“Sir? Are you Justin Taylor?”

Justin pushed himself away from the hospital wall. He had been unable to sit, so he had paced the length of the waiting room, waiting for anyone to leave surgery, and come talk to him. He looked over at the woman who had just entered the waiting room. She was small, birdlike. He wondered if she were a nurse, but she was wearing black pants and a button-down shirt. This is not what he had come to expect from medical personnel. He had no idea who would come to speak to him. He had only ever been on the other side of emergency services. He had never had to wait, depending on others to tell him what the fuck was happening.

Justin had not called anyone. He knew it was irrational, but he really didn’t want to. Deb would yell at him for not calling, but he didn’t want or need any support until he had a handle on this, until he had a handle on himself. He kept thinking that Brian would be so angry if he spread this news around. It was all too overwhelming. He had no idea what to say to anyone, or even if he was entirely capable of speaking coherently. He had to get his own shaking under control, and then he had to figure out what to tell people.

He had heard nothing since the doctor had spoken to him about the operation. Justin had had enough presence of mind prior to the ambulance trip to grab the paperwork granting him authorization for Brian’s medical decisions. Brian had lectured him about the forms, and they had gone through drills concerning the papers’ location in Brian’s desk drawer, just underneath the paperwork authorizing Brian to speak for Justin (Brian had put Justin’s papers on top, commenting with grim not-quite-humor, that he was much more likely to need Justin’s paperwork than Justin was to need his). Now Justin was thankful for Brian’s paranoia concerning Justin’s blasé attitude toward details. The hospital personnel had, of course, moved to take care of the most urgent problems without Justin needing to make any decisions at all. But because of that piece of paper, Justin had been able to accompany Brian into the emergency room, to stay at his side as he was urgently assessed, and to have a nurse keep him up to date on everything happening. He was then escorted to a quiet waiting room that was specially reserved for family members. And he began to fall apart.

And thank god, with that simple little paper, no one had even mentioned contacting Brian’s nuclear family. Not with Justin and his papers and their terse legal jargon. The doctor automatically came to Justin with the x-rays, explaining that the rectal bleeding was due to a nicked artery that needed to repaired. And a lacerated liver, apparently. They were still assessing Brian’s condition. So Justin waited. And paced. And watched the clock. And took deep breaths, and stalked around the room, focusing on getting his oddly souply leg muscles back under control, instead of thinking of the last glimpse he had had of Brian. Or, more accurately, a last glimpse of Brian’s body with a field of medical people prodding at him, sticking needles in him. Brian had been so damn still as they wheeled him away to x-ray. Justin could only watch as they moved down the hall and away from where he stood, helpless. And then he had been escorted here, to this small waiting room with its soothing light blue walls and uncomfortable chairs, to wait for this little woman who waited for him to acknowledge his connection to the injured man. Hopefully just injured. Oh, god, please let Brian be okay.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Justin told the tiny woman, who looked at him with large, dark eyes holding not sympathy, but… what? Understanding. Maybe. Something. “And you are…?”

“I’m Sheila Clark. I need to speak with you about what happened.”

Justin suddenly recognized her. Or, more specifically, he recognized the type. Oh, fuck. Some official psychological response person. Justin knew he should be polite, but maybe he’d been around Brian long enough, and he just couldn’t bring himself to humor the woman on any level. He compromised, and was not out and out rude. “This just isn’t a good idea,” he said.

“What isn’t a good idea?”

“Exactly how many degrees in psychology do you have?”

Sheila smiled. “So you know the approach?”

“You could say that,” Justin answered. He wasn’t about to mention his own experience as the object of professional sympathy. “Professional services aren’t much help.”

“Yes, you would know, wouldn’t you?”

He had been looking away, but now he suddenly looked back, his attention sharpened. “So maybe you’ll respect my desire to be left alone right now. Unless you know how Brian’s doing? That’s the only thing I’m interested in discussing. Otherwise…” he trailed off, hoping she’d respect his desire to be left alone.

Sheila shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know about Mr. Kinney’s condition, no.”

“Then excuse me.” Justin turned his gaze into the distance again, determined to ignore her.

“Do you mind if I ask why you don’t want to talk to me?” Sheila made no move to leave. She actually took a seat.

“What services are you offering, exactly?”

“I serve in part as police services liaison to the Rape Crisis Center. My position qualifies me to understand that these types of crimes, well, have very different considerations, that the police haven’t historically taken into account.”

“Look, I understand what it’s like being the victim of a hate crime…”

“Rape is different.”

“I’m sure the police are going to call this a sexual assault, and treat it with all due serious consideration. As much as the police ever give to crimes against our community.”

“I treat these crimes seriously.”

Justin paused, closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Ask me what you want.” Might as well get this over with.

“What happened?”

“I woke up when Brian came in…”

“So you were at home?”

“Yeah, I was in bed. Brian came in…”

“Do you know where he’d been?”

“Last I know, Babylon. The club. I’d been there until about midnight, but I had to go home, because it had been a long day. I was tired.” Christ, that sounded like an excuse. But that’s exactly what it was, Justin realized. Fuck.

His mind wandered, suddenly replaying the point in the evening when he told Brian he was too tired to hang around. But this time, in his imagination, he decided to stay, and he and Brian had headed to the back room where he had blown Brian in front of envious stares before they went home and Brian fucked him, tenderly, as he did sometimes when they were alone, and really, right now they were in bed and all this was a bad dream and he would wake up soon. As suddenly as the fantasy came to him, it fell away, and Justin felt his whole chest seize with an ache so strong that it immediately migrated to his throat, forcing a welter of tears too big to hold back. He blinked rapidly, but could not stop their sudden release from his eyes, down his cheeks. He turned his head swiftly from the woman’s view, and wiped his face, bit his lips, and took deep breaths. Forced calm. Calm. Calm.

“And…?”

He took another deep breath, and made himself speak. “And? I woke up when Brian came in. I was sort of dozing, waiting for him to get out of the shower and come to bed. I woke up about forty minutes later, and he was still in the shower.”

“And that was at about four-fifteen.”

Justin looked over at her sharply. She knew an awful lot of detailed information for a rape crisis counselor. She also didn’t talk like one of those touchy-feely emotional professionals. “You said you’re affiliated with the police department?”

“Yes.” Sheila held his gaze. “I’m the liaison between the Rape Crisis Center and the Pittsburgh PD.”

Brian had told him once that anyone you meet will tell you everything about themselves within the first ten minutes. You just need to pay attention. And ask the right questions. “Who pays you?” Justin asked.

“I’m paid through the city…” she saw the look he bent on her. “It’s a special position, but essentially, I work out of the police department.”

Right question. So, not a crisis counselor, but a legal entity. He had no idea what that meant, but he had been through the system before, hadn’t he? Justin hesitated for only a second before pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialing Deb’s number.

“Hello?” Debbie’s voice was sleep clouded, confused, typical for someone emerging from a sound sleep at five-thirty in the morning.

“Debbie, it’s Justin. Is Carl there?”

“Justin? What’s wrong, sweetie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Please, Deb, I need to speak with Carl now. Is he there?”

She was suddenly very awake. “Sure, hon, just a sec.”

“Justin? Is something wrong?”

Carl’s gruff voice did so much to reassure him, that Justin felt a sudden, dizzying awareness of his situation, and the security he had cut himself off from by refusing to contact anyone. Carl was solidly connected to a side of Pittsburgh for which Justin had more than a little ambivalence. After Brian’s work against Stockwell, to say nothing of the whole Hobbes fiasco, Justin felt a great deal of apprehension regarding the police, to say nothing of Pittsburgh’s prosecutorial institutions. Carl could and would escort him safely through the civic entities that were just beginning to press in on the situation. Justin was under no illusion that Carl would deliver justice; Justin was not even thinking of that when he decided to call. But he knew Carl could personally ensure fair treatment and possibly even humane consideration. Carl could help. Why had he not considered this before now? The damn tears would drown him, Justin thought as he choked back a sob; that thing behind the tears would swallow him whole. He felt his legs wobble again as he was momentarily overwhelmed by a desire to give up to something, to someone else, to let someone else deal with all this. But then he straightened and reminded himself that while Carl may help, he would not provide any real solution. If Justin gave into tears or sleep, if he lost control in any way, if he relaxed his guard, Brian could slip away. The situation was that simple. Calling Carl had allowed him to distract himself through action, and god knows that felt better than waiting and not knowing. But that didn’t mean Justin would let Brian down now.

“Carl, Brian’s in the hospital. He’s been attacked.”

“Attacked? What happened?” Carl came fully awake. With a rustle of bed sheets in the background, Debbie did as well. Her shrill voice demanded, “Attacked? Who’s been attacked?” Shit… oh, well, alerting Deb couldn’t be avoided. Or, maybe it could, but… Shit.

Justin replied, “I don’t know, it happened while he was out.” He found himself struggling to say the words. He was beginning to realize that his struggle to keep this news quiet made no real sense. Brian’s attack was an attack like any other insane act of violence. He was in the hospital, for god’s sake, and not leaving any time soon. “I don’t know how he is. He’s in surgery. But, there’s a woman here claiming to be the liaison between the police and the Rape Crisis Center, and I’m not sure what she wants, and I don’t know how to talk to her.” Justin saw Sheila’s eyebrows move upwards, but he really did not give a shit. Fuck her. “I’m sorry I’m waking you up this early, but I just don’t know what the hell’s going on, and I was hoping you might help me figure out, I mean, who’s going to come and talk to me and…” He turned his back on Sheila, his voice dropping. He realized he wasn’t making a lot of sense, and he needed to pull himself together. “Look, Brian was attacked, and I’m at the hospital waiting for him in surgery, and now police are asking me questions without really telling me anything, so I’m just really… I don’t really trust them, and maybe that’s just my history, but I’d feel much better if you were here. I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”

In the background, he could hear Deb demanding, “What’s going on?” Carl just told her to be quiet for a moment, and she shut up. “Justin,” Carl said, “You hang on and don’t say anything to anyone, we’ll be right down. But, answer me this, were you called to the hospital?”

“No,” Justin answered. “Brian came home and collapsed. I called the ambulance. We came here from the loft.”

“Is this a rape case?”

Justin was becoming lucid enough that he appreciated Carl’s directness and depersonalization of the subject. Justin answered the question simply. “Yes.”

“Okay, listen to me. The officer is probably a police woman who works on rape cases specifically. She wants to find out what the story is without your guard up. Right now, you’re a suspect.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. From the police’s point of view, anything’s possible and they’re trying to establish it. The significant other is often the perpetrator, especially if you called in the emergency. Of course, obviously, that’s not the case. But it often is, so they’re going to be aggressive. You just sit tight, and we’ll be right down.”

“Okay, Carl. Don’t let Debbie call Michael. Tell her I’ll let him know.”

Justin hung up, and looked over at Sheila Clark. “I have a couple of friends coming down. Carl’s a cop.”

She smiled. He couldn’t read the look, and he still didn’t care.

********

“Justin, my god, what happened?” He was surrounded by a huge stuffed purple coat and a red wig, and the smell of tomato sauce and faint musk that was all Debbie. Enveloped in her embrace, he could only shake his head as his throat closed up and he fought relaxing into Debbie’s expansive arms. Carl stood off to the side, talking quietly to some strange man Justin hadn’t seen up to now. Clark looked on.

Finally, Debbie let him go. “Justin…?”

Carl stepped forward. “Sheila and her partner, Rob Gonzalez.” He nodded back at the strange man. “They’re specially trained in sexual assault.”

“So you’re a police officer?”

“I… yes.” Sheila nodded.

“Well what the fuck!” Justin exclaimed, suddenly explosively angry. “So go do your jobs! Go catch this guy!” The police merely eyed him, and Justin turned back to Carl. “So, I’m a suspect,” he finished, swallowing his ire into the bitter tone.

“No,” Carl replied. Clark took a deep breath, and Carl shot her a look. “Justin is not a suspect, Clark. No way. You’ve seen his history?” She nodded, tersely. Carl turned back to Justin. “You were his first contact, and you’re his lover. That’s always the first person we talk to. But the police can move fairly quickly to dismiss that idea, and get onto the case. Right?” The last was directed over his shoulder.

“Right,” Clark answered, but she did not seem wholly convinced. “Justin. Brian was at Babylon?”

“It’s not open now!” Deb exclaimed.

Gonzalez ignored her. “Do you know if he drove there?”

“No, I…” Justin paused. “The car would be in the garage across the street from the loft, if he came home in it. Spot 16C.”

“Do you know the parking garage’s phone number?”

“No, but the address is 433 Tremont.”

“Okay, I’ll go see if we should look for the car. Sheila’s gonna wait here to talk to Brian when he wakes up. She’ll need to talk to him before he talks to you, okay?”

Justin was going to say something about that, but Carl spoke first. “Is Justin a suspect?” he asked.

“Horvath…” Clark started.

“Does he need a lawyer?”

Both police officers hesitated.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Justin needed to make them understand. “Brian’s going to be conscious soon enough and he’ll let you know himself, so no, I don’t need a lawyer,” he finished harshly. Fuck this! Let them suspect whatever they wanted! Brian would wake up, and exonerate him, so fuck it. “Why don’t you go see if Brian’s car is where it should be, if it’s parked near the club, or if you should be looking for some psycho who’s off driving it! The longer you waste time grilling me, the further away he’s getting!”

Gonzalez gave him a long look, before turning with a nod, and left the room.

As he left, the doctor came in, and shut the door behind him. “Mr. Taylor?”

“Yes, doctor…”

“Hom. Mr. Kinney’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, thank god!” Debbie exclaimed as Justin felt every muscle in the back of his neck relax and release all muscular control down his spine to his sphincter. He drew in a breath, regaining control. Dr. Hom continued, “We’ve settled him into a recovery room.”

“Oh, thank god,” Deb breathed again, and Justin closed his eyes and let the pulses of relief swept through him.

But only for a moment. Standing straight and bringing his gaze back to the doctor, he asked, “How bad is it?”

“The worst of it was the liver laceration, and we took care of that. He came through the surgery just fine. He has three broken ribs…”

“Broken ribs, fuck that, get to it…” Deb muttered, but Justin shot a look at her, and she shut up.

Dr. Hom continued, “The blood loss was not as severe as it might have been; he probably passed out more from shock, and partly from the alcohol in his system. It could have been much worse. There’s tearing around the sphincter, but except for the one rent in the rectal canal that damaged the artery, there was mostly just bad tissue bruising. He’ll be in a lot of pain, but the damage itself is not catastrophic.”

“Holy shit, what happened?” Deb asked, looking at Justin, who just shook his head.

“Dr. Hom, um…” How did he ask this? “What about possible infection?”

“We have him on antibiotics, and of course we’ll be monitoring him…”

“No, I mean, what about the potential for STD’s?”

The doctor nodded. “Oh, of course. We believe he was assaulted with an inanimate object. We only found splinters. Nothing else. No semen, no foreign tissue.”

Justin just gaped.

Carl glanced over at Clark, and his gaze was arrested by her expression. She did not look surprised at that bit of information. While Justin and Debbie digested the last of the doctor’s remarks, Carl gestured Clark to follow him out of the room.

Justin watched them go, but was too intent on grilling the doctor for information. “So there’s no chance of AIDS or anything else.”

“Well, that’s something,” Debbie added.

“You’ll be able to see him in twenty minutes or so. I’ll send Janice, our nurse, back for you.”

“Yes. please,” Justin answered. Dr. Hom nodded, and exited. Justin turned to Debbie. “Look, Debbie.” How did he put this? Bluntly seemed best. “I don’t want you to tell anyone about this.”

“Not tell… Brian’s going to need his family around him!”

“I don’t know if that’s what he’s going to want, though. Until we know, I think it’s best we hold off crowding him. By that, I mean, with anyone. Even you.”

“Justin, even though Brian thinks he doesn’t need anyone, he does.”

“I appreciate that, but… this is different.”

“What, are you saying he should be ashamed because some asshole beat the shit out of him?”

“It has nothing to do with how he’s supposed to feel or not feel. I don’t know how he actually does feel. Debbie, it’s,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s Brian. With this kind of assault. He’d be upset enough that his friends see him beat up. But this kind of an assault.” He stopped, and saw that she understood. “I just don’t want to assume how he’s going to want to let people know about this.”

Deb studied Justin’s features, noted how wasted he looked. “Okay, maybe not all the details. But, honey, what exactly happened?”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t know. I just… if people find out about this, they’re going say he asked for it. People want to blame someone.”

“They can blame that asshole that did this!”

“But they won’t. Brian’s not exactly known for his caution in getting naked with strangers. Besides…” Justin hesitated. Should he confess this next bit? He hated that it was on his mind at all; it certainly did not reflect well on him. But, on the other hand, it might help keep Debbie’s mouth shut, if she thought it was for him, and not for Brian. She was oddly unsympathetic to her son’s best friend. So, fuck, it’d make Justin look bad, but it would suit his end. Very Machiavellian. Very Kinney-esque. “People will blame me.”

“What the fuck? Oh, fuck, you don’t need to worry about that, Carl is straightening that out right now with the cops.”

“Not that. I mean, people in general, they’ll think that I allowed it.”

“Oh, please!” Deb exclaimed. “What crap!” She saw the look on Justin’s face. “Brian makes his own decisions. What the fuck, are you telling me because he picked the wrong playmate, it’s your fault? Fuck, it’s not even his fault! Some psycho is out there, beating up gay people...”

“I don’t think other people are going to be so understanding, Debbie. People want someone to blame. I should reign him in, right? Isn’t that my job? They’ll blame Brian… but everyone knows how Brian is. I’m the one who should know better.”

“No, that’s not true, Justin.”

“But the thing is,” Justin continued softly, “I think maybe… maybe it should be. If I could just…”

“What? Control him? Brian? Oh, my sweet boy, it ain’t gonna happen in this lifetime.” She patted his cheek.

His face twisted under her hand. “But, it’s not just whether I can, it’s whether I should try. Everybody just accepts Brian’s tricking and all that as who he is, but I mean, why? Why should I just accept that? It’s not good for him. Shit, look at… I just… I don’t think it’s good for him. I really don’t like that he does it. Lately, I’ve just been walking away from it. Like tonight. I mean, I was tired, right, but I also didn’t want to have to deal with Brian wanting to play with someone else. Even if it included me. I can’t judge him though, I’m not going to judge him, so I’m just ignoring it, kind of letting him off to his own. And I bet he gets lonely. And bored.”

“So you’re to blame for his choices? Fuck that, really Sunshine. You have your own feelings. And Brian would be pissed if he thought you’d made yourself his watchdog.”

“Yeah, but, obviously, he could use one. Maybe since he didn’t get one growing up, he should get one sometime in his life.”

Justin didn’t see the grimace that passed over Debbie’s face at this last, and he continued. “Besides, I can’t exactly say that people will be wrong to think that this is, at least partially, my failure.”

Debbie said nothing for a long moment, just stared at him. “Okay,” she finally said, “I won’t say anything. To anyone.”

Bingo.

They stopped talking then, and it seemed a very long time before the door swung open, and a very fat woman in a nurse’s uniform entered the holding room. “Justin Taylor?” she asked. He nodded. “Brian’s in his room, I’ll take you to see him now.”