“Face lotion, face lotion, you have three fucking face lotions in the bathroom to say nothing of the fucking scrub, and you didn’t exactly say not to bring the body lotion, and when was the last time you wore those shirts anyway…” Justin mumbled, rummaging through the duffel bag he’d brought with him, crammed with not only the requested items, but socks, and underwear, and hair stuff, and even a hair dryer, because he was god damned if he was going to be traipsing back and forth between the loft and the hospital room because Brian was using this material shit as a means of distracting himself. Or keeping Justin away. Yeah. So, no. He’d even thrown in the eyebrow tweezers. And shampoo and conditioner, too.

The elevator door slid open on the third floor of the hospital, and Justin zipped the bag shut resolutely. No Blackberry. He’d left that on the desk, and was still trying to come up with a plausible reason for why he had not brought it with him. Not enough room. Couldn’t find it. Or maybe just the truth, you really should focus your energy on recovering from a major trauma because when this hits you it’s going to be a psychological freight train.

Or not. Justin was more afraid of the fact that so far, there hadn’t been so much as a whistle.

Justin paused outside the door to Brian’s room. He had nothing but time and space to think on the taxi ride to the loft and back. On the way home, he’d focused solely on the things that Brian had wanted, trying to anticipate what hadn’t been asked for. On the return trip, without the mental list to keep him occupied, he realized how easy it had been to focus on these things and block out thinking about the real issues. Block out thinking about Brian’s possible reactions to all this, once the drugs wore off. Justin wanted time to consider what had happened in the past 48 hours or so, but by the time he had forced away from the image of Brian bleeding in the shower, curled up into himself, and had started to think about how he himself had felt after Hobbes took a bat to his head, in the aftermath of pain and disorientation, the inability to use his hand, his drawing hand, the taxi had brought him back to the hospital. And Brian needed him, needed his things. He would think about all this later. Yeah, great, he was Scarlet O’Hara. Look where tomorrow got her.

Justin pushed the door open, to be greeted by the sight of Brian, bed raised to a reclining position (of course he had gotten someone to take care of that for him), with Clark standing on one side of the bed and an unknown woman standing next to her. They looked over when Justin entered the room, having apparently interrupted their conversation. Clark had a notepad out; a pencil poised over the paper.

“Hi?” Justin said, setting the bag down next to the chair he had adopted as his own. He glanced at the stranger to make clear the question was directed at her, but his gaze automatically moved to Brian. He still looked really bad; Brian’s hair was matted to his skull, and the skin around his eyes would take a while to clear, and that bruise. His face was puffy and swollen underneath the signs of having been beaten, to say nothing of the underlying pain and exhaustion. But Brian seemed lucid, at least, much more lucid than earlier.

“Did you bring me cigarettes?” he greeted Justin, one eye twitching slight as he attempted to raise an eyebrow. The effort failed. Justin couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.

“Um, you can’t smoke in a hospital,” Justin offered tentatively.

Brian sighed. “Then I’m going to have to get the fuck out of here, aren’t I?”

Clark glanced over at Justin, but she spoke to Brian. “Do you want him here for this?” she asked, the pencil remaining in its position, ready to write.

“Yeah, whatever,” Brian responded, rolling his head on the pillow to look over at the women. “Sunshine, this is the police officer assigned to my case. And this,” he gestured feebly with his arm, “is the counselor assigned to trauma victims for the DA’s office. You remember how helpful the DA’s office is? Well, this is them. Kim here will want me to make a statement about how all this has affected my life.”

Kim looked over at Justin, her expression placid, unaffected by Brian’s sarcasm. “We explained the process, in the case of an arrest.”

“And Sheila here,” Brian gestured at Clark, the bite clear in his voice, “wants me to describe my attack. In detail.”

“Yeah, I know,” Justin said. “I had to make one of those impact statements when Hobbes went on trial.”

Brian’s body stiffened, and his gaze shifted off to the far wall, before he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were hard and glassy. “And that did so much good, didn’t it.”

“Mr. Kinney, we’ve established that your partner here didn’t do this to you…”

Justin took a deep breath, crossed his arms over his chest and forced himself to just watch. So much for not being officially a suspect. He wondered when they were going to get over that and shut the fuck up about it. He stepped up to the bed and leaned against the railing at its foot.

“We went over that already. Moving on…” Brian looked down towards where Justin leaned against the bed frame. “You don’t have to listen to this.”

“I want to. Unless you don’t want me to.”

Brian hesitated, a furrow developing between his eyes as he considered. “What the hell, do what you want.”

Something exploded in Justin’s chest, a dread that he forced back to wherever it had come from. He could feel its traces, the threat of it, lurking, waiting for the next shot. And the next.

I’ll be there, he vowed, gritting his teeth. For all the shots, damn it. Bring ’em on, Brian. I can take this. Or, I will take this.

“So,” Clark continued, “leather pants, linen shirt, leather jacket, black lace-up work boots, blond hair to the shoulders, about 5’ 11”, maybe 175 pounds.”

Blond

“Yeah, wiry,” Brian added. “Stronger than he looked.”

“Don’t need to be strong to use a taser,” Clark responded. “So he tasered you and then hit you in the head with some sort of club.”

“Yeah, I kind of blacked out, and when I came to…” Brian stopped there, his voice falling away. No one spoke, and Brian stared at Justin, stared through him, actually, not looking at him at all. Justin saw Brian’s eyes come back into focus on his face, onto his lips actually, before Brian continued. “I don’t do that. I never… I never let guys do that to me. Get anywhere near… there. He…”

“Take all the time you need,” Kim put in, and Brian whipped his head around to look at her sharply, wincing at the consequent pain from the motion.

“I don’t need fucking time, I need that fucking night back.” He stopped, bit his lower lip, shook his head, and looked at Clark as he went on. “The doctors tell me he shoved that club up my ass while beating the shit out of me. I guess the shock had me out, because all I remember is coming to, and feeling… pain, and thinking I needed to get away from it. I grabbed the door handle and pulled, and fell into the alley, pulled my… pulled my clothes together and got the fuck out of there.”

“You must have took him by surprise,” Clark responded, after jotting down a few notes. “You said, there wasn’t a lot of room in the car for maneuvering.”

“My car,” Brian murmured. “Have you found my car?”

Clark shook her head. “Not yet. My partner is on it. I’ll tell you know, though, the odds are against us finding it. We tracked it to New York, we got a trace out there.”

“Well. Gosh, thanks.”

“Did you see anybody else in the alley when you fell out of the car? Was there anyone around?” Clark persevered, ignoring Brian’s sarcasm.

“No, the shops there close at 5pm, no one just hangs out in that part of town after dark. That’s why we went there,” Brian explained, as if to a child.

Clark glanced down at Justin, and he could see the patience she was exercising in that look. Kim, on the other hand, looked as if she could wait forever. Justin found that very restful. He bet Brian found her annoying as hell.

In any case, Justin had very different priorities than the police and the DA had. “You think you have enough for now? He’s just had a major operation.”

“Anything else you can think of that we didn’t cover,” Clark began.

Brian only snorted in response. “What the fuck do you want me to say? I got the shit beat out of me, and a club shoved up my ass. Just another victim of the gay lifestyle. It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“No one deserves to get hurt,” Kim said gently.

Brian turned his narrowing gaze to her. “Yeah. But not everyone’s going to think that. Just ask Sunshine here, he’s been worried about this sort of thing happening for years, haven’t you, dear?”

Justin’s head snapped back as if he had been struck. “Um.” He had no idea how to respond.

“And I don’t need to make an ‘impact statement,’” Brian continued, making air quotes around the last two words as he spoke them. He ignored Justin and turned on Kim. “I can tell you right now. I’m missing work, and I’m going to have a fucking scar which will not do me any good in trolling for the next guy to fuck. Does that answer your question? Now, all of you, get the fuck out!” He emphatically snapped his eyes closed.

Clark shook her head and made for the door, Kim close behind her. Justin stood there, staring, startled at the vehemence of that last order. He felt a hand on his arm as Kim passed by him, and he gazed down at her as she beckoned for him to follow.

“Get the orderly, Justin, I need to put on my real clothes,” Brian called after him as he exited.

Justin followed the police woman and counselor down the hall toward the elevators. He stopped by the nurse’s station, and found Janice. “Um, Janice?” He got her attention as she looked up at him over her bifocals. “Brian Kinney in 311? I brought him a change of clothes and he wants someone to help him into them.”

Janice stared at him for a moment, and shook her head. “He’ll be better off not moving much.”

“Yeah, well, I see what you mean. But if no one helps him he’ll try to get out of bed and do it himself.”

Janice’s mouth twisted to the side. “Ah. One of those. Fine, fine, I’ll get Alex to help him.”

“I don’t suppose you can get him a sedative? He’s kind of agitated.”

Janice typed rapidly into the computer, and scanned the screen. “He’s due for medication in 25 minutes.”

“I don’t suppose you could make it ten?” Justin flashed his best smile at her.

“No.” The mouth skewed even more tightly to the left. “I’ll send Alex down in 15 and I’ll come give your man his shots in 25. Just like the schedule says.”

So much for the famous Sunshine charm. “Okay,” Justin complied, not terribly happy but resigned. He turned around when he felt that soft hand again on his arm.

“Justin,” Kim said, “Can I talk to you?”

Before he realized her intent, he had been pulled along and sat in a chair further down the hallway. She sat carefully in the chair next to him, and reached into her bag, pulling out a couple of pamphlets.

“Brian will never read these,” Justin protested, even as he took the documents. He didn’t have to look at them to know what they were.

“They’re for you,” Kim replied, resisting his attempt to give them back. “He’s going to have a very hard time, and from what I’ve observed, he isn’t very open to the idea of help.”

Justin barked a laugh, and stopped before he became hysterical. “Um, no. Brian’s… well, he’s… honestly, I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

“I wanted to talk to you anyway. Are you ready for this?”

“For what? Ready? Is anyone?” Justin asked. “Or am I ready to stand by him as he goes through a painful recovery? Of course.”

But Kim was shaking her head. “Not just that. Everyone reacts differently to being attacked and raped, but in the case of men, especially, the typical reaction is rage.”

“Rage,” Justin repeated. How appropriate. And daunting.

“And that rage is often taken out on the nearest target,” Kim continued, watching him.

“Meaning me.”

“You, maybe. Maybe himself.”

Himself. Great. “What can I do?”

“Get him help, if you can.”

“Brian doesn’t believe in psychiatrists.”

“And neither do you?” Kim put in shrewdly. Justin merely shrugged. “Look,” she continued, “one of those brochures is for the Gay Men’s Health Alliance. They have people for support, to talk to. Some of them aren’t psychiatrists, they’re just men who have been through many of these issues themselves. You may want an objective ear, and it doesn’t have to be official.” She stood. “And my card’s in the Men and Rape pamphlet. So you can contact me any time you want.”

“Kim…” Justin hesitated. He didn’t know if he should talk to her, if he could trust her, but at the moment there was no one else.

She sensed his need, and sat again quickly. “Yes?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Out of his mouth, the words conveyed his anguish clearly, and Justin could feel the tightness he had been fighting earlier begin again. “I mean, last time I left him at the club alone, this happened to him. Are your brochures going to tell me how to deal with what to do if he wants to go out again? Or, if I should get him to try and talk about it, when he really isn’t going to want to?” He could feel a distant panic start to settle around him. Kim reached over, but Justin pulled his hand away, not wanting her to touch him again.

She merely pulled her hand back, unoffended. “Could you guarantee that if you had stayed at the club the other night, that this wouldn’t have happened?”

“Yes!” Justin almost shouted. “Yes, if I had stayed, he would have gone home with me, I could have gotten him to go home with me…” He bit off the last, hearing his elevated tone. Damn it, I can’t lose control here, I can’t, he told himself, closing his eyes, wanting to block out this woman, the hospital corridor, all of it. He opened his eyes. “I have to make phone calls, I have to call his work…”

“It’s not your fault,” she told him. “You didn’t choose this for him, and he didn’t choose it for himself. He’s going to experience his own guilt…”

“Brian doesn’t do guilt,” Justin muttered.

Kim looked skeptical. “Well, I think you should be prepared for the unexpected. And, I think that you should get support from the GMHA.”

“GMHA?”

“The brochure?” Kim gestured at the pamphlet, the title clearly reading “Gay Men’s Health Alliance” across the front. She stood. “And, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll be in touch as the investigation continues.” He watched her walk down the hall, glad he hadn’t begged for help, because that was exactly what he had felt like doing. Don’t give me brochures, fix this. Find the guy and destroy him. But somebody, God, anybody, fix this.

Of course, life didn’t work that way. And Justin didn’t really know that woman. She had caught him in a moment of weakness, and she had been a blank page onto which he could pour out his own troubles. He knew the solutions would not come from her. He would have to guard against those weak moments, he realized. He had to be strong.

***

Justin stopped in the bathroom to splash cold water on his face before returning to Brian’s hospital room. When he entered, a young man was gently maneuvering Brian to lean forward before he slipped the black shirt over Brian’s head, very carefully helping Brian’s arms into the sleeves. Justin caught a glance of the bandage covering what must be quite the gash in Brian’s side, just before Alex pulled the shirt down Brian’s torso. Janice stood to the side, watching, her lips pursed. When Alex finished, Janice walked forward and drew the blanket up over Brian’s cotton-clad legs.

“Anything else, Mr. Kinney?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, call me Brian,” Brian replied with a small smile that might have been more to Brian’s purpose if the grimace of pain weren’t so obviously lurking immediately behind it. “And a blow job would be nice.”

Alex looked startled for a moment, and glanced quickly at Janice, who shook her head. “Sorry, not in my job description, Mr. Kinney. Brian,” Alex corrected at Brian’s look. He glanced at Janice again as he left the room.

“So you just couldn’t leave well enough alone,” Janice chided as she stepped up and took Brian’s arm, pushing the sleeve back and picking up one of the shots she had left on the side table. She injected him quickly and efficiently. “You wouldn’t have to have this shot ten minutes early if you hadn’t insisted on getting changed into your own clothes and probably caused yourself more pain…”

“Couldn’t Alex administer the shots?” Brian asked, his face not changing expression as Janice picked up the next needle and stuck him with it.

“It’s not Alex’s job, it’s mine. And Alex is married.”

“So?” Brian returned, attempting to raise his eyebrow.

“Hmph,” was all Janice said, as she turned toward Justin. “All changed and medicated.” She swayed towards the door.

“Thanks,” Justin said to her retreating figure. His voice was hoarse. He turned back to Brian.

“What’s wrong with you?” Brian asked, scrutinizing Justin’s face. Damn it, Justin thought, his eyes must be swollen.

“Tired,” Justin answered.

“Go home,” Brian ordered. “Go to bed. And go find out when they’re going to let me out of here.”

Justin did none of those things; he sat in the chair, and stared across the room. “Brian…” he began. He wanted to broach the idea of the brochures that were sitting in his back pocket, to talk about what Brian had said to Clark, even to discuss Brian’s obvious hostility toward all of this, but he decided he could not possibly pick a worse time. He just shut up instead.

“Where’s my Blackberry?” Brian demanded, leaning back in the bed and craning his neck around.

“You need to recover, not get bogged down in work,” Justin answered, owning up to his refusal to follow orders.

“Well, fuck, did you bring a laptop?” Brian answered, still looking around the bed.

“No… what are you looking for?” Justin asked.

“One of these buttons that lower the bed…”

Justin walked over to the bed, and hit a button on the side. The bed declined.

“You knew, all along,” Brian accused, but settled back into the pillow and seemed grateful to be lying prone again.

“I’ll call Cynthia and let her know…”

“What?”

Was that fear Justin heard? He wasn’t sure, through the sharpness of the tone. “I’m going to tell her you were in a car accident. And, I’m going to call people and let them know, just, that you’re here. Are you ready for that?”

“Fine… car accident, right. Okay, that’s good.” Brian’s eyes slid closed. Either those were very good drugs, or getting changed had taken too much out of him. Or both. Justin decided it didn’t matter, he was trying to avoid thinking about more important things, again. He left the room to make some calls.