Chapter 12

You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.

J.M. Barrie

The tired group that finally disembarked the train at seven in the morning  at the Jackson station, two days later, ultimately decided to get a couple of hotel rooms. Since none of them had really slept, excepting Brian (whom they made sure slept through nearly the entire trip), and none of them had had the wherewithal to clean up, showers and real food were high on the priority list.

Brian paid little attention as their meager bags were collected and he was ushered into a non-descript black Suburban, until they hit the edge of the parking lot and had to wait at the light before turning into traffic. He had been trying to pull his thoughts together, like so much cotton batting, when he noticed the sign on the corner of the lot, welcoming patrons to the city of Jackson and the great state of Mississippi.

Marc made his left turn just as Brian squeaked a "Fuuuck meee" from the backseat. He was soundly ignored by everyone else in the vehicle, either because they were too tired or because no one wanted to face the firing squad without first filling their belly.

Within ten minutes, Marc had parked in the lot of the local Marriott and was ushering them into the lobby and the comfortable seating arrangement they had there, while he secured their rooms. When he came back a few minutes later, they wordlessly entered the elevator and rode it to the sixth floor. He had managed to get the only conjoined rooms with a sitting area between them, effectively giving them three rooms of space. Brian went straight for the room on the right, which was on the corner of the building and gave him an unobstructed view of what was optimistically called downtown, leaving the others to fight over who got the remaining room. Both bedrooms had two queen sized beds, but he was ready to be alone after being constantly surrounded (watched) at the hospital, a stay which he had not quite altogether processed yet. Yeah, he was not inclined to be around people for a while.

He studiously checked for bedbugs and other signs of infestation, (a habit picked up in his early years as a travelling ad man), stuck his head out the door to yell what he wanted to eat, then locked it tightly, double checked it and went into the bathroom.

It was decorated as most hotels the world over in white and beige with a faux granite countertop and white skimpy towels. Fortunately he still had his duffel bag from the hospital and the wonderful delights Jennifer had generously packed for him. As he pissed (one handed), he figured he would use the little towels first, since he had not carried his bag into the room with him, and really didn't want to see anyone else until he felt more human. He kicked off his shoes, not caring where they landed, and let his jeans slide the rest of the way off his legs, shuffling out of them when they hit his feet. Next he tackled his shirt, unbuttoning it (one handed), and trying to pull it off his right shoulder. After some wriggling and a fairly impressive series of contortions, he managed to get it off entirely, which left him staring at the soft cast contraption on his left side. He caught his reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the door and turned to get a full view of his body.

He had always been thin, but now he could count his ribs and his muscles stood out in stark relief. His skin looked pale and dry, as he stepped closer. Touching the stitches, they felt stiff, he reminded himself to ask Lara when they could be removed. The line of bruising across his hips had diminished to slightly greenish yellow dime sized spots on each hipbone.

It was his face that caused him the most alarm. Two days of stubble didn't hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lost expression in them. He smiled his most charming smile (the one that won clients), but his eyes stayed the same. Placing a hand over his reflection, he turned away to start the shower.

 ************************************************************

Lara called Everett on her cellphone to give him an update, while Emmett used the house phone to order breakfast from room service. Brian was still holed up in his room forty five minutes later when it arrived. Marc and Noah had already been through the shower and Lara was just coming out in the terry bathrobe as Emmett uncovered enough food to feed a small army. He helped himself to a plate of buttermilk biscuits smothered in strawberry jam and carried it and a glass of orange juice off to the bedroom to eat and take his turn in the shower.

Brian poked his head out of his door, sniffed the air, and sauntered over to the table and poured some coffee into a mug. No one paid any attention as he dumped sugar into it and strolled to the window on bare feet. He watched the morning traffic on the street below and listened to the appreciative hums his companions made as they ate. The scents drifting from the table were both mouth wateringly tempting and nauseatingly rich. Without a doubt, there were more carbs on the table than Brian ate in a year. Still, his stomach rumbled, a rare occurrence, so he sat and grabbed an empty plate.

Lara shot Marc a questioning look, asking if he had seen how thin Brian looked in just his jeans, they barely caught on his hips. He was shirtless and barefoot, but with the stubble shaved off he looked more like himself. Marc winked, he had seen and they silently determined between them to try and get him to eat more. Lara knew he had only lost about ten pounds, but on his lean frame, it looked more like thirty.

With that in mind she attempted to help him make a plate, reaching forward to help him with a serving fork.

"I can fucking well do it myself." He snapped as he forked a single over easy egg onto his plate.

"Just trying to help, you looked a little piqued when you came out, I'm sure taking a shower by yourself was pretty tiring." Brian didn't acknowledge her, but took the piece of wheat toast she had buttered for him.

"So tell me, when the fuck did we decide to let the Queen make our travel arrangements?" Brian asked as he flipped his egg onto his toast and brought it to his mouth to take a bite.

Marc cleared his throat and set down his juice glass. "We needed somewhere no one would look for you, and he offered. It was fast and convenient and out of the way. Besides, the only restriction you gave us was somewhere warm."

"I was thinking Tahiti, or Miami, not butt-fuck Hicksville." Brian was taking bigger bites and talking around his food while gulping his coffee. Not the best manners he had ever displayed but Lara would take it as a win and surreptitiously added two sausage links and some cubed melon to his plate while Marc had his attention.

Tongue placed firmly in his cheek, Marc replied "I would think Butt-fuck anywhere, would be right up your alley, so to speak." His brown eyes sparkled with good humor.

Brian speared a sausage link and waved it in Marc's direction before viciously biting it in half. "That may be so, but I did not approve this particular Butt-fuck, so we are leaving tomorrow, for something a little more...cosmopolitan." He finished the second link, and started on the melon.

"Not gonna happen," Marc was shaking his head, smile still in place, "the powers that be, determined this was the best place for you until further notice."

Fuck Cynthia!

Brian tilted his head back to drain his coffee cup and Lara dumped a healthy glob of hash browns on his now empty plate. Setting his cup down he said "Well, I still pay your salary, so we are moving tomorrow." Case closed. He salted his hash browns and took a bite, they were better than the ones at the Liberty Diner. Just the right amount of crispy.

Marc was amused and didn't hide it. "Actually, Cynthia pays Everett and he pays me, so you are now out of the loop mister."

Brian grumbled at that, but refrained from commenting as he ate. Marc decided it was time to drop the bomb. "Also, your "companion" has already been given directions and the lay of the land here, so she will be here by the end of the week, or rather where you will be by the end of the week."

"Why didn't you tell me up front we weren't staying here?" Brian actually sounded excited to be moving on. "Where are we going?"

Emmett stepped out of the bedroom then, obviously fresh from the shower and wearing nothing but the skimpy white towel around his hips. "Hazelhurst."

Brian didn't care for the finality of that statement or the sense of doom he felt on hearing it as Emmett disappeared again.

Suddenly, he wasn't very hungry anymore.

 ***********************************************************

"Oh my God! Is he okay?" Daphne was truly concerned about Brian's welfare and she was truly pissed that Justin had not told her about it sooner. "Why didn't you call me? Some best friend you are. How could you keep this from me?"

"Calm down, Daph, I shouldn't even be telling you now, but I'm going crazy. I have been holed up in this damn apartment for two days with the silent double, and I can't stand it anymore. He looks enough like Brian, that when I catch him from the corner of my eye, I think its him and I turn to tell him something, or touch him, and I get that gut wrenching feeling of loss all over again. It sucks. I think it shows on my face or something, because he avoids me now. Come to think of it, I don't even know his name, and he's living here."

"How long does he have to stay?" Daphne was more concerned for Justin's state of mind than the stranger's comfort levels.

"Until it is determined that there is not an imminent threat to Brian, or some other ambiguous criteria is met." Justin stuck a thumbnail between his teeth. "They won't even tell me where he went, and Em had to go plan a wedding, and he is so busy he hasn't had time to talk."

Daphne tried interjecting some cheer, "Well, I for one, am glad you found out it's not cancer. You must be sooo relieved."

"Yeah, I guess so." Justin sighed, sounding a little more morose.

"What do you mean, you guess so? Aren't you happy he's going to be okay?" She was a bit shocked by Justin's doldrums, in the wake of such good news.

"I am. Really. It's just, uh, he is really fucked up, Daph."

"Of course he's fucked up! He is Brian Kinney, duh! He has always been fucked up."

"Yeah, he has hasn't he? Always. It makes me wonder." Justin was thoughtful.

Daphne honed in on it, not sure what Justin was thinking, was a good idea. "Shit, Justin, you can't."

"Why not, Daphne? There is no one here to stop me."

 ********************************************************

Tucker was sitting at the kitchen table with Molly eating breakfast when Jennifer came through the door from the garage. He slid his coffee cup over to her when she set her purse and a heavy tote bag on the floor and slumped into a chair. She offered him a wan smile of thanks as she wrapped both hands around it.  She stared into it, the same thoughts running through her head, as they had been for three days. She was scared, worried, thankful, and grateful for so many things and she was too tired to sort them out.

Molly sensed the tension, but at sixteen, she really wasn't sure if it was her place to say anything. Her age put her in the no man's land of humanity, too old to be a child, but not old enough to be an adult. Not sure if her mother would answer her she asked, "Is Brian going to be okay?"

Jennifer threw a glance at Tucker, but he just shrugged.

"I saw him on the news. It's all over youtube. He looked like shit, Mom, and Justin had that plastic smile he wears when he is humoring you."

Jennifer hesitated.

"I'm not stupid you know. And I'm not a kid anymore. You can tell me. He is a part of this family. Shit, Mom, he's been in my life longer than Tucker has, I deserve to know."

Tucker hid his smirk by getting up for another cup of coffee, while Jennifer stared, dumbfounded by the person across the table from her.

When did she grow up? Does she know how much she sounds like Justin right now?

"Uh, he will be fine. He has a couple of broken bones, and he will need some physical therapy, but the doctor's think he will be okay."

"How did it happen?" Molly was pushing.

Jennifer was restricted as to what she could say, so limited it to "He had an accident."

Molly, ever observant, "You are a crappy liar, Mom." Then when Jennifer wouldn't meet her eyes said, "Look at me."

Jennifer finally did, as Tucker resumed his seat.

"Did someone attack him? Like Justin? And you are just afraid to tell me?"

Jennifer realized then, that Molly had been more hurt by the bashing than any of them had thought. It was written all over the concern on her face, stiff posture, and crossed arms. To say nothing of the tears lingering which she refused to let fall.

So very much like Justin.

Jennifer reached out her hand and Molly gripped it in both of hers as Jennifer nodded her head, but didn't say a word. She didn't have to.

************************************************************ 

Melanie was sitting on the front porch, waiting, as Lindsay pulled into the driveway. She had known she would have to have this conversation and had been dreading it the entire way home. She didn't want to get out of the car, contemplated just turning it back on and disappearing into the sunset, but opted for taking her time collecting her things. She started by bagging the trash, tying the handles of the grocery sack tightly. Checked the backseat for any loose personal items, stowed her keys in her jacket pocket and picked up her travel mug. Shouldering her purse and with nothing left to use for stalling, she climbed out of the car, making her way on the stone path, to where Melanie continued to drink her morning caffeine on the top step.

Lindsay sat next to her bracing her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her palms. She didn't know where to start. She had fucked up, big time, but didn't regret it and felt no compulsion to apologize.

Melanie ran her left hand down the center of Lindsay's back and leaned into her side. "I'm going to talk for a few minutes and you are not allowed to say anything."

Lindsay whipped her head in Mel's direction, startled, and let the WASP mask of indifference slide over her features.

"You should be scared, Linds. What you did hurt me and the kids. For that you owe us an apology. But that is not what I want to talk about."

Lindsay had no idea where this was going if it wasn't about her trip to New York City.

"For a long time, I resented Brian. Not for who he is, but for what he represented in your life. The two of you don't talk much about how you met, or the relationship you had before me, but I think I have managed to figure out enough to fit some important pieces together and come to some conclusions that may be hard for both of us to deal with. Because we will. Have to deal with them, I mean, or it will constantly be a wedge between us, and I won't live like that anymore. It isn't fair to us, the kids, or Brian.

So here it goes. You were raised to follow the path laid for you. Perfect lady, perfect behavior, perfect moral high ground, and perfect hetero family. You had to hide what you are, until you moved into the dorms for college and no longer had Mommy looking over your every move. You experimented on both sides of the fence, with men and women, and you liked it that way. You were finally getting to be who you wanted to be, though it carried a distinct smell of rebellion.

Along comes devil may care, Brian Kinney. He's a year behind you, but quickly makes waves among your peers. Sorority girls all atwitter and some drunken competition led you to try and bag him for bragging rights."

Lindsay opened her mouth to interject but Mel's fingertips stopped the words.

"Whatever it was, I'm guessing it was just as stupid, because Brian has always said that he always knew he was gay. So I'm betting, while the other girls are trying to figure out how to seduce him, you decide to make friends with him. Lo and behold, you find out that not only is he sex on legs, but he is really smart, driven, funny, and desperate to escape his blue-collar upbringing. So you spend time with him, educate him, bring him home for fancy meals and old money soirees. Maybe you tutor him in using that charm on your parent's unsuspecting peers, convincing everyone he belongs there. He's a quick learner, that one. Before you know it, you are together so much your parents think there is something romantic about your relationship, hinting that they would approve. You want to believe that it can happen, because by this time you really like him. You know he's gay, but because you are bi-sexual, you think he might be too. And because he is grateful for everything you have helped him accomplish, taking that rough diamond and polishing it up and giving him something to be proud of, he lets you talk him into having sex with you to see if he is bi-sexual too. I'm guessing it wasn't too bad of an experience for either of you, because you stayed friends.

I figure you were in love with him, by that time, until I came along. I am not foolish enough not to see the similarities between Brian and myself. For the first couple of years we were together I wondered if I was just a consolation prize for the one you really wanted, but you made me believe that what you had with him was just friendship. When we decided to have Gus, you insisted it be Brian or nobody, and I was sure you still loved him. Rather than risk losing you, I agreed. Your arguments about his being financially solvent and successful, coupled with the fact that he would want nothing to do with a baby convinced me that I was overreacting. Brian himself went a long way in that regard as well."

Lindsay had a soft, watery smile at the memory.

"I think you wanted it to be him, not just because you had become good friends and you admired him, but because it allowed you to continue to play hetero-house with him, while being with me. You would always have some small piece of him to tug on if he tried to pull too far away. He could never completely abandon you.

When we decided on a second baby, I was okay with Brian being the donor, because he is a good dad, and he pulled us through a lot of shit he could have avoided. But when he turned us down, I was hurt. I know we still sniped at each other, but I thought we had kinda buried the hatchet, ya know? Then I thought maybe you wouldn't want another baby since he said no, and we argued about it. When you agreed to someone else, I took it as a sign that you really loved me more than him, since you were willing to agree to what I wanted.

Then he came back and said he would do it and I rejected him simply because I had the power to do it. I did to him, exactly what you did. I used a baby to tie you to me, so that no matter what happened it would be yours and mine and Michael's. I even think he was hurt by that.

I was so angry at you Linds for taking off. You risked everything we have built together on what I thought was a whim. I had divorce papers drawn up. I could forgive you for Sam. It wasn't easy knowing some guy could give you something you need that I could never fulfill, but after the dust settled, I realized that you were still here, fighting for me...for us. But I couldn't get over the fact that you have loved Brian longer and maybe even harder than you could ever love me."

Lindsay was shaking violently, unable to hold back the tears, and unable to look her wife in the face. She was ashamed, but steadfastly not sorry.

"So I sent the kids to Linda's for the weekend, and started cleaning the house to kill time until you came back or I worked off most of my anger. I found this."

Melanie placed the drawing of Brian and the two kids in Lindsay's lap. The blonde choked back a sob and covered her face with both hands.

"You did this the other night when he was here, didn't you."

Melanie couldn't tell if Lindsay answered, so she continued, determined to clear the air and see if they were moving forward together.

"When I found this in Gus's room, I finally got it. After all of these years, it was like being struck by lightning, straight to the heart. I felt truly humbled and gutted at the same time. It is the best thing you have ever done Lindsay. When I look at it, on the surface I can see his self-confidence and his narcissism, but it is only a fleeting moment before you are hit with how much he loves our children, how much he envies them their innocence. You captured how he protects them, even from his own dreams. But, Lindsay, what I saw, for the first time, is how lonely he is. He would never show that to anyone and yet you captured it in his sleep. It is amazingly tragic, and so very obvious in real life, once you figure out that is what you are looking at. He hides it really well."

Lindsay was digging through her purse, looking for tissues to blow her nose and set her wallet on the step between their legs. Melanie picked it up and opened it to the photo of Brian holding Gus for the first time at the hospital. Michael had taken the picture and captured a moment of complete wonder and happiness. Pride, and joy, and a clean slate for a future as yet unwritten. Brian Kinney, unfettered and emotionally free of his walls, connected on a soul deep level, for the first time, and marveling in it.

Melanie held it out so Lindsay could see it and it immediately brought a smile to both women's faces.

"This is why you went, isn't it." Melanie was sure, but voiced the thought anyway.

Lindsay nodded, "All I have ever wanted was for him to be happy. He never seems truly happy, like he's holding something back. But not that moment." She gestured at the photo. "He asked me to give it to him again. I couldn't say no. He has done so much for us, I just..." Lindsay couldn't finish.

Melanie's lips thinned into a tight smile, "I get it Linds. I finally get it."

 *********************************************************

Nick followed Justin all the way to the studio. It wasn't the first time he had done it and probably wouldn't be the last. The biggest issue he had with this assignment was that he could potentially be there watching the lad for hours. It posed a problem for Nick because he had no plausible reason for hanging around the area. Added to that, the entire compound was as secure as Fort Knox, minus the assault tanks, so he knew if he lingered, someone would take note while scanning the security feeds. It had prompted him to rent a single room in a nearby building, where he could watch from the window. It was unfortunate though, that the artist kept to no set schedule, and could be leaving the studio again by the time Nick made it to his observation post, causing him to hightail it back onto the street in pursuit. It had already happened twice in the last six weeks and Nick had lost Justin's trail both times. He had worked out for himself, that if Justin stayed in the studio for at least an hour and a half, then he was most likely going to stay for several more hours working.

Nick checked the time. Justin had been inside for an hour and seven minutes. He gambled that the kid was going to stay, and made his way up to his lookout.

 **********************************************************

Everett was in Brian's former office. He and Cynthia had the club chairs facing the sofa holding Sam and Bobby with the glass and brushed chrome coffee table between them. They were all going over various pieces of information that may or may not prove to be evidence in Brian's case.

So far, the police department had given the investigators as much latitude as they needed to incorporate Everett into the investigation, so long as all questioning and subsequent apprehension of suspects was left to them. He was a consultant at this time, until further notice, and so long as information was shared and he cooperated.

He was going over the mugshots again, "Did you have these in a specific order when you had him look at them?"

Sam raised a brow, "Yes, why do you ask?"

"Do you remember the order? Can you arrange them the same way for me?"

Bobby pulled out his little notepad from his breast pocket and after flipping a few pages, set it on the table and took the photos from Everett. He spent a couple of moments rearranging them into the order he had written down and handed them back. Everett closed his eyes, envisioning Brian sifting through the pages, and mentally counting the pages he could remember Brian discarding quickly.

He flipped through the stack until he reached the mugshot of the assailant, dropping it and everything below it in the stack, to the table. He then closed his eyes and repeated the count in his head as he replayed the scene again. He removed the top six and the bottom three, adding them to the discard pile.

He was left with two photos, which he laid side by side on the table facing their guests. "Brian paused, on one of these two photos, then moved on until he reached the one he wanted, ignoring the rest. I wasn't sure it was significant then, just taking a closer look," he pointed a finger at the one on their left, "but I think this guy is the one who pulled the slash and dash on him."

"I thought you said no one got an ID on him." Sam was checking her notes.

"We didn't. When Lara was stitching him up, right before he passed out, he said: white, dragon, Harley. He was drugged, so we really didn't make too much of it, but something triggered enough curiosity in Brian, that he hesitated at one of these two photos. I think it was the one on the left. Look closely at the right hand. You can barely see it, the way he is holding the placard, but that looks like a dragon head gang tat to me."

Bobby and Sam were squinting at it, not convinced that the darkish spot just past the knuckles on the back of the guy's hand could be equated with a dragon. From that angle, it could just as easily be a Rottweiler or a lion, or even a birthmark.

Cynthia carried the photo to Brian's desk and fed it into a scanner as she booted up one of the three terminals on his desk. Everett turned on the flat panel television adjacent to the seating area and they watched on screen as Cynthia manipulated the image in the computer.

She first cropped out everything but the hand and enlarged it until it filled three quarters of the screen. It became very blurry, so she refocused and sharpened the image. She then turned it ninety degrees until it was right side up and adjusted the contrast. You could still only see what amounted to about two square inches of skin, but it was clearly covered with the head of a dragon in shades of gold and brown.

Cynthia printed off a high resolution copy of the new image and handed it back to Bobby with the original as he dialed his phone. She was careful to save both photos into a file on the computer. Just in case.

************************************************

Harry was at the precinct, on Brian's behalf, on the premise of garnering good favor with the police, but surreptitiously to find any information on the perpetrator that could be gathered. He was in the courtroom during the arraignment and he followed the man outside after he made bail, with his slick, big money attorney.

Harry watched, from the jailhouse steps, as one of Everett's agents entered a car parked at the curb, and followed as the taxi the two men entered pulled into traffic.

 **********************************************************

It was mid-afternoon and Brian was on the bed, drifting in a haze of weed and prescription pain killers, trying to decide if he had enough energy to call downstairs and see if he could have a bottle of Beam brought to his room.

He contemplated the hairline crack in the plaster finish on the ceiling, which if looked at through squinted eyes, resembled the outline of a patch of hair on his neighbor's back as he mowed the grass, shirtless, when Brian was in the seventh grade. Brian had been staring out of his bedroom window, recovering from his injuries, curious to see if there were any kids on their new street, when the man next door had begun mowing the lawn.

Brian's family had just moved in two weeks prior and the boxes were not even unpacked yet. In fact, that was why he was once again recovering. Jack had moved them to this tiny town, predominantly inhabited by workers for the steel mill on the off chance he could score a good union job there. After his second interview, he was told they would not employ him, and he had come home shit-faced and pissed off.

Whether it was the fact that Brian was not unpacking as he was told to do, or the knowing smirk on his face when Jack came through the door, it was irrelevant. Jack barreled into him, then used his fists on his son, to release the pent up frustration of knowing this town was not going to be their salvation.

Four days later, he moved the family to Pittsburgh, most of their meager belongings never making it out of the moving boxes before being sent off to another tiny apartment.

 ***********************************************

Emmett ended his call and went to join the group in the "living room". Plopping into the club chair, he surveyed his fellow combatants. Lara and Marc had been having a quiet conversation about how she met her dad, and Noah was playing Tetris on his phone.

Thinking it was better to know, before they got entrenched together, where they stood on the situation, Emmett asked, "How are we on finances and transportation? I sent some money down here but I thought we would have more time before coming, so I didn't get everything taken care of that I wanted to."

Never taking his eyes off his game, Noah extracted a fat envelope from the inner breast pocket of his sport coat and tossed it on the coffee table. Lara pulled a similar one from her purse as Marc hiked the leg of his jeans and grabbed a third from his boot top, near a wicked looking knife sheath.

Emmett knelt on the floor and gathered them together, emptying their contents and taking a quick count. "Sixty thousand dollars!? You guys were walking around with this?"

Marc opened his wallet and tossed a completely plain bank card on top of the pile. It was black, no raised numbers or owner information on it. It didn't even have the name of a bank on it. It was just a blank plastic square with a magnetic stripe on the back.

"What the hell is this?" Having worked in retail for many years, Emmett had seen nothing of the kind before.

"It is a completely untraceable, no limit, bank card. The account it is attached to is off-shore and the owner is a figment of Everett's imagination. He set it up with money, in case of emergency." Marc picked it back up and put it away, then used the tip of his index finger under Emmett's chin to close the mouth that was hanging open in shock.

"As for transportation, we have the Suburban for as long as we need it." Noah pulled a disappointed face as he lost his game then gave his attention to Emmett.

The big queen, waved his hand in dismissal and shoved twenty thousand of the cash into his bag, then divvied up the rest and gave it back to them. "It will do to get us where we are going, but it screams money, or government, and will stick out like a sore thumb once we leave the city. Also, none of your clothes are gonna work either. Well, except for maybe Marc's jeans, but they are still two hundred dollars a pair, and we can't risk someone noticing." He started muttering to himself as he made notations on the ever present notepad and wandered off to check on Brian.

With a sincere note of approval, Lara said, "He is pretty astute, for the only one of us, besides Brian, not in the intelligence business."

Noah's "Yup" and Marc's nodding head confirmed that they all may have underestimated him, and Everett had been right again, in allowing Emmett to be a part of the team protecting Brian.

 ********************************************

Brian figured the very least he owed Jennifer Taylor was a cruise around the world, for her uncanny perception in choosing the things to pack for him in the duffel. He had dumped the entire contents onto the bed, wondering if it was as bottomless as Ms. Poppin's carpet bag, or had some magical property that allowed it to produce some of his favorite belongings.

Among the piles he made, were his two pairs of his most broken in jeans, with the button flys and frayed waistbands and hems. They were so old, they were almost devoid of dye and as soft as down. One of them even had tiny holes at the corners of the back pockets.

The items he had used at the hospital had been laundered and folded including the bedding, toweling, lounge pants and undergarments. All his toiletries were in a separated pile, and he considered moving them to the bathroom as he took another hit on his second joint. Deciding he had no more energy than he had earlier, he checked out the other piles, the smallest of which was the sterling silver bowl with the screw on lid that contained his stash of weed. Nestled inside, he had found a new package of rolling papers and had a private laugh over Jennifer trying to figure out where to buy them, then actually making the purchase. He imagined the look the probable pot-head clerk gave her as she paid for them and thanked him with her classy, country club persona.

I should have known she would have thought of everything. After all, when she came to my office and dumped Justin's bag on my desk, she had made sure her son had all of his favorite things too, including The Yellow Submarine.

"Make sure he does his homework and gets to school on time."

She wouldn't let me off the hook. Persistance, Justin definitely gets it from her. She was embarrassed to say the word Fuck, out loud, but she did it. She did it because she loved her son and wanted to know where he would be, even if it was with the devil himself, so long as he wasn't roaming the streets.

"Tell him that we love him."

Yeah, she did. She gave up her son because she loved him. She packed a bag of his things so he would have pieces of home with him, wherever he was. So he could look at them and know she cared.

She did the same thing for me.

Brian hit the joint again, grateful for Jennifer, and the concerned love she packed with every item on the bed, just for him.

******************************** 

Emmett knocked on Brian's door and not getting an answer, turned the knob. As it opened, he was assaulted by a thick gray cloud, reeking of the distinct sweet stench of really good chronic. Fanning the haze from his face, he stepped in to find Brian splayed on the bed, covered in his belongings, like a kid buried in the sand at the beach. His feet were tucked into the giant duffel Emmett recognized from the hospital and Brian was busy rolling a joint, obviously not his first, from the silver container he had balanced on his chest while he muttered to himself.

Emmett couldn't help the smile that split his face as he sat on the side of the bed. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Well, Honeycutt, I would think that would be obvious. I am rolling a joint and absorbing the love by osmosis."

Brian's eyes were glazed, but he seems completely relaxed, and Emmett wouldn't take that from him.

"Well, Honey, I am going to go downstairs and get directions to some stores, and we need to go shopping for supplies when I come back. So you might want to lay off of that until later." Brian shrugged, ignoring him, as he licked the edge of the paper and rolled it tight.

Emmett made it to the door, smiled again, and said "Don't call me Honeycutt."

 *********************************************

Marc figured somebody had to stay sober, so he abstained from smoking as the joint was passed around the living room coffee table. Brian had cruised out of the bedroom following Emmett's leaving, carrying a silver tin and smoking a joint.

An hour and a half later, and using the upside down silver lid as an ashtray, Brian, Lara, and Noah were sitting on the floor around the table working on their second joint. Marc wasn't smoking, but he was certainly buzzed, just from being near enough to breathe the second hand smoke.

Emmett came back to the room to find them cackling about some story Brian had told them about one of his tricks.

"Okay, everyone, chop chop, it's time to shop. We need provisions and after that we can get some dinner." The three agents jumped up like they had been caught shoplifting, but Brian continued to lounge against the front of the couch finishing the joint and finally crushing it into the lid.

Standing, weaving slightly, he glided, loose hipped and languid to find his shoes and a shirt.

 *********************************************

The supercenter boasted everything from ground beef to oil changes and Emmett was regretting making everyone come with him. So far, Brian was walking around eating from an open bag of Funyuns and Noah and Lara passed a package of Twizzlers between them. Marc seemed to be okay, but Emmett caught him putting a two pound tub of old fashioned fruit slice candies in the cart. In fact, as they strolled down the aisles, they all seemed to be putting stuff in the cart. Cherry sours, Runts, M&M's, popcorn, Yoohoo, and other munchie treats.

At least he had gotten them to select some clothing first. Jeans and tees all around, jackets for the cooler evenings, and some inexpensive shoes. By the time they made it to the checkout lanes, Emmett was thoroughly disgusted with their juvenile behavior in the store and vowed never to have children of his own.

Still, it was good to see smiling faces again, so he paid for their purchases and opted to take them through drive-thru for dinner rather than suffer in a restaurant.