Friends and Lovers

Chapter 7

The ride to Michael's apartment began in silence but it was only a few minutes before Brian got straight to the point.

"What the Hell is your problem with Justin all of a sudden?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Michael said sullenly.

"I'm talking about the fact that you've been a total asshole to him since he got back."

"Just because I don't feel the need to tell him every detail of my life doesn't make me an asshole," he retorted hotly. "It's none of his damned business and I told him so."

"He knows there's something going on and I won't lie to him for the next six months." They pulled up in front of the apartment and Brian turned to face him. "Not even for you, Mikey."

"Then don't," Michael snapped. "If I had known confiding in my best friend was going to be such a burden on him, I wouldn't have bothered."

Before Brian had a chance to reply, Michael was out of the car, slamming the door angrily behind him.

"Shit," Brian breathed, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. He considered going up to talk to Michael, even if it was just to reassure him that his secret was safe for as long as he wanted to keep it, but he doubted even that would be well received given his friend's current anger.

It was the truth, though. It wasn't his place to tell anyone else what was going on in Michael's life. He, himself, had tried to hide his illness from those closest to him. How could he condemn his best friend for wanting to do the same, especially before they knew, for sure, that there was anything to tell?

Of course, he was also painfully aware that his decision had come back to bite him in the ass. He'd practically thrown Justin out of his life for finding out and Justin had, in turn, read him the riot act for trying to keep it from him in the first place.

But this time it was different. It wasn't his own secret he was keeping, but his best friend's. It wasn't like he even had a choice in the matter. Not really. He'd given his word and there was no way he was going to betray Michael's trust. There was no doubt in his mind that Justin would understand that once everything was out in the open.

Not too much doubt, anyway.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Justin paced back and forth in the loft, running everything he'd heard over in his head. Something had happened. Something bad.

But what?

He scoured his memory for anything that might resemble a clue but was no closer to finding one when the phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered automatically.

"Justin? It's me, Brett."

"Brett," Justin replied, "Hey."

"How are you?"

Justin shrugged, knowing full well the other man couldn't see the gesture. "I've had better weeks. What's up?"

Brett hesitated only a few seconds, but it was enough to set Justin's already frazzled nerves on edge. God, now what?

"There's really no easy way to tell you this, so I'll just come out and say it. Richard's wife declined to accept the collection we took up."

Justin frowned. In lieu of flowers, everyone who'd worked on the movie had made a cash donation to be given to the widow. "I don't understand."

Brett sighed. "Her brother dropped off the check this afternoon. He seemed genuinely sorry, said the money could have really come in handy and that he appreciated the gesture, but she didn't want anything from anyone connected to the movie. He thinks she may come around once she's had time to deal with the grief, but for the moment, she was adamant that the money be returned. He had no choice but to respect her wishes."

"Of course," Justin said flatly. He wasn't so sure she'd come around, but he didn't say anything. Brett hadn't been there when she had all but accused Justin of killing her husband. Brett's voice brought him back to the present.

"I need to know what to do with your share. Do you want me to mail a check?"

Justin thought about it for a moment. "No. I don't want it."

"Some people took it back, some donated it to charities in Richard's name," Brett offered in way of a suggestion.

He immediately thought of Mrs. Turner, the sweet lady who'd lived next door to him in L.A. She'd told him of the volunteer work she did at one of the local AIDS hospices and how hard it was sometimes to get by on what little money came their way. "I know exactly where I'd like it to go," he said into the phone. "I'll email you the information, if that's all right."

"That's fine," Brett assured him. "I'll make sure it's directed wherever you want."

"Thanks," Justin replied.

"Take care, Justin."

"Yeah. You, too. Bye."

He hung up the phone and stood there, thinking about how many things had changed since he'd set off for what he'd expected to be an exciting new career in the movies. One man was dead, another was recovering from severe injuries, at least two others were facing criminal charges and the movie wasn't going to be made anyway. It all seemed like such a fucking waste.

The loft door slid open and he turned to see Brian enter. He briefly contemplated telling him the latest bit of news but Brian didn't need another reason to worry about him, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyway. Maybe after things calmed down, he'd tell him. He remembered Daphne's advice to give him some space and Brian's declaration that he already had enough shit to deal with at the moment.

"Something wrong?" Brian asked with a frown, obviously unnerved by Justin's silent assessment.

Pasting on his best attempt at a smile, he shook his head slightly. "No, nothing."

He didn't look like he necessarily believed it, but after a brief hesitation, Brian shrugged.

"Did you eat?" he asked as he headed toward the bedroom to change.

Before he had a chance to answer, the buzzer sounded and Brian turned angrily to face the door. "Fuck!"

Justin ignored the outburst and headed for the intercom. "Yeah?"

"It's me," Lindsay's voice came over the speaker.

"Come on up," Justin said, glancing sideways at Brian. After pushing the button to allow her entrance, he went to stand beside his lover. "Be nice," he warned.

"Is it too much to ask for a fucking moment's peace?" Brian ground out, moving to pour himself a drink.

Justin watched him with a modicum of concern. Whatever was going on was taking its toll and he wasn't sure who would end up getting the brunt of it once it reached a boiling point. He was saved from further speculation when Lindsay showed up at the door.

"Hey," he smiled, crossing the room to kiss her on the cheek.

"It's good to see you, Justin," she said, returning both the smile and the kiss. "L.A. must have agreed with you. You look great."

"Thanks," he said politely. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks, I can only stay a minute."

"So, to what do we owe the honour?" Brian asked from his place at the bar cart.

Her smile faltered a little in light of his tone, but she quickly gathered her composure. "Actually, I need a favour," she began, ignoring the wry chuff of laughter her words invoked. "There's a meeting at the gallery tomorrow afternoon that I can't get out of. I was hoping you could pick Gus up from school and stay with him at the house until I get home."

"Why can't Melanie pick him up?" Brian asked with a frown.

"She's in court."

Brian snorted. "Believe it or not, you two aren't the only ones with full-time jobs."

"But as the boss, your schedule is more flexible," she replied sweetly. "You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, Brian."

"I'm not busy tomorrow afternoon," Justin offered. "I could pick Gus up."

Lindsay turned to him, her smile more placating than apologetic. "That's sweet, Justin, but the school will only release him to a parent."

The slightly embarrassed look that flitted across his lover's face was not lost on Brian and served to intensify his irritation. "I'll pick Gus up tomorrow," he agreed, "and while I'm there, I'll make sure they know that Justin is on the approved list of people they can release him to in the future."

"I don't think that's necessary," Lindsay replied dismissively.

"I do."

Her eyes narrowed and she looked like she was about to argue, but instead, sighed and nodded tightly. "Fine. I'm his custodial parent; I'll talk to the school."

He nodded. "Good. Now that that's settled, was there anything else you needed?"

She glared at him for a moment before turning toward the door. "If there is, I'll be sure to let you know."

Justin waited until they were once again alone before turning to his lover. "She didn't mean anything by it, Brian. The school's rules are for the protection of the kids."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Brian snapped angrily. "You're not some fucking psycho off the street for Christ's sake."

Justin knew the anger wasn't solely directed at Lindsay or the situation with Gus and he was slightly grateful for the relatively innocuous outlet. "She said she'd talk to someone at the school," he reminded his irate lover calmly. "Next time a similar situation comes up, it shouldn't be a problem."

Brian only glared at him, not willing to give up on a legitimate excuse to vent the frustration he'd been feeling since Michael's revelation.

"In the meantime," Justin continued in an attempt to get his lover's mind off of Lindsay's visit, "I'm starving. Chinese OK?"

The glare had waned somewhat, but hadn't disappeared completely. "Not that new place. The Kung Po tasted like leftover cat."

"I'll have to take your word for that," Justin murmured as he browsed through the take-out menus. "Back to the Jade Terrace, in that case. You want anything special?"

"A side order of peace and fucking quiet would be nice," he mumbled, resuming his earlier attempt to make it to the bedroom.

Justin placed the order before following his lover to the other room. "How are things going with the Henderson account?" he asked, flopping onto the bed to watch the other man change.

Brian huffed a mirthless laugh. "Things must have gone well with Matherson if he's already got you scouting out the competition."

Justin frowned a little at that. "That wasn't why I was asking. Besides, Artex is no competition. It's graphic art, not advertising."

"I know what it is," Brian intoned, "but ideas are ideas."

"You don't seriously think I'd ever take your ideas and use them to get ahead at another company," he said in a tone of obvious disbelief.

Brian ran a hand through his hair with a sigh before shaking his head slightly and turning back to the closet, leaving Justin to wonder whether he was saying he didn't believe it or just didn't want to talk about it.

"So, how did it go with Matherson?"

Justin shrugged, even though Brian's back was to him. "All right, I guess. I met the people I'd be working with and I checked out the art department. Dwight seemed impressed with some of my ideas."

"Is <i>Dwight</i> on a first name basis with all his employees?"

Frowning, Justin realized he didn't know the answer to that. In the short time he'd been at Artex, he hadn't heard any of the other employees call him Dwight, or Mr. Matherson for that matter. "I don't know," he admitted.

Brian wanted to say that he did know, or at least thought it highly likely that Justin was afforded the privilege of using Matherson's first name because <i>Dwight</i> liked his ass, but he knew that would only start another fight. Besides, despite his misgivings, he thought that working at Artex could be a good experience for Justin and he didn't want to ruin that based on assumptions that could be way off base. He'd do some checking into Dwight Matherson, and if he still harboured concerns, he'd voice them then.

Their food arrived and they shared the meal in relative silence in front of the TV. Unbeknownst to the other, neither man was paying much attention to the CNN correspondent on the screen, each lost in his own thoughts. Brian was still trying to come to terms with what was happening to his best friend and what it could mean for his future good health while Justin's mind was on Brett's call, Dwight Matherson's interest and his partner's recent preoccupation.

Once they were finished eating, not that either of them found themselves with much of an appetite, they cleared away the leftover food and retired to their separate corners, Brian pulling up the Henderson account on his computer while Justin settled in on the sofa with his laptop. After sending the information about the hospice to Brett, he shifted his position, resting his back against the arm of the sofa and turning slightly so that he could watch the man working on the other side of the room. After a few minutes, it was obvious that Brian's mind was on something other than the computer screen before him. There was an underlying anger in his tense expression that couldn't be owed to a difficult account.

"Is everything OK with Michael and Ben?" he finally asked.

Brian looked up with a small, questioning frown.

"I heard you and Michael talking as I came in," Justin went on without apology. "Ben's devastated and Michael's afraid of losing him. Does he have reason to be? Is Ben sick?"

He felt an irrational surge of anger that it was Ben Justin seemed concerned about when Michael was the one currently going through Hell. "Ben's fine," he grated.

"Is it Hunter?"

"Fuck, Justin," Brian snapped. "Ben's fine, Hunter's fucking fine, all right?"

"Don't get mad at me for wondering," Justin bit back. "What was I supposed to think after hearing what Michael said?"

"Maybe you were supposed to think it was a private conversation," Brian snarked.

"I wasn't intending to eavesdrop," Justin replied, eyes narrowing. "If you were that concerned about being overheard, maybe you should have taken your private conversation somewhere else."

"I shouldn't have to worry about that in my own fucking home."

"And I shouldn't have to worry about feeling like an intruder in mine," Justin snapped, getting to his feet. "Maybe you need to make up a schedule, Brian. Let me know when I'm welcome to come home and when I'm not. Save me walking in on another little heart-to-heart with your fucking best friend."

Brian watched as his angry lover stormed into the bedroom, only to appear a moment later in tight-fitting jeans and a silk t-shirt. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he demanded, surprised at the attire.

"Out," Justin grated on his way across the room. Once he had the heavy door open, he tossed a tight, "Don't wait up," over his shoulder before closing it angrily behind him.

Brian sat staring at the closed door for a long moment, contemplating what seemed to be a complete role reversal. Justin wasn't the one who went out tricking when things got heated between them. That was definitely a Brian Kinney M.O. and he didn't think he liked having the tables turned on him in such a way.

No, he didn't like it one bit.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Justin stood at the bar, working on his second drink and thinking about the recent happenings that had ended up with him being alone at Woody's. He wasn't actually angry with Brian so much as frustrated and concerned. The former because Brian was so obviously upset and Justin had no clue as to why, the latter because he wasn't sure what the fallout would be once it all came to a head. Things had been so good between them when they'd left California to return to Pittsburgh. He'd thought they'd be able to put the unpleasant happenings in L.A. behind them and finally begin building a life together. Instead, Brian was out tricking away his obvious irritation and Justin was being intentionally left in the dark as to the reason for his lover's ill temper.

A reason that obviously had something to do with Michael.

Downing the rest of his drink, he turned and headed for the door, shaking his head silently at the young brunette who'd been trying to get his attention for the last hour. He wasn't in the mood for a quick blowjob in the men's room. He wanted answers and he was damned well going to get them one way or another. Brian might be tight-lipped and stubborn, but Michael had proven time and time again that he was no good at keeping secrets.

A short time later, he was knocking on Michael and Ben's apartment door, hoping to find the former alone, but realizing it probably wouldn't matter either way. This was going to be resolved, regardless of whether or not they had an audience.

When Michael answered, he was obviously surprised to see Justin standing there, but his expression quickly turned to a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you."

"Well, I'm busy…"

Justin pushed past him, uncharacteristically angry. "I don't give a fuck. I'm sick of this shit."

"Hey!" Michael exclaimed, protesting the invasion.

"What's going on, Michael?" Justin demanded.

Michael crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at the younger man. "I told you, it's…"

"None of my business, yeah, I know," Justin snarked, effectively cutting him off. "And that may be true of whatever's going on between you and Brian, but it doesn't take a genius to know that you're upset with me and that is my business. So either be a man and tell me what your fucking problem is, or knock it off with the adolescent gibes and dirty looks because I've got enough shit to deal with at the moment without you and one of your fucking temper tantrums."

"You've got enough to deal with?" Michael demanded angrily. "What about me? Rage was my dream, you little shit, not yours. You didn't care if the movie got cancelled. That just meant you could come home to your perfect little world that much sooner."

"All this is about the fucking movie?" Justin asked incredulously. "Jesus Christ, Michael."

"Damned right it's about the movie. I trusted you to look after our interests out there. I even helped you patch things up with Brian and what thanks do I get? You screw me over first chance you get!"

"What are you talking about?" Justin demanded, confusion mingling with his anger. "I didn't have anything to do with the movie being cancelled."

"Right," Michael scoffed cruelly. "Brett couldn't wait to tell me how fucking lucky I was to have a partner who'd stand up for the project. Did you even think about me and what this movie meant to me? Or were you too busy trying to prove that Justin Taylor can't be intimidated?"

"Is that what you wanted?" he asked, frowning. "For me to run back here at the first sign of trouble?"

"No! What I wanted was for you to do your job without making things worse. They never would have shut the movie down over a few protestors."

"No, not if it had stayed at that, but it didn't. They attacked me, they beat a man half to death and burned down the set and then they fucking killed Richard. A man is dead, Michael. No movie's worth that."

Michael crossed his arms over his chest once again. "Things don't generally escalate like that without someone adding fuel to the fire."

"And that's what you think I was doing?" Justin asked in disbelief. "You seriously think I would do or say something that would incite them to that sort of violence?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" Michael snapped.

The colour drained from Justin's face at the words before rising again in a sheet of anger. "Fuck you, Michael," he hissed, storming from the apartment and slamming the door.