“Debbie!” Justin didn’t look twice at the expression, or, more accurately, the complete lack of expression on Brian’s face before he took off and followed the woman back into the kitchen, slamming in after her through the double doors where Carlos, the cook, worked. “Debbie! Stop!” He dodged the prep table and Carlos to move quickly to where she stood with her back turned to him.

“Damn it, Debbie, what…” And then he noticed that her shoulders shook.

He put a hand on her arm and turned her around. “Debbie, what the fuck? You can’t think Brian could have done something about that! Are you kidding me?”

“It was Rafferty!” she cried, her voice high pitched, tears carrying mascara down her face. Justin shook his head, confused.

“He was just a kid, just out of college. Sat on the corner stool every lunch and got waffles, waffles for lunch! I used to tell him he needed to eat better, and he’d tell me there was plenty of time for vegetables when he grew up, when he grew up… so much going for that kid, he worked as a paralegal, and fucking waffles, every day! I opened that paper and everyone in the diner’s talking about it, and, and, this didn’t have to happen!”

Justin picked up a nearby cloth, and wiped her face, clearing the dark stains as best he could. Damn, thank god he didn’t have to deal with makeup in his lifetime. Well, not as a rule, anyway. “Look,” he said, “it’s terrible what happened to Rafferty, Deb. But that is not Brian’s fault.” He glanced at Carlos, who was half-listening, and grabbed Deb by the arm to pull her back out into the diner’s seating area.

Brian was gone.

“Shit,” he muttered. He thought only a moment before realizing where his partner must have gone, and he did not let go of Debbie’s arm as he dragged her out of the diner and down the sidewalk.

Brian was leaning up against the coupe, smoking a cigarette. Sunglasses hid his eyes. He watched impassively as Justin marched up, Debbie in tow.

“I don’t need coffee so badly you bring the waitress to me,” Brian said, stubbing the cigarette out under his boot.

Justin frowned, ignoring Brian’s blithe comment. “Debbie?”

“Brian, I didn’t, I shouldn’t have done that, what I said, but I was just… I knew the kid, you know?” Her face crumbled, and the mascara started to drip again.

Brian nodded, but did not respond.

“And, I know you’ve been through a lot,” Debbie continued, “But all this is still going on!”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Brian asked, not looking at her.

“I don’t know!” she cried. “Something! You took care of Stockwell! Of course, you created him. But you fixed that!”

Brian snorted. “I didn’t create this one. There’s really nothing I can do.”

Debbie glanced over at Justin, who stared at her with his lips disappearing into a thin line. “I’m sorry, Brian. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. That was unfair of me.”

“Yeah, well,” Brian answered, taking out another cigarette and lighting it.

Debbie started to say something, but she just reached out to touch Brian’s arm before turning and walking back to work. Justin watched her as she retreated. He turned back to Brian, who dragged heavily on his smoke.

“She’s wrong.”

“No, she’s not.”

“What? Bullshit! She had no right to attack you like that.”

Brian pitched the barely smoked butt onto the ground, and stamped it out with the heel of his boot. “Her feelings aren’t wrong. Isn’t that what you keep trying to tell me?”

Justin shook his head, not understanding. Brian crossed his arms over his chest. “I still haven’t looked at mug shots.”

Justin kept watching him, still not certain of which cues he should be picking up on.

Brian took the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shook out another cigarette. “So, technically, Deb’s right,” he explained, lighting yet another. “I could have done more. Whether I would or not, that’s another question.”

“She has no idea what you have or haven’t done.” Justin pointedly ignored that last comment.

“So?”

“So!” Justin grabbed the cigarette from Brian’s hand and threw it onto the cement, crushing it with a single, hard stomp. “Brian, you’ve smoked two and a half of those things in the last five minutes. If I know you, it’s more like five.”

Brian lifted an eyebrow, looked at his smashed, fresh cigarette, and then looked back up at Justin.

“Don’t punish your lungs because you’re upset.”

The look on Brian’s face probably should have told Justin to back off, but he refused to pay attention to the warning.

“She had no right to blame you for getting raped. I’m right, she isn’t, stop listening to all these people who are full of shit, who have no idea what they’re saying!” When Brain looked away, Justin pressed his body up against his side, reaching up and forcing Brian’s head around. “Do you know how thankful I am that you got away? Do you have any idea? I was THERE, goddamn it! Don’t you dare listen to that bitch…”

“Justin!”

“Listen to her tell you that this is your fault… that’s fucked! You got hurt, and that wasn’t your fault. She was acting like a total cunt…”

“Justin.” Brian’s voice was low, warning.

“I didn’t say she was a cunt, I said she was acting like one.”

“Taking lessons in lawyer-speak from Bill Clinton now?”

Justin shook his head, and grabbed at the waistline of Brian’s shirt. He clutched at Brian’s hip, and pulled himself closer into the other man’s body. Burying his head against Brian’s chest, he mumbled out, “It isn’t your fault that this guy is still out there, what were you supposed to do while he was tasering you and beating the shit out of you, HANDCUFF him and deliver him to the police? You’re not Rage, and anyway I prefer you, YOU,” and he squeezed his arms around Brian’s waist, so hard Brian winced. “Just you,” he said, and buried his head into the space just under Brian’s shoulder, and took a couple of long, shuddering breaths.

Brian frowned, and then shook his head. “Justin?” Justin wouldn’t look up, but kept his face firmly against Brian’s body. Brian dropped his arms around Justin, and pulled him closer. “It’s fine,” he murmured, “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“You might not have been, and I wish people would think of that before they go off. Just because you look okay...”

“I look fantastic. Justin,” Brian added, tilting Justin’s face upwards. “Don’t be too harsh on Deb. She was close to someone who was murdered. It’s a shock; she wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, she should think.” Justin’s mouth formed a reluctant smile against Brian’s shoulder. “Just because you look fantastic doesn’t mean you are, inside.”

“What gave me away?”

“I know you.”

“Do you now.” They stood there a moment, Brian running a hand through Justin’s hair. “You know…” He hesitated. Justin flexed his fingers, slightly digging into his waist. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous.” Justin lifted his head up, separating them slightly so he could look into Brian’s face.

“Yeah. I was wondering. How’d you like to move back in? To the loft. With me.”

“Really?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, you know I asked, or yeah, you want to move in with me?”

A huge smile spread across Justin’s face. “Oh, I want to move in. To the loft. With you. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since I was seventeen.” He paused, frowning. “Am I being too easy? Should I play harder to get?”

Brian shook Justin’s shoulders, and then ran his hands up to tug at his hair, tilting his head back. “Don’t you dare, I like you easy.”

“Yeah, well, you got it.”

“So? Is that a yes?”

“Yes. That’s a yes.” Justin stood on his toes, lifting himself up to Brian’s mouth. “Okay, so kiss me now.”

“Yes, sir.” Brian lowered his head, and met him half-way.

***

Justin was not pleased when Brian parked his coupe, only to toss him the keys before pulling out the set to his roadster.

“Hey!” Justin called, putting his hands on his hips. “Where are you going? Don’t you want to celebrate my first day as an official resident?”

Brian actually hesitated, but then shook his head. “I have to take care of something. I’ll be back, we can celebrate then.”

Justin continued to frown.

“Whatever you want to do, when I get back,” Brian coaxed, opening the door to his car.

“What if I want you to carry me over the threshold?”

Brian snorted. “Within reason.”

“Well, that leaves out a lot,” Justin groused, his lips thinning as he watched the car leave the garage. He shook his head. He signed up for it. “Yes, I sure did,” he murmured, his mouth relaxing into a smile as he considered bringing his things over from Daphne’s.

***

Brian was shown to Clark’s desk. She brought him coffee, thank god, since he hadn’t managed to actually drink any at the diner. Brian had been wondering if his head was going to implode without a caffeine shot any time soon. Unfortunately, this shit was worse than the diner coffee, if that was possible.

Clark sat heavily in her chair. “We’re pretty sure it’s the same guy,” she said. “People who saw them leave gave a similar description. And, there’s something else we’re following up on, but I can’t confirm at the moment. Just, we’re pretty sure.”

“So I guess I should look at mug shots then.”

“Now why would I want you to look at mug shots? I only sent you 20 emails asking you to do just that.”

Brian twisted his lips into a grimace. “Yeah, you did.”

“Believe it or not, I actually understand why you wouldn’t want to. But I was kind of hoping it wouldn’t be something like this that got you to come in.” She tapped the paper on her desk.

He didn’t answer.

Clark sighed. “Right. Anyway.” She stood up. “Come with me.”

***

Two hours later, she checked into the room in which she had placed Brian. He looked up from the computer, clicking away from yet another page of pictures, and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, pushing the chair back and stretching. His back cracked. Ouch.

Clark took the seat next to him. “Well, the DNA tests on your clothes match up with the DNA tests on last night’s victim.”

“On my clothes?”

“Yeah, your partner gave permission for the police to take them that night. Unfortunately, the DNA doesn’t give us any name for a perp from the national databases. However, our DNA here matches the DNA from three assaults and two murders in New York.”

Brian blinked.

“The murders took place a month ago, and three months ago. The assaults were before that.”

“So what you’re saying is, this guy’s a serial killer.”

“We’re going to catch him.”

“HOW?” Brian exploded, then checked himself. “What the fuck? If these were serial rapes and murders of women, it would be all over the news. Why hasn’t there been any publicity?”

“We just found out about the New York connection less than 90 minutes ago. And it is big news. In New York.”

Holy shit, Brian realized, he knew that already. “The West Village club murders.”

“You got it.”

He sat, staring at her as she watched him process the information. “So now what happens?”

“The powers that be are discussing that as we speak.”

“They want to sweep it under the rug because it’s the gay community.”

“You’ve been talking to Tedeschi.”

Brian snorted. “Not in this lifetime.” He eyed her. “What’s his angle?”

“He’s pushing to break it wide open, of course. Luckily, he knows nothing about this latest. What would you want to do?”

“Me.”

“Yeah. You. One of the arguments is that the victims, in other words, you and the others, should be shielded from any potentially damaging publicity. You should get a say.”

“I never read about the New York men who had survived the attacks. They seemed to keep it fairly quiet up there. The focus was on the murders, not the assaults.”

“You can bet people up in New York know who the victims of the assaults are, though.”

Right. Brian glanced back at the computer screen, suddenly wishing for the frustration he’d been feeling an hour ago.

Rock. Hard place. Him.