look cozy."

A couple beats later, Honeycutt nudged Brian over, forcing him closer to Justin, and had one butt cheek firmly planted on the banquette. "Just the person I wanted to see," Emmett said, smiling at Brian. 

He then looked around Brian, his smile widening. "Halloo, Baby," Emmett drawled, leaning across Brian to peck the blond on the lips.

"Hands off, Honeycutt," commanded Brian brusquely.

Emmett lifted his eyebrows and batted his lashes, ostentatiously holding up his hands.

Fucking queen. "And lips," Brian growled, raising his voice to be heard over Justin's giggling.

"Yeah, yeah." Emmett flapped a hand. "Whatever you say, Bri."

Horvath chuckled. "Emmett," he warmly acknowledged the southerner.

Weirdest fucking thing ever, how well the two of them got along, Brian mused. Talk about totally mismatched peas in a pod. Brian shook his head, trying to get rid of the Carl and Emmett earwig before it got stuck in his brain.

He was rescued by Theodore. "I thought you were going to wait for me," said Brian's CFO as he reached the booth, quirking an eyebrow at Emmett.

"Pish." Honeycutt flicked a dismissive hand. "I didn't know how long it would take you to find parking, so I came in here to warm my buns." Emmett flashed his trademark gap-toothed smile.

Fuck, that had to be Brian's Vette Honeycutt was talking about so casually.

"Uh-huh." Ted knew Emmett too well to be distracted by that smile. "You already asked-"

"No!" Em hurried out in response, interrupting his friend. "I haven't had a chance yet." He turned his disarming smile on Brian.

Shit. Honeycutt wanted something. Although for the life of him, Brian couldn't think what. Everyone in the family was fine and dandy: no arrests; no tarnished reputations; no hindrances to wedded bliss.

Emmett had just opened his mouth when Ted looked around the booth, taking in Justin and the two seven-year-old boys before noticing a pale, clearly exhausted Corinne. "Corinne?" he asked, preempting Honeycutt. "What're you-" Theodore abruptly stopped speaking, smacking himself on the forehead. 

Brian blinked, puzzled not by his CFO's antics - those were hardly unusual - but by his warmth toward Corinne. How did Theodore know her? He could've met her at the munchers', Brian supposed, but it still seemed odd. Even odder was that Mel looked a little envious.

"I didn't make the connection," Ted continued in an apologetic tone.

He reached behind Mel and placed a hand on Corinne's shoulder. "You were driving? Are you okay?"

"Thanks, Ted." Corinne gave him a weary smile. "Yeah, we're all okay." She glanced over at the boys. "Despite Murphy's efforts to the contrary."

The frown line between Melanie's brows disappeared while Corinne was talking. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing, thought Brian. If there was something going on, it more than likely had nothing to do with Ted.

Gus, who was looking a little dejected, asked, "Uncle Emmy, could I have one of your extra-speshul hugs?"

"Of course you can, sweety!" Gus clambered up on the seat, and Emmett stood, stretched out long arms, scooped the boy up and hugged him.

Sniffling, Gus buried his head in the crook of Emmett's neck.

Em blinked back tears of his own. "I- I never knew I'd like being called ‘uncle' more than ‘aunt.'"

"Don't get moist," muttered Brian under his breath.

"I heard that, Bri," the flamboyant man retorted, sniffing disdainfully.

Gus let out a watery giggle, and Brian gave himself a mental pat on the back. A snarky exchange between himself and Honeycutt, and his sonnyboy was feeling better.

Confirmation that Gus truly was doing better came when the boy squirmed out of Emmett's hold and clambered over Brian and Justin to get back to his spot next to Timmy.

"Gus," Mel chided, shaking her head, although she didn't sound very perturbed. Really, if anyone should be upset, it was Brian. His designer duds kept taking a beating.

A frown gathered on the bulldyke's forhead, making Brian wonder if he'd been wrong in his assessment. Could Mel actually be upset with Gus for acting like a seven-year-old boy? Sonnyboy's behavior might be a little rambunctious, but it wasn't that out of line.

Melanie suddenly blurted, "Wait, what about bail?" allaying one concern and raising another. She shot a worried look at Carl. "Murphy's got money, unless he's blown it all on toys like his car."

"No bail," Horvath replied, a cold smile on his face. "The judge said he's too much of a flight risk."

Mel's smile matched Carl's. "Good. Who'd he go in front of?"

"Uh." Carl pulled out his ubiquitous notebook and flipped it open. "Something with an ‘R'. I jotted it down." His eyes skimmed over a page. "There it is. Russo."

Everyone froze.

Then Debbie shrieked, "Russo? The homophobic prick who let Hobbs off with a slap on the hand?"

Brian's head swung to the left. From his expression, you'd think Justin was unaffected, but the fingernails digging into Brian's thigh told a different story. Then a deadly gleam entered Justin's blue eyes and his fingers relaxed, his hand lying limp on Brian's Zegna trousers. Justin's gaze flicked toward him and then away, confusing Brian. What the fuck did Justin have to feel guilty about? He'd better not be feeling guilty for not appearing in court years ago when Hobbs was sentenced; Brian was sure he'd allayed Justin's concerns about being a pathetic little faggot. Until Darren's bashing, which had had Justin rehashing everything and-

Before Brian could follow the thread that was teasing at him, Mel reached out and patted Justin's hand. "Don't worry. Russo won't be trying Murphy. In fact-" The legal eagle stopped speaking, her brows rising in surprise.

"In fact?" prompted Justin hoarsely. In an obvious bid to clear his throat, he picked up his coffee and took a sip.

"H- how did Russo end up as an MDJ?" Mel stuttered, shock written across her features.

"A what?" asked Ted.

"A magisterial district judge," Melanie replied slowly. "That's, like, a huge step backward."

"Um, still clueless," Ted interjected. "MDJ or magisterial district judge: I still don't know what that is. Or why it's a step backward."

Sometimes it was good to have Theodore around. He'd saved Brian from having to ask.

"Well, you know how judges are elected, right?" Melanie glanced around at everyone.

"Sure," Ted agreed with a wry smile. "Seeing as how, every election, you tell me who I should vote for."

That broke the tension, the adults smiling and Carl outright chuckling.

Brian noticed that JR had gotten hold of one of the plates and was licking it clean, while Gus and Timmy watched in fascination. He elected not to say anything; really, what could it hurt at this point?

Apparently sated at last, Jenny shoved away the spotless plate and leaned against her mother, eyelids drooping.

"I knew you were my friend for a reason," Mel quipped, smiling at Ted. "You let a wiser head decide for you."

Had there been the slightest emphasis on ‘head'? Brian wondered. He wouldn't put it past the bulldyke, even if she was more likely to hit you over the head with a mallet rather than go for subtlety.

"Russo has a reputation for being tough on crime-"

Brian snorted at that, earning a nod of acknowledgement from Melanie, who went on without pausing.

"-deserved or not, and it's no secret that he was aiming for an appointment to the superior court. It would be a real letdown to go from hearing criminal cases to setting bail and judging minor offenses." Mel rubbed her hands together, her face alight with glee. "I've gotta find out what happened. It doesn't make sense that Russo would step down from his position in the Court of Common Pleas and then run to be an MDJ."

"Say what?" asked Deb, looking completely bewildered. "Isn't the whatsit, the Court of Common Fleas-"

Chuckles greeted the malapropism, and Debbie broke off, looking pissed. Then, what she'd said dawned on her, and she joined in the laughter.

"You're not wrong, Deb," Ted observed. "Most of us are fleas to assholes like Russo."

Theodore had that right, Brian mused sourly.

Nodding vigorously, Debbie amended, "You know what I meant. The place everyone goes."

Melanie acknowledged, "It does sound that way. But Common Pleas is actually where the serious cases are heard."

"Huh." Debbie shook her head, red curls flying.

"Is it really better?" Emmett asked, "That bastard Russo can't do as much damage now?"

Justin fisted his hand on the table. "Long as he doesn't know you're gay," he scoffed. 

That looked far too much like Justin's hand cramping. Without thinking twice, Brian placed Justin's hand between his and began massaging it.

"Otherwise he'd screw you over on bail," Justin finished bitterly.

"Roy's prejudiced toward all sorts of people," Melanie noted. "He generally likes to screw people over. It's regular."

Her brow furrowing, Debbie thoughtfully tapped a pen against her order pad. "Um, this all just happened a few hours ago?"

Nods came from around the table.

"So how'd he get denied bail so fast? Hell, the two times Vic was arrested, he didn't get arraigned for, like, a day or longer. Second time, they didn't even care that he needed his meds," Deb complained, her indignation growing. "There's never a fuckin' cop around when you need 'em."

While the logic of Debbie's diatribe escaped Brian, the irony didn't. He knew better than to say anything though. A movement to his right had him glancing over at Ted, who had laughter dancing in his eyes.

Shit. Biting back a smile, Brian turned his gaze away. 

It didn't exactly help when Justin huffed out a weird-sounding breath, like he was suppressing a giggle.

Carl guffawed. "Red, honey," he gasped.

"Oh, c'mon." Deb whapped him on the arm. "You know you're the exception."

"To what?" Carl asked. Faced with a now glowering redhead, hand raised and threatening real damage, he quailed. 

Lowering his voice just enough that no one at the neighboring booths would overhear, a smart precaution even if everyone was glued to the TV, Horvath explained, "The perp kept insisting on his rights, so we gave them to him. No get outta jail card."

The burly detective exchanged a shark-like grin with Mel. "Still," she said, her expression turning puzzled. "I'm surprised Russo denied bail. He fuckin' loves the Penguins." Not even looking at Gus, she lifted a warning finger at him, and the lad, who'd half stood, an eager look on his face, subsided.

Melanie asserted, "He wouldn't care if Murphy took out half of Pennsylvania Avenue, so long as he could still play in the big game tomorrow."

"Yeah." Horvath heaved a mighty sigh. "The Penguins' chances just went down the toilet."

Brian was a little embarrassed. He'd all but forgotten about the NHL Thanksgiving showdown - part of the reason for airing the new Brown Athletics ad this holiday weekend.

He might live in a city with a sports-mad populace, but Brian himself had never given a damn about any of it. Other than for advertising - sports were a fucking goldmine - and of course to ogle hunky men in tight-fitting clothing. He'd been doing that since well before consciously realizing he was gay.

"You got any idea why Roy was so hard on the little shit?" Mel asked, cocking her head inquisitively.

"Dunno." Horvath shrugged. "But O'Neill heard a rumor that Russo doesn't like drunks."

Melanie snorted. "That's new."

No shit, thought Brian. Roy had decided that Chris Hobbs' justifiable outrage at a fag flaunting himself mattered more than any undue influence alcohol might've had on him taking a bat to Justin's head.

"I don't know if it's true or not, but Danny figured it couldn't hurt to put it to the test." Carl smiled maliciously. "Murphy kept saying he was sober, that he hadn't been driving drunk and insisted on seeing a judge. Danny asked if he didn't want to wait for legal counsel, but Murph said no, that he'd get a lawyer after he was out on bail. So Danny hauled Murphy in front of a judge, just like he wanted."

"Russo was underwhelmed." Horvath's smile grew. "Murphy apparently didn't look too good and smelled even worse."

Carl shrugged. "According to Danny, the judge gave the perp a once-over and cut off the BS he was spouting. Russo denied bail, remanded him to custody until he can be tried for vehicular homicide, banged his gavel, shouted, ‘Recess for ten minutes!' and stood up and left."

"That sounds like Roy's MO," Mel noted. Then, glancing at her watch thoughtfully, she went on, "Must've been later than 12:15 though, right? Weird."

"What does that matter?" Carl asked.

The bulldyke pressed, "What time was it when he announced the recess?"

"It was 3:45," Carl informed everyone. "On the dot. I thought it was weird that Danny made a note of the time, but he said Russo's regular as clockwork. He always calls a recess then, no matter what."

"Huh. He must've really been rattled," commented Mel, smirking. "His daily dump got moved three and a half hours."

"Daily dump?" Carl's eyebrows rose up to his receding hairline.

"Yeah." Mel nodded. "His routine's off by three and a half hours."

Brian smirked. His prank had had a bigger impact than he ever would have thought.

Shaking off what he obviously thought was a strange remark, Carl finished up, "Anyway, Russo denied bail and left the courtroom. Murphy never knew what hit him."

Brian wished he could've seen it for himself.

"Bri, you got a sec?" Ted shrugged in apology. "I really need to update you."

Emmett rocked back and forth on his feet, looking eager, like this somehow concerned him.

"That's my cue," Carl rumbled, pecking Debbie on the cheek. "I need to get back to the precinct anyway."

"Lemme just get you fresh coffee and apple fritters to take with." Deb paused for a beat. "Lieutenant Horvath." She bestowed a sickeningly sweet smile on her cop before trotting over to the counter, Carl right behind her.

"Donuts." Emmett shook his head. "Never fails."

"Em!" Ted hissed, tilting his head at Jenny.

The flamboyant queen's eyes rounded and he clapped a hand over his mouth, his gaze fixed on JR.

Everyone waited with bated breath as Jenny snuffled in Mel's arms, almost like she scented a donut. A collective sigh of relief could be heard when the little girl settled back down.

"Sorry," an abashed Emmett whispered. "She was so quiet, I forgot she was there."

"Takes after her father," Melanie deadpanned.

Ted waited a beat for the laughter to die down. "Er," he said, his eyes flicking around the booth.

"Go on." Brian gestured for Theodore to get on with it. No point drawing out the bad news. "Everyone knows about the commercial."

"Okay. I talked to the guys over at NBC. They've pulled the footage but are holding the time slot for us. For now. We have to come up with something really fast though, or we're gonna lose the slot... and the money we paid for it."

Ted looked at Brian like he was waiting for him to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Even the best adman on the East Coast couldn't fix this however.

"So much for having the next Wayne Gretsky." Brian scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering what the fuck he was going to do.

"We could use last year's commercial?" Ted suggested tentatively.

Brian sighed, shrugging off Honeycutt, who was plucking at his jacket.

Last year's ad was better than nothing, but a repeat would hardly be cutting edge or any kind of a surprise. The sex appeal would be minimized too since they'd milked that commercial for all it was worth, running it well into this year.

"I should have kept that other guy on retainer." Instead of getting a blowjob and sending whatshisname away.

"You couldn't have known-" 

"That's why it's called a backup," Brian noted caustically, not caring about bruising Ted's feelings. Which was hardly fair, but-

"Brian." Emmett tugged harder at his jacket. Brian shrugged him off again. What was Honeycutt doing, searching for poppers?

"Does it need to be a hockey player?" Justin asked, looking thoughtful.

"Not necessarily," Brian replied. "Who've you got in mind?"

"How about Bent?"

Brian shook his head. "Everyone knows the Scuttler's gay. Leo Brown won't like that."

"So?" Justin arched a blond eyebrow at Brian. "Better to lose a few straight customers-"

"-and gain a gaggle of queens," Ted jumped in. Stan's got a huge fan base."

Who the fuck? Brian did a double take before remembering that Stan was the contortionist's first name.

The eager spate continued to pour out of Theodore. "Maybe we can use some of what we filmed, just insert pieces with-"

"Teddy!" squawked Emmett. "What about my suggestion? You promised!"

"That was before we had another option, Em," Ted replied. "A better one."

"Better!" the nelly queen exploded. 

Oh fuck. Brian mentally crossed his fingers, hoping his sudden suspicion about who might be back in contact with Honeycutt was wrong.

"Since when is a scrawny little acrobat better than-" His face suffused a deep red, so upset that he apparently couldn't get out another word, Emmett flapped both hands ineffectually.

Brian stared in amazement. Honeycutt's hands were moving so fast that he could barely follow the motion. It was like watching a hummingbird - one with extra-large wings.

The flapping gradually slowed, Emmett's hands coming to rest on his waist. Nose in the air, he snootily proclaimed, "There is simply no one better than Drew Boyd. Everyone admires him. And as long as you're willing to sign a contract and stand by it-"

Before Brian could blow his lid, Ted stepped in. "You're not being fair, Emmett. Kinnetik didn't have anything to do with Drew coming out."

"But-" Em spluttered.

Theodore held up a hand, which had Emmett subsiding, albeit with ill grace. Now that was a superpower Brian would like to possess.

"If Boyd wanted to out himself on live TV, that was his choice," Ted continued. "But he had to know there would be repercussions."

"There was no need for you to fire him!"

"We didn't ‘fire' him," Theodore observed in a measured, reasonable tone. "We have a contract with Brown Athletics; all campaigns have to be approved by Leo Brown. Brown Athletics reserves the right to pull an advertisement if they think it will negatively affect their bottom line."

"You could've gone to bat for Drew," Emmett huffed.

Brian felt Justin tensing up next to him. Even now, sometimes all it took was the mention of a bat to throw Justin back to the aftermath of the bashing. Brian too, if he was being honest.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, sweetie," Honeycutt immediately apologized. "I should think before I speak."

"Maybe about Boyd too?" Brian suggested, his tone gentler than usual. He knew Emmett was still carrying a torch for the quarterback, although in Brian's opinion, Boyd wasn't worth it.

"Meaning what exactly?" Em wanted to know. "Drew's a positive role model; he's not a sot like Murphy."

Brian filed away the tidbit that Murphy had apparently had a reputation for drinking too much before his murderous spree through the Strip. He wished he'd sought Emmett's opinion to start with; the flamboyant southerner had his finger on the pulse of the gay district and always knew the latest goss.

While Honeycutt was right that Boyd would be a better role model than the Irish asshole, Brian still had reservations. It went beyond Drew being a prima donna and dumb about the way he'd handled coming out.

"Boyd over his pity party?" he sneered.

Naturally, that got Emmett's back up even more. Sitting up, he proclaimed, "Drew didn't send me to beg you to do something back then, Brian. And it wasn't because of the money. He felt like he was being erased."

"Uh-huh." Brian ran his hand through Justin's hair and across the hidden scar. Boyd didn't fucking know what being ‘erased' meant.

Justin gave him a reassuring smile, like he knew where Brian's mind had gone.

"Em, honey, Drew's not a chump," Mel asserted. "He was the one who approached the Channel 5 sports guy-"

"Bud Lockwood," Emmett supplied.

"Whatever." Melanie waved the name off. "Ted's right."

The accountant preened, as he tended to do whenever someone agreed with him.

"Drew must've considered the consequences of coming out on TV like that," Mel persisted. "Both to his pocketbook and his reputation."

"Never mind what he did to you," Ted observed. "Costing you your job, Emmylou."

Trust Theodore to hold a grudge, Brian thought. Not that he disagreed with him. What Boyd did was shitty.

Emmett shouted, "I didn't care!"

Brian knew that wasn't true.

"It was romantic," Emmett insisted.

Brian thought he might barf. Romantic, his ass. No matter how exciting it might have been to be kissed by Drew on the Channel 5 set, the euphoria didn't last. Even if Emmett did hide it under concern for his ‘woe is me' boyfriend.

"He told the whole world he loved me." Emmett clasped his hands over his heart in true drama queen fashion. "Little old Emmett Lafayette Honeycutt from Hazlehurst, Mississippi."

Ted blinked at his friend. "Lafayette's your middle name? How didn't I know that?"

Emmett shrugged. "You never asked, Ted." He placed the slightest emphasis on ‘Ted,' although he really didn't need to. Not calling him Teddy was sign enough that Emmett was peeved.

"Lafish's is a cool middle name, Uncle Em," Gus piped up. "I mean," he tried again, "Lafaysh." The boy's upset over repeatedly butchering the name was written across his countenance.

Gus slumped against Justin, screwing up his mouth like he was stifling a yawn. That was a sure sign that Brian's sonnyboy was getting tired; no wonder after the combined excitement and terror of the day.

Emmett grinned at Gus. "That works. Some of the folks down home preferred Lafitte to Lafayette. A pirate would have fit in better than a marquis in Hazlehurst, you know?"

In return, Honeycutt earned himself a smile far more gap-toothed than his own.

That was well done, thought Brian, making it seem like Gus had meant Lafitte all along. He gave a mental nod of approval before wrangling things back on track.

"Let's say I can get Leo Brown to agree to Drew." If it weren't for the emergency situation, there'd be no way it would happen. Brian might be able to sell sand to the Saudis, but Brown was still majorly pissed off at Boyd.

Emmett perked up, smiling broadly.

"I'm willing to consider him, but I also like Justin's suggestion."

Emmett's eyes narrowed at Justin, who shrugged one shoulder, clearly not wanting to turn it into a competition.

Can't always have what you want, Sunshine, thought Brian. Personally, he reckoned Distorto would be less of a hassle to work with, but if Kinnetik and Brown Athletics could have either, it should be the one who'd be best received by the viewers. On the face of it, since the commercial would be aired during football and hockey games, that should be Drew Boyd. But Distorto was popular outside sports circles and might bring in a new demographic.

Brian glanced around, noting that a couple of families had drifted in, probably wanting an early dinner. Put them with everyone else hanging out in the eatery and he had a good sampling of Pittsburgh's gay population, along with a few straight people. It would do for an impromptu poll.

He just needed to get everyone's attention so he could ask for their help. His finger whistle was for shit unfortunately, and Justin's wasn't much better; besides, he'd suggested Bent. Emmett had a piercing whistle, but Brian didn't want to ask him since he was there on behalf of one of the contenders. Brian had no idea if Ted could whistle anything besides opera, so he was out.

Stumped, Brian glanced around the booth, thinking he might have to ask Honeycutt after all. Then his eyes landed on Mel. "You still do that wolf whistle?" he asked.

Melanie lifted an eyebrow. "The one that had you tripping over your own feet and landing on your keister?"

Not his proudest moment. But he hadn't expected the bulldyke to let loose with that fuckin' horrific sound just as he was strutting off the stage at Woody's after singing a couple songs from Dirty Dancing. He'd been drunk and stoned; otherwise, his balance wouldn't have been impaired, Brian assured himself for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, that one," he said resignedly.

"Sure." Mel shrugged, like a whistle of that magnitude was no big deal. "Why?"

"Show me," Brian dared her.

Melanie narrowed her eyes at him, but then, with another shrug, she placed her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and let loose.

"Fuck!" shrieked Debbie, the sudden, ear-splitting whistle causing her to stumble and drop the food-laden plates in her hands.

He should've thought that through better, Brian recognized, wincing. If Deb ever found out he was responsible, she'd clout him on the ear.

A baby started wailing at a nearby table, but the noise was cut off when the woman holding the tot fed it her breast.

Gross. Brian looked away, noting the wan complexions of the other men in the booth.

"Good set of pipes," came a hearty commendation.

"Which one?" someone else joked, causing an outburst of laughter.

JR, Brian noted in surprise, had barely stirred in her slumber, apparently unbothered by the wolf whistle.

Gus, who'd been in the midst of another yawn, jumped, startled, and stared slack-jawed at his mother. Timmy's gaze was fastened on Mel, and Brian could see the wheels turning as he tried to figure out how she'd produced that noise. The boys would doubtless be pestering Melanie to teach them, although Gus was gonna need some teeth first.

Before the diner could devolve back into the usual noisy din, Brian half stood, one buttock perched on the top of the banquette and his back braced against the wall behind him.

He nodded at Deb, who was standing with her fists planted on her hips, broken crockery and splattered food at her feet, peering around in an effort to find the culprit.

Debbie narrowed her eyes at Brian, a red-tipped talon rising to point at him. But then her finger wavered, her gaze turning perplexed; she knew his whistle sucked.

"I've got a bit of a situation," Brian understated the matter, pointing at the TV. "That asshole on the news?"

The epithets flew fast and furious, including, "Fucker," "asshole," "dickhead" and "fucking Mick."

"Murphy-"

Brian let the boos that greeted the hockey turd's name die down before continuing, "-was going to be in a new commercial that Kinnetik put together for Brown Athletics. Obviously, we're not going to air that commercial now."

There were nods of understanding from around the room and sounds of approval as well as disappointment. They were disappointed, Brian reckoned, because the airing of a new Brown Athletics commercial during the big game on Thanksgiving was becoming a much-anticipated event. As they branched out beyond NBC's regional coverage, the commercial might even someday rival what Budweiser unveiled during the Super Bowl.

"Unless," Brian resumed speaking, "we can find the right person to replace Murphy and edit the commercial."

"In one night? No way," scoffed a tattooed bear.

"We're gonna try," Brian replied. He gave Ted a nod of approval when he saw that his CFO had produced a headset from somewhere, plugged it into his cell phone and was talking to someone, a finger in his other ear so he could hear better. He must be calling the crew they'd need. Or maybe just Cynthia; she was more than capable of coordinating everything.

The bell over the door jingled and a bevy of drag queens pushed inside, followed by a group of teens.

"What I need from you," Brian addressed the growing crowd, "is to help me decide who will be in the commercial. We've got two candidates." He paused, giving a biker chick, who was seated at the front of the diner, a chance to fill in the newcomers; he assumed that was what she was doing since she gestured repeatedly at him while talking.

He also wanted to build the suspense a little. This was the best it was gonna get for the locals, who, if everything had gone as it should, wouldn't know anything about the commercial before tomorrow.

"Who?" yelled one of the teens, bouncing up and down on her toes.

"Yeah, who?" the question was echoed by other diners, all eyes fixed on Brian.

"Drew Boyd-"

Again, all Brian got out was a name, but in contrast to Murphy, this time the reaction was a hearty round of applause.

"And Stan Marchenko."

Brian had expected the baffled looks he was getting, deliberately waiting a couple beats before adding, "Also known as Distorto."

He was surprised when that earned a considerably louder round of applause along with cries of "the Scuttler," "Pretzel Man," and "Bent."

The last nickname and Brian's personal favorite had been quickly spreading since Justin and Michael had released a sneak peek of the next issue of Rage a couple days ago. No dialogue, just two panels of the comic's newest superhero scuttling down a tree trunk, twisting his body in an improbable manner, and then squeezing the bejeezus out of an unidentified villain with his powerful thighs.

"I wanna learn how to scuttle," Timmy commented excitedly. "That's so cool!"

"Yeah!" Gus lifted a hand, likely for another high-five, but didn't complete the motion, letting his hand drop to his lap. "Hesh bether 'n Spiderman," he slurred.

Brian snorted, amused by his son's assessment. Bent just scurried around; he didn't climb buildings by shooting webbing out of the palms of his hands. Or was it wrists? Brian frowned before shrugging it off; he'd have to ask Mikey.

When Gus sagged against Justin again, Brian could practically see the energy draining out of his sonnyboy. He'd have to wrap this up quickly and get Gus home before the boy crashed.

"I reckon I know who to go with." Brian flashed a smile at everyone.

"That's not fair." Emmett scowled up at him.

Christ, Em looked like Michael and sounded like Debbie. Honeycutt had lived with one Novotny or the other for too long.

"Drew's just as popular as... Bendy Boy." Emmett trailed off uncertainly as he glanced around, taking in the vocal support for the contortionist.

It was possible, Brian acknowledged silently, that if he'd named Bent first and Drew second, that Boyd would've gotten more applause. "Let's have a show of hands," he requested. "Stan Marchenko," he intentionally reversed the order of the two contenders and downplayed the contortionist's popularity by not using any of his aliases.

Almost everyone in the diner raised a hand, some showing their enthusiasm with two hands.

"Drew Boyd."

There was a groundswell in the votes for the quarterback, although Boyd still fell short of the support for Distorto, negating the need to have Theodore count hands.

His decision confirmed, Brian called out, "Thanks. Everyone in here gets a drink on me. If the adults prefer, they can claim their drink at Woody's. Just leave your name with Debbie." He glanced at his surrogate mother and she beamed at him, nodding in agreement.

"You heard the man," Debbie called out. "Kiki and I'll be coming around for your orders. Or taking names," she chuckled.

That got a spate of laughter from most of the diners and nervous looks from a few, one young man sinking down in his seat. If he wanted to remain unseen, it wasn't going to work, as Brian or any of the gang could have told him.

‘Taking names' had little to do with actual names - Deb made it her business to know everyone who came into the diner - but whoever she turned a disapproving gaze on was bound to spill whatever she wanted to know. Fuck knew it had worked on Brian when he was a teenager, and although he'd never admit it, sometimes even now.

Turning his attention away from Debbie and Kiki, who'd started to make the rounds, Brian looked at Emmett. "Gimme Boyd's number."

"Huh?"

Brian smirked at the flustered southern belle. "Was that hard to understand?"

"Uh, no," Honeycutt stuttered. "But, uh, aren't you using Distorto?"

A shrug was all the answer Brian gave him. "You want to call Bent?" he asked Justin.

"Sure." His partner grinned at him. "I'm onto you," he whispered as he took out his cell.

Brian glanced over at Ted, expecting he would have figured it out too.  Apparently not, since Theodore just looked confused. 

In contrast, Melanie smirked and murmured, "Not bad."

Brian was mulling over his plan when the tattooed bear sauntered up to the booth. "You need a cameraman or a sound engineer, let me know." Tattoo placed a business card on the table.

Brian was about to question him as to whether he could do both, when Gus said, "Daddy?"

"Yeah, Sonnyboy?" Brian smiled at Gus, reaching around Justin to ruffle the boy's hair.

Gus didn't protest - he was normally almost as fussy as Brian about his hair - or even smile back at him. 

Mel lifted an eyebrow but didn't seem unduly concerned. Like Brian, she'd probably decided that Gus had been done in by the trauma of the day.

In a listless voice, Gus mumbled, "My shoulder hursh."

Now looking truly alarmed, Mel sat up straight, an arm around JR to keep the girl from sliding off her lap. "Gus, honey, why didn't you say something sooner?"

"It wushn't that bad till now," their son replied, giving a lopsided shrug with his free shoulder. Gus then grimaced in pain, a soft whine escaping.

"Gus?" asked Timmy, peering at his friend.

"'shokay," Gus slurred, not doing very well at reassuring the other boy, who was starting to look panicked.

Corinne, brow furrowed, guessed, "When I swerved away from Murphy, the harness might've pulled at Gus' shoulder. I wasn't going very fast and both boys were in their booster seats. But I still had to wrench the steering wheel."

"Fucking Murphy," growled Mel, standing up and settling Jenny down on the banquette next to Corinne. "I'm gonna twist his balls off and shove them down his throat."

The hockey player would be singing soprano before he ever went to trial if Brian had his way.

Justin suggested in a calm, soothing voice, "What do you say we get that checked out by a doctor, Gus?"

Gus whined half-heartedly. Brian knew then that his sonnyboy had to be feeling bad. Not only hadn't he gleefully demanded, ‘Five dollars, Mama,' he wasn't fighting going to the doctor. The only thing most kids, Gus included, hated more than a doctor's visit was going to the dentist.

"Here." Corinne handed her car keys to Mel. "Leave Jenny here - I'll keep an eye on her - and take the Volvo."

"But how will you-"

"How about we just move one of the booster seats to my Mercedes?" Ted cut Mel's objection short. "I'll keep the Vette and Brian can drive you to the ER."

"Thanks, 'Rinne." Mel brushed a kiss across Corinne's forehead and hustled out of the diner.

"Thanks, 'Rinne," Ted echoed Melanie, catching the keys Brian tossed to him. "I'll help Mel move the booster seat."

Justin edged slowly off the bench, carefully pulling Gus along with him.

His face pinched, Gus held on tightly to Justin's hand. He moved awkwardly, clearly trying to compensate for the pain in his left shoulder.

"Daddy, it really hursh," he said plaintively.