********

Chapter 6 - Defining Normal.

Of course the Diner was crowded - it was the appointed time for all the fags in town to congregate for Sunday brunch. That was why Brian had wisely sent the boys ahead, hoping they would already have snagged a table by the time he arrived with his skittish charge. Everything was working out perfectly too. Brian led J327 in through the front door and right over to the gang’s favorite booth, assuming the seats left open for them, before the kid’s panic had a chance to overwhelm him.

The secondary benefit to this strategy was that the boys should have had plenty of time to apprise Debbie of the situation prior to Brian's arrival. Hopefully, that would allow her to blow off most of the steam she would otherwise be venting directly at Brian. Even then, he was sure he wouldn't escape completely unscathed. Debbie was as passionate about her support for the APC movement as she was about everything else she did, and there was no way she was going to tolerate her surrogate son doing something as abhorrent as purchasing a PC.

Which is why Brian was pleasantly surprised when Debbie greeted him with a big smile as soon as she made it over to their table.

“Morning, kiddo!” Debbie affectionately slapped Brian’s shoulder in lieu of a hug. “And kiddo’s handsome young friend.” She beamed down at the blond pressed into the corner where the bench met the wall and hunched into as small a space as was humanly possible. “So, are you gonna introduce me or do I have to do it myself, you little asshole?”

“Deb, this is J327 . . . my PC . . .” Brian replied, cringing in anticipation of the expected shockwave of reproach.

“J327? What the fuck? Why haven’t you given him a real name yet, Brian? The boy can’t go around being called J327 all the time,” Deb rounded on him.

“I only got him last night, Deb. There hasn’t been any time to figure out a name for him yet,” Brian explained, still wondering when he’d be getting hit with the sermon about how evil he was now. When the expected dissertation still didn’t come, he ventured a little more in-depth commentary. “Besides, I don’t know him well enough yet to choose a name for him. I figured I’d take my time and find a name that actually suited him, rather than just pick something at random out of thin air.” Brian noted that both Michael and Emmett were nodding approvingly at him about this plan of action.

“I agree, Brian,” Em added his two cents. “Names are important. They have a lot of power. And you don’t want to choose the wrong one.”

“It’s like in fairy tales,” Michael piped up. “You know, like, how if you know somebody’s name you can charm them. Or even control them sorta. Like when that guy figured out Rumplestiltskin’s name and then redeemed their unborn baby from his evil clutches.”

“You’re so pathetic, Mikey,” Brian snorted at his friend’s bizarre thought processes, even while, in his heart, he agreed with the sentiment.

“Don’t be mean, Brian. I happen to agree - in principle - with what Michael said,” Em insisted. “I think that if you know a being’s ‘real’ name then you can tame him.”

“J327 isn’t a feral cat. I’m not going to try and fucking ‘tame’ him,” Brian grumbled. “And I don’t think he’d like to be called ‘Rumplestiltskin’ either. Would you ‘J’?” Brian smiled at his friends as he spoke, trying to ease the harshness of his words just a bit while still getting his point across.

It DID bother him the way everyone continued to talk about the boy as if he wasn’t there. Or maybe as if he couldn’t understand them. He wasn’t a pet or an interesting zoo specimen. He was a man, albeit a young one, and Brian needed to get the people around him to see that too. Not that they meant any harm by the way they were acting - they probably didn’t even realize they were doing it. Maybe he should hurry up and find the kid a name. That would probably help to humanize him in everyone’s eyes. But, even so, Brian still didn’t know what that name should be.

“Hey, I know,” Michael’s eyes lit up as a result of whatever brilliant idea he’d just had. “Why don’t you find out what his real ‘real’ name is? You know, the name he grew up with? You said he was only contracted out about a year or so ago, so he had to have had a name before that. You could officially rename him that and then he’d have his real name back for all time.”

“That’s . . . actually a pretty smart idea, Mikey,” Brian nodded receptively. “I’m sure there’s records somewhere with the name on them, although there’s probably some moronic law somewhere that says they can’t tell it to me. You wouldn’t believe all the stupid regulations there are about PCs.”

“Can’t you just ask him?” Debbie looked mildly confused.

“J doesn’t remember much from before he was contracted out, Deb,” Brian explained in a quiet voice so that not everyone in the Diner would hear. “He suffered severe head trauma about a year and a half ago and has some memory loss. Or, at least, that’s what I was told. But even if he did remember his name, since he isn’t speaking to me yet, I don’t think asking will help.” Turning towards the little blond wallflower, Brian addressed the boy directly, “What do you say, J? Do you remember your old name? Or would you like some completely new name to go with your new life?”

As expected, the wary PC said nothing, prompting Brian to lean over, extend his arm around the boy’s hunched shoulders and whisper in the perfect shell-like ear. “You know, I’m starting to suspect that the only reason you won't talk is because you're too fucking stubborn. But that's fine by me, J. I'll still be here when you're ready.”

“So, I'm assuming that the reason you're here is because you plan to feed the boy,” Debbie interrupted their private tete-a-tete. “He's way too skinny. The kid’s practically a fucking twig, and if you don't start feeding him right, Kiddo, then I'll have a thing or two to say about it.”

“For once, Deb - and mostly because it isn't me you're threatening to stuff full of carbohydrates - I think I agree with you on the too skinny thing,” Brian capitulated. “So, I'm giving you free rein here. Feel free to stuff J like food’s going out of style. Do your worst.”

“Good answer. I'll bring him the Double BS . . . to start with,” Debbie glowed at the invitation to ply her chosen trade on yet another victim. “While I'm at it, you want the usual, Brian? Egg white omelet and dry wheat toast?”

“You got it, Deb,” Brian ordered. “And don't forget the coffee. Lots of coffee.”

Deb was as good as her word, bringing everyone at the table plates brimming with yummy, breakfasty goodness, and making sure Brian's coffee cup was never empty. Everyone dug into their food with gusto as soon as it was served, except for the blond boy in the corner. He just sat there staring at his plate, almost as if it were invisible, until Brian finally realized what was going on and huffed exaggeratedly.

“J327, eat your food now,” Brian instructed firmly.

The boy obediently picked up his fork and dug into the towering double stack of syrupy pancakes along with the sides of bacon, sausage and hash browns. Brian and the gang focused on their own breakfasts, chatting casually with one another about the usual topics, and almost completely forgetting about the mute boy’s presence. Until, after twenty minutes or so, Emmett redirected Brian's attention to the PC's corner.

The boy’s progress on his feast had slowed considerably. The fork was still moving from the plate to his mouth and back again, but there were now longer pauses between each bite. Even as Brian watched, the boy placed his free hand on his visibly distended belly, rubbing at it carefully for a moment, before taking one more bite. It was painfully obvious that the kid was full and didn’t really want anything more to eat. However, he diligently took bite after slow bite, as if determined to somehow get through the entire gargantuan meal no matter what.

Brian, who knew from personal experience that it was virtually impossible to eat the full Double BS without making yourself puke at least once halfway through, didn’t know whether to laugh at the kid or tell him off. At first it didn’t make sense to him, why the boy was forcing himself to continue eating. Then, after watching yet one more reluctant bite, it dawned on him that he had ordered J327 to eat the food. Which was exactly what he was trying to do - eat the food. All the food. Despite the fact that he was likely going to make himself ill doing it. Fucking stupid PC training!

Brian pushed away his own plate, turned to the boy and reached out with his left hand to stop the next forkful. With his right hand, he cupped the kid’s chin. “J, I’m going to give you a Standing Order,” Brian said as soon as he’d made the boy turn enough so he could look him directly in the eye. “From now on, and until such time as I officially revoke this order, you are allowed to begin eating as soon as you are served any food, at any time of the day or night. You are also allowed to stop eating whenever you are full or otherwise feel you are done with your meal. And I expect you to follow this order without my having to repeat it. Do you understand, J?” Brian paused and held the younger man’s gaze without letting him look away, waiting for an acknowledgement. “I need you to answer me, J. Do you understand this order?” Brian asked again.

After a full three minutes, Brian got his answer. The boy’s chin twitched, nodding down and then up just one time, the entire span of the movement measuring less than a centimeter. It was enough for Brian though. It proved that the boy was paying attention and understood about the eating thing. Brian just hoped that permanently solved the problem. He didn’t relish having to go through this same exercise with every single meal.

“Good. Now, if you're done eating, you can put your fork down. We’ll be leaving soon. Just give me a minute to finish my coffee,” Brian explained and smiled when the fork clattered to the plate and lay still. “Silly brat,” he couldn’t help but add. “I’ve seen three hundred pound bears who couldn’t finish the Double BS on their own. I should have let you keep going, though. I bet you would have done it. You’d have been sick for the rest of the day, but your stubborn ass would have still finished the whole fucking thing, wouldn’t you?”

The inscrutable PC didn’t answer, of course. Brian thought that he maybe betrayed the first hint of a smile, though. It was more than enough to confirm Brian’s suspicions that the primary motivation behind the kid’s actions wasn’t just fear, but pride. And he liked that.

The next time Deb hustled past their table Brian called for their check. “That's ok, Brian,” Michael intervened, waving his mother off. “We’ll get this. You've got enough on your plate right now and you need to save your money . . .”

“Save your fucking charity, Mikey,” Brian snarled and tossed $40 onto the table. “I'm not so broke I can't pay for my own fucking breakfast. Besides, after I close the deal I'm off to work on, everything will be fine.”

“But, Brian,” Michael held out the money, trying to get his friend to take it back.

“Keep your money, Michael. I’ll be fine,” Brian reiterated then reached out and hooked J327 by the back of the neck as he started to slide out of the bench. “Let’s go, J.”

*Nnnnmhh* The barest whimper of sound escaped the boy right when Brian’s hand came in contact with his neck. Brian instantly dropped his hand and looked over at his PC. He'd seen the kid stoically take a lot rougher treatment from The Sapp without a peep. He didn’t think he’d grabbed him that hard either. What the fuck?

“J?” Brian asked with concern.

The boy let his head drop even farther forward, fully exposing the nape of his neck and the garishly vivid barcode tattoo imprinted there. It was plain to see that the new portions added to the tat the night before were now red and inflamed. No wonder the boy had flinched when Brian touched it.

“Shit! The fucking tat they gave him yesterday is fucking infected. We just can’t catch a break, can we J?” Brian groused, reaching out to gently trace the area with his finger. “Stupid fucking PC rules - forcing this shit on him. Not only is it a butt ugly eyesore, but they probably didn’t even bother sterilizing the damn needle.”

“It could be worse. They could have used a hot iron fresh out of the fire to brand him, like in days of old,” Ted quipped sarcastically, earning him a nasty glare from Brian before the man turned back to examine the boy’s injury.

“Looks like we’re going to have to add a trip to the doctor to our agenda for the day, J,” Brian said, shaking his head in disgust.

“It doesn’t look that bad, Brian,” Michael gave his opinion. “I know Ma’s got a first aid kit in the back. You could try just putting a bandage on it with some antibiotic ointment and give it a day or so.”

Michael was already up and out of his seat before Brian had a chance to agree. A minute later he was back with the large plastic box that contained the Diner’s first aid supplies. With all of them voicing directions and even the denizens of the neighboring booth offering occasional advice, Brian managed to get a large gauze pad liberally coated with ointment and then the whole thing taped over the affected area. It might not have been the most elegant job of doctoring, but Brian hoped it was at least adequate to keep the site clean. Hopefully the infection would abate on it’s own.

Brian tossed the remains of the unused medical tape onto the pile of other detritus accumulated on the table. “Good enough, I suppose.” He finally stood up and gestured for J327 to follow him. “Now, maybe I can actually get out of here and get to the office, so I can earn the money needed to make my glamorous new PC Lifestyle possible, hmm?” he added with full-on sarcasm.

“Don’t work too hard, Kiddo,” Debbie offered with a fond motherly smile. “And remember to stop long enough to feed this one every so often. One real meal isn’t going to be enough to get our newest family member fed up the right way.”

“Yes, Mother,” Brian replied sarcastically.

“Good boy,” Debbie gave Brian one of her signature bear hugs punctuated with a slap to his cheek for good measure. “I’ll be by the loft tomorrow with some real food for you guys. If I know you, there’s nothing in your fridge besides beer and poppers. But now that you’re responsible for somebody other than yourself, you’re going to have to fix that, Brian. You might even have to buy groceries for once.”

Brian made a face at the proffered suggestion, earning him a round of sympathetic laughter from the group. It was a well established fact that Brian avoided the grocery store as if it were a plague-filled leper colony. If it weren’t for the need to keep his beer cold, Brian probably wouldn't need a fridge at all, because it hadn’t been used for anything else in years.

“Shit! I hate the fucking grocery store. It's always crawling with breeders,” Brian whinged but knew it was inevitable. Maybe he'd have to look into a grocery delivery service?

“Oh, Brian . . .” Debbie was almost too overcome by laughter to finish her thought. “If that's the worst thing you have to deal with after the shit you pulled last night, I'll eat my fucking wig! You have no idea, kiddo.” Brian simply scowled again and turned to leave, assuming that J327 was following. Before he could make it out the door, though, Debbie hit him with one last humorous zinger. “Poor baby. For a guy who never wanted to come within a million miles of a relationship, you sure did it this time. Hahaha! You just skipped right over the dating and boyfriend thing and went and got yourself a fucking husband! Hehehe! Welcome to the world of relationships, Honey!”

Brian slammed through the front door, not deigning to look back or otherwise acknowledge the guffaws of hilarity echoing through the building, and pointedly ignoring the blond shadow trailing at his elbow.

********

Brian was still silently fuming by the time they made it to the VanGuard offices. Cynthia didn't bother to even address him after seeing the storm clouds hovering over his head. She did give a cheery ‘Good Morning’ to J327 as the boy trotted unconcernedly after his new Master.

Fifteen minutes later, armed with a triple-shot, nonfat latte, Cynthia finally ventured into her boss’ office. Brian had finally calmed down and was seated at his desk going through his email, the comforting routine helping to re-establish a sense of equanimity. J327 was still standing just inside the doorway, probably right where he'd stopped after entering. Cyn was not happy seeing the way that Brian was ignoring the boy or that he’d left him standing for so long. Did he not get that the boy wouldn’t do anything, not even seat himself, without Brian’s permission?

“Brian . . .” she said to get his attention.

“What?” he barked, not even looking up from his computer.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Brian. You don’t want to get on my shit list. And, after what you put me through last night, you’re already on thin ground,” she warned, her bossy tone instantly alerting Brian that she was serious. When he looked up, she pointed to the boy. “I think you forgot something?”

“Shit . . . Sit down, J,” Brian ordered.

J327 instantly plopped down on the carpet right where he’d been standing.

“Fucking A!” Brian grumbled. “Damn it, J. Get up and go sit on the fucking couch like a normal human.”

J327 scrambled back up to his feet and dashed over to the couch where he sat in the far corner, making himself small like the mouse he was trying to be.

“Don’t yell at him, Brian,” Cynthia complained, plunking his coffee down on the desk so hard the liquid sloshed out of the little hole in the plastic top and dripped down the side onto the papers strewn about. “He was just doing what you told him to do. Grow the fuck up already - you’re the one who got yourself into this mess, now start taking your responsibilities seriously and don’t take your bad moods out on this poor defenseless kid.” Cynthia stomped back out of the office, slamming the door closed in her wake.

“. . . defenseless kid my ass,” Brian muttered under his breath, catching a stealthy sideways glance aimed his direction from the boy on the couch. “I’m not amused, J. I know you did that on purpose. But getting me in trouble with Cynthia isn’t funny and it’s not going to help.” Since there was no reaction from the boy, though, Brian simply turned back to his work. He was smiling a little bit though. Maybe he was slightly amused. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Brian was much more solicitous the next time Cynthia came into the office. She noticed and relented a tiny bit. “Here’s the PC Clearinghouse contract from Legal. I checked it over and it seems fine. Do you want to look at it before I fax it over to Lapointe?”

“Nah. Just get it sent. I know he said he’d have it back to us right away, but I expect it will take him at least a few days. And there’s no sense in my looking it over until after we see what revisions they’re going to want.” Brian pushed the stack of papers away from him. “In the meantime, though, where’s the Bronian Graphics layouts? I was supposed to have seen those yesterday but they weren’t ready before I had to leave for the fucking auction. If the Art Deparment fucked this up again, I’m going to be handing out pink slips first thing tomorrow morning. That presentation is scheduled for two pm and right now I have nothing to show them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Boss. I’ve got the initial boards on my desk. You’re going to want to look at the font though. It’s not right . . .”

For the next couple hours the two of them waded through more work, actually getting quite a bit done since it was Sunday and they weren’t being interrupted by other employees or fielding phone calls. Every few minutes, Brian found himself glancing over at the boy still sitting complacently on his couch. He was curious what the kid was thinking, how he was keeping his mind occupied with nothing to distract him, and impressed by the length of time the young man could keep himself virtually immobile. Brian didn’t think he’d be able to sit still for that long even at his age, and was sure that back when he’d been seventeen it would have been impossible. J327 seemed utterly imperturbable though. Frankly, it was a bit creepy.

Finally, after two hours of stillness, the boy shifted in his seat. The movement was so unexpected that it caused both Brian and Cynthia to look up from the Bronian boards that were spread out all across the coffee table. Brian didn’t know why, but somehow that miniscule shift in position seemed to convey more than that the kid was just stretching. It annoyed him, though, that he couldn’t figure out why. It even annoyed him that he found himself so tuned into this boy that his every movement registered in Brian’s head. The situation was just so absurd, and it was starting to really get to him. Not that there was anything he could do about it though.

“I think it’s time for a bathroom break,” Cynthia suggested, getting to her feet and staring pointedly at Brian as if willing a particularly dense student to understand something important.

“Good idea. I definitely had too much coffee this morning,” Brian agreed, already heading towards the door himself.

“Brian . . .” Cynthia called him back, tilting her head purposefully in the motionless PCs direction.

“Oh, fucking hell! You can’t be serious? You’re saying I even have to tell him when to go take a piss? That’s ridiculous,” Brian erupted, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to control his irritation. “I can’t believe that Lapointe or Bellweather waste their time telling their hordes of PCs when it’s ok to take a crap - how the fuck do THEY work this shit? Cause I’ll tell you right now, I’m not going to be following his perky little ass around all day, every day, making sure he doesn’t need to use the fucking toilet. I’m just not going to do it. No fucking way, Cynthia! No. Fucking. Way!” Cynthia shrugged unhelpfully. Brian growled, dug both hands into his hair and pulled at the beautiful auburn strands in frustration. “Fuck! Come on, J327. Time to use the potty, like a big boy . . .”

Brian ignored the giggles that followed him out the door as he led the boy down the hall and into the men’s room. He couldn’t afford to have Cynthia mad at him, so he’d have to put up with her laughing at him. But he’d be damned if he was going to deal with any more of this stupid PC shit. He had to figure this out before he totally lost his mind.

Brian held the door open for J327 and pointed him towards the wall of urinals. The kid must have had to go pretty bad, since he practically jogged over to the first one, unzipped his pants and was pissing like a firehose seconds later. Brian stepped up to the next urinal and made use of the facilities himself. As soon as they were both done, Brian grabbed the boy by the arm and led him over to the wash basin, disregarding the way the kid flinched at the mere touch.

“Ok. Standing Order Number Two,” Brian intoned as soon as the washing up was accomplished. “From now on, you piss and shit whenever you need to. You do NOT need to ask me or anyone else for permission. You just go. I’m not going to tell you again. Got it?” Brian held the boy’s gaze and waited for the resulting nod of understanding which was given with the same tiny motion as before. “Yeah . . . still NOT amused, J!” he added as he stomped back out of the john. J followed in the same unflappable manner as always, but this time he seated himself back on the couch as soon as he was back inside the office.

“Well, if you don’t have anything else, I’m going to get out of here, Brian,” Cynthia announced soon afterwards.

“No. There’s nothing more you can help with. I’ll finish up those boards and leave them on your desk before I leave,” Brian replied. “One last thing though. I need you to get J’s records and find out what his birth name was. I’m getting sick of calling him J327 but I’m not going to pick out just any random name for him like most losers. If we can find his records, I’ll just use his real name.”

“Good idea, Boss,” Cynthia seemed pleased by Brian’s thoughtfulness, which was good because he needed to earn back some brownie points. “I’ll work on that tomorrow. I need to get all his information together for HR anyway, so that he gets added to your insurance and stuff. I’d also planned on setting up appointments for the doctor’s visit needed for his insurance rider and for you to meet with your lawyer about the necessary changes to your Will and DPOA and stuff. Might as well do all of that at the same time and get it over with.”

“Shit! I hadn’t thought about all that,” Brian admitted.

“That’s why you have me, Boss. Cause without me, you’d have wound up lost, alone and jobless a long time ago.” Cynthia smiled at him condescendingly. Brian didn’t bother to try and contradict her. “Nite, Bri!” she started towards the door, only to turn back at the last minute, “And, just a reminder . . . It’s time to feed him again.” Brian petulantly threw his pen at the door as his assistant giggled her way down the hall.

“I’m fucking surrounded by smart asses . . .” Brian complained to nobody, even as he started to put things away and straighten up his desk so he could leave.

Once his desk was tidied, Brian went to gather the stuff that had been left out on the coffee table next to the couch. Neither he nor Cynthia had come up with a better font color for the Bronian boards, even though he knew in his gut that it wasn’t quite right as is. Looking down at it one more time, he noticed that the color swatch set that they’d been going through was resting atop the board and opened to a completely different palette grouping. Instead of the navy blues they’d been considering, this grouping was of aquamarines, teals and turquoises. It wasn’t a palette that Brian would normally even consider, since these colors were muted and therefore wouldn’t show up as well as the bolder colors in most situations. However, with the product images they were using in this ad, the toned down colors were perfect. The turquoise would work especially well and served to brighten up the entire layout. It was brilliant.

And he knew for a fact, that neither he nor Cynthia had put that color swatch there.

Which left only one other person who might have come up with that color proposal . . . the otherwise uncommunicative PC who was still sitting, rooted and speechless on the couch, just a half a meter away.

“Not bad, J. Not bad at all. Keep this up and I just might forgive you for the whole pissing thing,” Brian praised, noting down the font color change before taking the whole pile of work out to Cynthia’s desk.