On returning to the waiting area, Justin first made sure he located the Keystone Kops. They were talking to Carl. Justin then spotted Debbie in a chair to the side, her arms crossed over her chest. When he entered the room, she stood. He stifled a groan, but crossed to her.

“How is he?” she asked. Her mascara had rubbed slightly off at some point that morning. It emphasized the weariness in dark circles under her eyes. She opened her arms, and Justin sank against her, grateful, for a moment anyway, to have a safe harbor to rest in. For the moment.

Then he pulled back. “He’s going to be fine. Physically.” Not knowing what else to say, he echoed the doctor’s words.

“Thank the Lord,” Debbie reached up and grasped his chin, turning his face and forcing him to look at her fully. “How are you?”

Who cares? Justin thought, but just shook his head. “I don’t know. Fine.”

“Bullshit. I know you don’t want to hear this,” Debbie continued, ushering him to sit in the chair next to hers, before she sat back down herself. “But Brian needs his family to help him through this.” She held up her hand to stop his immediate retort. “He acts like he’s big and tough, but we all know, hell, this whole thing goes to show, that Brian doesn’t always know what’s good for him. Shit, otherwise he wouldn’t push at you so hard! To say nothing of…” she trailed off.

You almost had me there, Justin thought, feeling his back go up, and vowing not to let his ego dictate to him. He remained silent, but vowed to be sure Brian’s voice would be heard, even when Brian himself wasn’t there.

“He needs the support of people who love him. Do you think being alone will be good for him?”

“He’s not going to be alone, Deb.”

She shook her head at his tone, which brooked no argument. “You think you can handle this by yourself? This is bigger than you, Justin. Trust me on this one.”

“It has nothing to do with that! It has to do with what HE wants!” How many times did he have to say this?

Debbie seemed to smirk, but her marked displeasure obviated any amusement. “You let him run you more than you should.”

“So I should let YOU run me.”

She was silent. Then she said, carefully, “Now, I know you’re upset.” There was a long pause while they engaged in a silent stare-down. She glanced away first, before looking back and saying, “Do you really think you can keep this quiet? That Brian’s in the hospital? What are you going to do, cover him up with makeup for a month while the bruises fade?”

At that, Justin’s shoulders slumped, and he leaned heavily back in the grungy waiting room chair. His eyes closed, as weariness, hung over from the night before caught up with him along with an adrenaline crash and lack of sleep. Right. Hiding this was not the answer. The physical display would be manifest on Brian’s body for god knows how long. And, was this sort of crime in the public domain? Would the assault get reported in the paper? No names, maybe, but if it were reported , and Brian went about his usual routine obviously beaten up, everyone would know. Their community was fairly small, after all.

He felt Debbie’s hand on his arm and opened his eyes to see Carl approach and take a seat next to Debbie.

“You’re not officially a suspect,” Carl said.

Well, no shit, Justin thought. But of course Carl meant he had been ruled out, officially. So that was something.

“How is he?”

Justin just shook his head at Carl’s question, still overcome by the sense of helplessness that continued to wash over him.

“We’re trying to figure out how to break this to everyone,” Debbie told Carl, though she was clearly speaking to Justin.

“Why tell them anything?” Carl asked, honestly curious.

Justin could kiss him. Seriously.

“Carl! What, are we going to hide this? You think we can?” She had seized on the argument, and wouldn’t let go now, especially since it actually made sense.

“No, honey,” he answered, much more gently than Justin could have responded to her at this point, “But why don’t you tell them he was in a car accident? It would explain why the car’s gone.”

Debbie frowned, but nodded. She did not look convinced.

A car accident, Justin thought. Why didn’t I think of that? “What have they found out?” Justin asked, turning to look for the police, who had disappeared. He looked back at Carl. “Carl?”

“Not much,” came the slow response. “They’re putting out a trace out on the EZ Pass in the Corvette, and tracing his credit cards. They’ll need to speak with him more when he’s more lucid. The DA’s office is going to want to talk to him at some point. You know the drill.” This last was said not unkindly, but as a gentle, firm reminder.

“Oh.” Again, Justin mentally kicked himself. Of course, the DA. “Okay, but, with me, they knew who did it. They barely even needed to speak with me. It’s not like I remembered anything anyway,” he finished, a slight huff of black humor escaping him.

“The DA starts working the case right away,” Carl told him. “They’ll send someone to talk to him.”

“Okay…” Justin had a feeling he should be asking more questions, but he was unable to concentrate enough to figure out the questions he should be asking. All he wanted to do was get back to Brian. So fuck all this anyway! He stood up. “I have to get back.”

Debbie stood as well, and pulled him into a tight hug. “You need anything, you let me know.”

Right now, he just needed everyone to stay away. Maybe Debbie was right; Justin had run out of any capacity for judgment. He only knew he wanted to get to Brian. “Okay, Deb,” he answered. He turned around, and walked back to Brian’s room.

***

Brian slept the rest of the day and into night, and Justin kept an exhausted watch over him, dozing fitfully in the chair at his bedside. Clark came in at some point to tell him that Brian’s EZ Pass had tracked the Corvette through tolls up to New York City, through the Lincoln Tunnel, and then nothing. She wanted to know if Brian had mentioned any acquaintance (the way she said “acquaintance” made Justin unwilling to share even the fact that he knew nothing), any acquaintance who lived or worked in the New York area.

“So, that’s it?” Justin asked, stepping out of the room and shutting the door firmly behind him as he followed her out. “You think the guy fled up to New York, and that’s it?”

For the fact that she was a small woman, her temper made her seem to rise in inches. “No, that’s not it. We talked to the bartender, and to the bouncer at your club. We have a fair description of the guy. And, of course, we’re going to talk to your boyfriend more when he wakes up.”

“Do me a favor, don’t call us boyfriends around Brian. And, what, you were talking to people at Babylon?”

“Fine, your significant other. The man whose medical status you decide, your nonboyfriend, whatever. And, yes, that’s what we do in an investigation, we go talk to people. Look, I get that you have certain issues with the police…”

Justin snorted, loudly.

Clark studied him hard. “Like I said. I get it. God knows your… god knows Brian doesn’t have a lot of friends down that way, but we hardly thought of Stockwell as King Savior, like you seem to think. He wanted to cut the budget way back on the programs that I’m officially employed under, and don’t even ask about the outreach and the drug programs.

Not all of us thought cutting those was anywhere near a good idea. And not all of us agreed with the bullshit decision that had the guy who whacked you walking the streets in no time.”

“You’ve really done your homework,” Justin said softly, not sure how to react, but definitely taken aback and not a little apprehensive.

“It’s my job. Seriously, this investigation is not going to be affected by that history, not if I have any say in it. I’m glad Kinney kicked Stockwell’s ass, the guy deserved it. No that Deekins is much better, but… Anyway. The bottom line is, I want to see the bad guys get caught. That asshole out there raping and beating gay guys. And your… Brian’s attacker is the bad guy, right? Not us. Not you. Him.”

Justin was definitely taken aback. “Oh. I didn’t know you thought all that.” Well, duh, how could he? Justin felt embarrassed, as though he should have known. But how could he? His experience to this point had certainly never exposed him to this. Again, he was reminded that his impulsive temper needed to be taken into account here, that it was causing him to jump to unjustified conclusions. Dammit.

“Yeah, well, politics interfere with my work. Which I’m generally good at when they don’t. So can we please get to catching this guy? I’m assuming we all want to do that?”

Justin nodded. “Okay… but, can you be discreet about the inquiry?”

“I’ll see what we can do. But I can’t promise you anything; anything we can do to get this guy off the streets is okay by me. I’m sorry if that doesn’t suit you.”

Justin felt a flush rise on his cheek. As he did not know what else to say, he turned his back to Clark and walked back into Brian’s room. Brian was still out of it.

Probably better that he miss all this.

***

“Justin.”

Justin shook his head, clearing out the sleep that held him deep in its grip. His neck ached badly, and a muscle had cramped in his left low back. His left arm was asleep.

“Justin.”

Suddenly realizing that Brian’s voice was calling him, Justin jerked abruptly awake. He sat up quickly, shaking off the pains of sleeping in a single seated position for a prolonged period of time. He looked down at Brian, whose clear gaze caught and held his.

“What time is it?” Brian asked, licking at his lips and grimacing at the roughness scratching his throat as he spoke. “Can you pour me some water?”

Justin rose from the chair, glad to move, and picked up the ugly yellow plastic pitcher. He poured some water out of it into a matching ugly yellow plastic cup. “Um, sixish, I think. AM.” Justin had not been asleep for long; he had slept no more than half an hour at a time all night. He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket to check the exact time. “Six thirty-seven.” He turned it off, after a message notifying him that Michael had called flashed up on the screen. Off and off. He tossed the phone back toward the chair and then picked up a straw to put in the cup, focusing on this simple action. He was not ready to think about Michael. He found himself hoping that Debbie had broken her word and told her son anyway, so Justin wouldn’t have to.

“Fuck that. No straws. I’m not 12.” Brian tried to raise his head, only to have it fall back onto the pillow. “Can you raise the bed?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“Yeah, you probably don’t know how,” Brian muttered, not paying attention to what Justin had said. His glance moved restlessly around the room. “Where’s a nurse?”

“On her rounds. Brian, look, just have a drink with the straw, I won’t tell anyone you had to use it.”

Brian stared at him, and then nodded slightly. He took a long drink, and watched Justin put the cup back on the side table. “I’m not a fucking invalid.”

Justin sat down on the bed, carefully, next to Brian’s leg, and braced himself with his hand just touching Brian’s calf. “Brian. You had surgery on your liver. It was ripped. And… in your colon area. An artery was torn. Not bad, but….”

Brian turned that laser-like look on him again, before turning his head on the pillow, so his eyes shifted away. Justin had trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. There was a long pause as he watched Brian absorb the information, clearly remembering something. Brian’s eyes stared toward the ceiling, and his lips rolled inward, before he hissed at the pain stabbing the side of his mouth. “You called emergency?”

Justin nodded. Brian still would not look at him. “Where’s my car?”

“The cops think it’s in a New York chop shop as we speak.” Or parked in the Bronx. Same difference.

“Fuck!” Another long silence. Justin waited to see what Brian wanted to know before venturing any further information. “Cops? What… Oh. Right. There’ll be an investigation, I suppose.”

Justin remained silent, unsure of what Brian meant in his sarcastic emphasis on “investigation.”

Finally, Brian turned to look at Justin. “I suppose Mikey and Deb and the rest are out in the waiting area?”

Justin shook his head. Technically, Deb had gone home. “No, I thought it was best to wait until you could have visitors and make up your own mind.” Was that the right decision? Justin had no idea.

“Oh.” Again, Justin could not read Brian’s blank stare toward the wall. He became increasingly uneasy.

“Surgery? I had surgery.”

Justin nodded.

“Is there a scar?” Brian’s mouth twisted at this, and again, Justin didn’t know how to read that, at all. Was he making fun of himself? Of the situation? What the fuck was going on?

Disturbed, Justin took tentative hold of the situation. “Brian…”

“Don’t,” Brian interrupted him, his tone sharp and absolute. “Justin, just. Don’t.” He had compressed his lips as much as possible, to the point of obvious pain. “Is my face cut?”

“You’re pretty beat up, but no cuts,” Justin offered, uncertain again. “You have broken ribs.”

Brian took a deep breath. “Ow. That’s what that is. Thank god for small favors,” he muttered, and his neck muscles, which had been straining his head upward, relaxed to drop his head back on the pillow. He glanced down at himself. “What the fuck am I wearing?”

Justin said nothing. He couldn’t do this anymore. Unbidden, he felt his eyes well up, and bit down on his lips in an effort to stop the tears from spilling over.

Too late; Brian had seen. “Stop that!” he commanded sharply. “Don’t you fucking dare!” His hoarse voice could not disguise the commanding tone. The command was not nearly as emphatic as Justin knew Brian would like; the drugs and weariness combined to take away the force he would have put in that statement. Justin heard it, clearly. But it only made Justin lose what little control he had. He stood, and turned his back, walking away from the bed. Silence reigned, except for Justin’s hitching breath.

“Justin…”

Justin willed himself to regain control, yelling at himself in his own head, “Fuck this! Stop it! Just stop it!” Slowly, the extreme sorrow that had ambushed him yielded as he tamped it down, back toward his solar plexus, where it sat, heavy as stone. But contained. He turned to face Brian only then, his features schooled.

“Don’t,” Brian repeated, more gently this time. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine!” Justin would have shouted, were he not working so hard at being unemotional.

“I will be fine. I’m here, right? I’m alive. I’m fine.”

Brian needed to believe that, Justin saw, and Justin was in no condition to argue. In fact, Justin was surprised Brian managed to stay awake this long. As they spoke, his eyelids had begun falling downward, only to be yanked up to a state of willed awareness. Justin walked back to the bed.

“I know,” he said soothingly, taking Brian’s hand. Brian jerked his palm, but could not pull completely away, and Justin was not about to let him go. “Fine. But… I don’t think I am.” He hoped that opening up this way would help Brian see that admitting to feeling bad was not impossible, nor necessarily undesirable. While Justin was aware of the futility in hoping Brian could or would pattern his example, providing one had become second nature in their relationship. “You’re right. But I’m not okay. This…” he trailed off.

“Yeah… okay.” Brian’s eyelids drooped. “I’m sorry, Sunshine.”

Sorry? “What? Why?”

“Couldn’t have been much fun to go through all that.” The reply was mumbled, and Brian had turned his head away again, into the pillow.

Fun? “Brian…” Justin started, but Brian interrupted him, pinning him in an intense gaze.

“Go back to the loft, and bring me my blue silk robe. And two pairs of the grey jersey cotton sweat bottoms and the black cotton long-sleeved tops, you know, the ones I hang out in at home. The Laurens. They’re in the bottom drawer. And get the face lotion from the bathroom. Not the body lotion, make sure you bring me the face lotion, it says it on the bottle, ‘for the face.’ And my Blackberry, don’t forget that.”

Justin took a deep breath, but before he could reply to that last mumbled command, Brian was out again.