"Hey up, Vic," Justin called out as he entered the house after a short morning shift at the diner.

"In here," Vic called from the kitchen, where Harley chirped, "Hello, Baby," ringing the bell attached to his mirror lantern as the teen entered the room.

"Hello, Harley," Justin greeted the budgie with a bright smile. Turning to Vic, he drily commented, "I much prefer that greeting. Wean him off that other one, would'ya?"

Unfortunately for the blond's peace of mind, Harley chose that moment to chitter, "Hellooo, Briaaan."

"I'm never gonna hear the end of that, am I?" Justin sighed resignedly.

"Nope. You're stuck with it," the older man confirmed with a chuckle. "On the other hand, if you had a session with Bob last night, neither Deb nor I heard a thing. We were both dead to the world."

The teen grinned smugly. "Your loss."

"Sis is gonna think she's jinxed," Vic chuckled again, "being deprived of vicariously experiencing Bob."

"She'll get another chance," Justin vouched, not even bothering to note how inappropriate the conversation really was, then changed the subject. "Did you still want to clean the house today?"

"Everything but the attic," the older man agreed. "I think we've already got that under control. I'm just setting out ingredients for pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, and pumpkin custard so we can get a head start on tomorrow's baking."

"Are all the desserts gonna be pumpkin?" the teen inquired. "My mum never made pumpkin custard; that sounds intriguing."

"Pumpkin for now. The custard is easy to make - you just have to be careful that you don't burn yourself with the hot water that surrounds the custard dishes," Vic informed him. "Later, it'll be apple pie, apple crisp, and applesauce. And then there's zucchini bread, gingerbread, cranberry-"

"Enough," Justin protested. "Hadn't you better leave something for tomorrow?"

Vic shot Justin a look of pity. "Tomorrow it's all the main courses and side dishes, Kiddo. This is the major holiday in the Grassi-Novotny household."

"Bigger than Christmas?" Justin questioned in surprise.

"Hmm, yes," Vic absently replied as he counted out the eggs he needed for the various pumpkin-based desserts. "When we were growing up, it was always Thanksgiving that all the relatives and friends would descend on Nonna and Nonno for. That's not to say we don't have a big do at Christmas as well; really, both gatherings are about the same size nowadays."

"Will any of your relatives be coming to help celebrate?" the blond lad wondered. He hadn't even considered that possibility, the Grassi-Novotny family seeming to consist only of Deb, Vic, and Michael.

"It's unlikely," Vic replied, "although we did send out the usual invitations to various people. Mama was embarrassed by my ‘gayness' after I came out, and some of my aunts and uncles were freaked out about exposing my cousins to me, in case it proved contagious."

"Numbskulls," Justin muttered. Vic was so comfortable in his own skin that he tended to forget that the older man had grown up in an era when it must've been even tougher to be out and proud. 

"Folks were pretty freaked out by the whole AIDS epidemic, when most of them became aware of it in the eighties," Vic explained. "Some people believed you could catch it just by touching a gay person, whether or not the individual had been diagnosed with the disease. I wasn't HIV positive back then, but you wouldn't have known that by the way some of my family and friends shunned me."

"It's not a death sentence now, though, right?" Justin questioned, frowning at Vic in concern. "You're doing okay, aren't you?" He knew his surrogate father had been really sick not that long ago, but he'd assumed everything was under control now, the older man much healthier than he had been.

"I'm fine, Sunshine," Vic reassured him. "Well as fine as I can be with this fucking disease. I promise, though, I'm not about to shuffle off this mortal coil."

The teen grinned at the allusion to Hamlet. "You'd better not," he threatened, "or you won't get to listen to me play with Bob."

"If nothing else, that'll keep me here," Vic readily affirmed with a laugh.

"Oh, speaking of guests, I almost forgot," Justin exclaimed, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand. "There will be someone new for dinner tomorrow."

"Oh, who?" the older man queried.

"That detective I finally reported my torched locker and the bullying to - the one who's investigating the burglary at Brian's loft? Justin disclosed. "Well he stopped by the diner this morning for some lemon bars, and I asked him what he was doing for Thanksgiving..."

"You invited a policeman?" Vic stared at him in shock. "Whatever for? You really can't trust a flatfoot, Kiddo."

"Detective Horvath is different," the teenager protested. "He and his partner are really concerned about the situation at St. James. He made me feel like a stupid kid for not reporting it sooner, but he also let me know he was proud of me for finally doing the right thing."

"Hmm, I suppose this Horvath might be the exception to the rule," Vic mused.

"He really is," Justin assured him. "He gives good advice too, even when I don't like to hear it."

"Well, then, lad, I'm glad you've found someone to look up to," the older man claimed, smiling at the blond. "So the detective's going to join us?"

"Yeah, but he'll be late," Justin revealed. "He's on some kind of weird shift and doesn't get off till two o'clock in the afternoon. The detective was just going to head home and sack out in front of whatever football game was on the telly. I really felt bad for him. It's a day to be with friends and family."

"You've convinced me," Vic chuckled. "It'll be a real test of his character coping with this crazy group, though. We'll see if he survives."

"After he stuck his foot in his mouth with Kiki at first, she's grown really fond of him, says he's ‘a real gent,'" Justin divulged.

"We'll see," Vic muttered skeptically.

"I checked with Debs before I asked him," the younger man informed Vic. "She felt sorry for him too - didn't want him to be all alone. So, you're gonna make him feel welcome, right?" he concluded a bit anxiously. 

"Since he's your guest, yeah," Vic agreed.

"Um, what're you doing?" Justin asked as Vic took a container with cut-up chunks of butter from the freezer.

"Hmm?" Vic mumbled as he measured and placed flour, sugar, and salt into a mixing bowl.

"The butter," Justin prompted.

"Oh, it's for the pie crust," Vic explained.

"Why didn't you buy some of those frozen shells from the store - or a package of graham cracker crusts?" Justin wondered.

The older man stared aghast at the teen. "Nothing tastes as good as homemade crust, Sunshine," he asserted. "It doesn't take that long to prepare the dough either, once you get the hang of it."

"It seems like a lot of trouble to me," Justin replied. "I can't remember my mum ever making pie crust from scratch. She always claimed the frozen ones were just as good - and less likely to result in burnt edges."

"Put on an apron and get that bubble butt of yours over here," Vic ordered. "I'll turn you into a pro at rolling out dough in no time. Come the feast tomorrow, you'll be telling me how right I am about what makes a good pie crust."

Half an hour later, when they placed two pumpkin pies in the oven, Justin was liberally doused with flour, but pleased with the results of his introduction to creating crust from scratch.

"Say ‘cock,'" Vic requested, causing Justin to turn around in startlement as the older man snapped a photo with the Polaroid camera. "Looking sharp," he jested when the photo printed out a few minutes later - two blue eyes peering out from a flour-dusted face, more flour in the blond's hair, a large daub of dough decorating one of his tennis shoes.

"I'll have to dust you off along with the furniture," Vic jested as he affixed the photo on the fridge, next to the one of the intrepid attic-cleaning trio.

"Have at it," Justin invited with a broad grin, handing Vic the feather duster from the hall closet.

"C'mon, let's see how much cleaning we can get done before we need to check on the pies," Vic proposed.

Three hours later, two golden-brown pies and three loaves of bread rested on cooling racks on the kitchen counter, a pan with twelve pumpkin custard cups was in the oven, and the entire house was spic and span - except for the cleaning crew.

"I'd better grab a shower, since I'm babysitting Gus in a bit," Justin stated, glancing down the length of his grime and flour-bedecked body.

"Yeah, then Gus can decorate you all over again," Vic laughed. "Go on. I'll take care of the custard and then wash myself off after you're done."

The blond raced up the stairs, imagining all the fun he and the wee nipper would have together...

While Justin was covering himself in flour, Brian was fidgeting at his desk, waiting for Melanie to arrive. He refused to admit he was nervous about the upcoming meeting with Ryder - nerves were for pathetic morons and girls, and he certainly wasn't any of those. When he realized that his right leg was again jiggling in counterpoint to the drumming of his fingers on his desk blotter, he made a conscious effort to stop both motions. He managed to stay still for about ten seconds before the jiggling and drumming resumed.

Moments later - at 9:28 according to his Bvlgari wristwatch - his intercom buzzed, causing him to jump in his seat and emit a most unmanly squeak. "Fuck," he muttered as he punched the blinking red button, barking, "What?" at his assistant.

"Ms. Melanie Marcus is here to see you," Cynthia stated in an overly-polite tone, letting Brian know his attitude was wearing thin, regardless of the reason for it.

"She's early," the ad exec blurted, immediately wanting to bang his head on his desk, knowing he'd sounded like a complete moron.

"By two whole minutes," the bulldyke attorney chuckled, rapping her knuckles against his ajar door before stepping into the office.

Brian looked longingly at the steaming cup of Starbucks she was holding. As he was wondering why the fuck he hadn't thought to request that she pick up a coffee for him, the lawyer pulled her hand from behind her back, setting another cup with the black and green logo down in front of him.

"That's what you like - a triple-shot latte - right?" she questioned.

"Fuck, you're a lifesaver," Brian croaked, too grateful for the latte to come up with any snark.

"You're still not getting a date," Melanie quipped. "Before you ask, I had the barista pour in half the sugar bowl, so it should be sweet enough for you."

Brian shuddered, retorting, "One latte does not entitle you to a date with me. How'd you know what I drink anyway?"

"Christ, Brian, that's what you demand Linds and I pick up from Starbucks before we're allowed to enter the loft," Melanie replied in exasperation. "How could I not know - including the half bowl of sugar?"

"It's the price of admission to my holy sanctum," Brian joshed, disregarding the repeated reference to his sugar habit.

"A real man would take it black," Meanie professed as she took a seat across from Brian.

"And put hair on my chest?" the brunet retorted. "I'll leave that to you."

"You're hilarious," the lawyer responded, evidently at a loss for a witty comeback. 

"I know," Brian smugly agreed, giving himself a mental pat on the back for eliciting such a weak rejoinder.

"Let's talk about what might happen in the meeting with Ryder - and how you should respond," Melanie suggested as they sipped their coffee. "I doubt he'll try to terminate you ‘at will'. You could too easily sue for discrimination, and Ryder would end up with the very scandal he's trying to avoid."

"What grounds will he use to fire me, then?" Brian inquired, his brow furrowing. The idea of opening his own agency was becoming more and more appealing, but he hated to start off with his reputation besmirched. That wouldn't help him win clients.

"He'll most like terminate you for ‘behavior'," Melanie replied, "because you've cast this firm into a bad light."

"What about Thomas?" Brian growled. "That slimy git is the one who's responsible for this whole mess."

"Ryder will have to terminate him for the same reason," Melanie declared, a shark-like grin on her face. "Otherwise, he could never defend his decision to let you go - and you could still scream discrimination."

Brian grinned back, "Marty's CFO will be none too happy about that. I gather Thomas was hired because his daddy is the CFO's buddy."

"Foolish to hire that way rather than based on competence," Melanie snorted. "Keep in mind that we can't control the severance package that Kip Thomas obtains from Ryder. We can only secure the best possible deal for you."

"I'm going to crush that slimy worm beneath the heel of my Jimmy Choos if he gets hired by another advertising firm in the Pitts," Brian grated out, thumping one boot-clad foot down on his desk and making Melanie laugh.

"I'm sure you'll figure out how to do just that," she chuckled, "but let's stick it to Ryder first, okay?"

"I'm all for that," Brian fumed. "I'd love to drive Marty out of business - keeping me here with all that meaningless bullshit about making me his partner."

"So," Melanie recapped, "you'll be satisfied with the proceedings as long as Ryder terminates you but does not otherwise besmirch your reputation."

"He can refer to it as a mutual fucking decision for all I care," Brian conceded, "as long as the non-compete clause is null and void."

"I won't budge on that point," the bulldyke reassured him. "Ryder must also offer you a severance package large enough that you can use it to fund your own agency. Are we agreed on the baseline figure?"

"Yes, although I'd like to squeeze even more out of him," Brian acknowledged.

"I think that very well may happen," Melanie responded, "Ryder has backed himself into a corner, with having insufficient grounds to fire you. You're sure you don't want to fight this?" she double-checked. "I'm quite certain you'd win."

"I'm ready to set out on my own," Brian confirmed, "and I can't wait to see the last of this place after all the harassment bullshit and lack of support from Ryder."

"Where are we meeting Ryder?" Mel asked when they were done, glancing at the Crosby wall clock behind Brian as she returned the papers they'd been perusing to her briefcase.

"No need to rush," Brian remarked, leaning back in his chair and taking another swallow of his latte. "We're meeting in Marty's office - just down the hall. It's all a power game, since meetings like this would normally take place in a conference room. I refuse to pander to Ryder's over-inflated ego by being there before the last second. Let him worry that I'm going to be late - which I never am, when it comes to business."

"Unlike when it comes to your personal life," Melanie quipped.

"My friends can - and do - wait," Brian riposted, his mouth quirking upward at one corner. "And tricks are a dime a dozen. My reputation as an adman, however, is priceless."

"Talk about over-inflated egos," Mel drawled, shaking her head.

"It's justified," Brian gloated. "I'm the best adman the Pitts has ever seen."

After checking the time on his wristwatch - ninety seconds to go - Brian stood up and sauntered out the door, his nearly empty latte in his hand.

Melanie moved up beside him in the hallway, accidentally jostling his arm.

"Watch it," the brunet snarled. "Don't get anything on my shirt. It's Zegna."

"You really are-" Melanie broke off when Brian glanced at his watch again before knocking on the door at the end of the corridor. "Incredible," she hissed as the second-hand on Brian's watch ticked over to ten on the dot. "I didn't realize you were dead serious about arriving here at exactly the last second."

Brian smirked at the attorney as an annoyed voice called, "Come in."

"I didn't think you were going to make it, Kinney," Marty Ryder announced, standing up as Brian ushered Melanie into the office. 

"I'm never late to a meeting. You know that... Marty," the brunet replied slowly, the pause before he spoke his boss' first name verging on insult.

"Who's this?" Ryder inquired sharply, clearly taken aback to have someone besides himself, Brian, and two staff from the legal department present.

"I'm Melanie Marcus," Brian's companion introduced herself, holding out her hand. "Mr Kinney's lawyer - the one who vetted his original contract with your firm."

"You don't need an attorney, Brian," Ryder blustered, suddenly reverting to the adman's first name. "It's just for the good of the firm - and for you - that we make some staffing changes."

"I'm not sure I can trust you any longer... Marty," Brian sneered, "considering how you've handled Kip Thomas' unfounded accusations."

"It would be foolish of Mr Kinney to forgo legal representation," Melanie interposed in a frosty voice, "if, as he suspects, you plan to terminate his employment. Is that what's happening here, gentlemen?" she inquired, eyeing the three men, all of whom were seated behind Ryder's imposing desk.

"Yes, well, um," an unprepossessing Marty Ryder mumbled, blinking at them owlishly from behind the thick lenses of his eyeglasses, "we do have grounds, you see."

"I'll take it from here," the head of legal advised.

"You are?" Melanie inquired.

The man gave his name, but Brian didn't listen since he didn't plan to deal with him in the future.

"Have a seat, Ms Marcus," Brian invited, waving toward the only chair in front of Ryder's desk.

"Oh, ehm, grab another chair for Brian, would you?" Ryder directed the dogsbody from legal.

The pudgy man scurried over to the other side of the office, pulling a chair away from the conference table and dragging it over to Brian.

"Thank you," the adman politely acknowledged the gofer's efforts, sitting down and nonchalantly crossing one leg over the other. He'd kill himself before he ever let himself get that out of shape, Brian mused, wincing as Pudge panted his way back to his chair.

"Look, Mr Kinney. Ms Marcus. We want to make this as painless as possible," the gray-haired, desiccated beanstalk who headed legal, explained.

"What exactly is it we're discussing?" Melanie inquired, arching an eyebrow at the old fart. "It would be best to spell it out, don't you agree?"

"Er, yes, of course," Mr Beanstalk replied, fumbling with some papers in front of him. "The firm has decided," he pompously decreed, "that it would be best for all parties if Mr Kinney were dismissed for gross misconduct unbecoming an ad executive."

Brian could feel his muscles tensing, but before he could speak, Melanie coolly asked, "What is the misconduct you're referring to? When my client retained my services two weeks ago, I was given to understand that" - she paused as if consulting her notes - "a Mr Kip Thomas had made inappropriate advances to Mr Kinney, which my client duly rebuffed - and that those advances were witnessed by Mr Ryder himself." Folding her hands in her lap, she inquired, "Is that not correct?"

Beanstalk denied, "Only in part. Mr Thomas has indicated that there were incidents prior to that one. Plus, Mr Ryder isn't entirely sure what he walked in on, so Mr Thomas may have been correct in his allegations."

Chickenshit bastard, Brian fumed to himself, suddenly worried that Thomas - and Ryder - might get away with such blatant lies.

"Really?" Melanie inquired, staring directly at Ryder. "Are you prepared to swear to that under oath in a court of law?"

"No need for that," Ryder hastily interjected as a bead of sweat rolled from his hairline down the side of his face. He ignored the legal head's attempt to shush him, continuing, "I have heard rumors, however, from more than one source that Mr Kinney has, er, had sex with clients in order to secure their accounts, so I do believe there is some truth to Mr Thomas' claims."

Beanstalk finally succeeded in getting a word in edgewise, cautioning, "Surely, you can understand that such egregious behavior is damaging to the firm."

"No, I can't see that," Melanie replied firmly. "A rumor is just that - a rumor - with no legal foundation whatsoever."

"Look," the man placated, "we'll be terminating Thomas for the same behavior - everything fair and square."

"Hmm, except for the fact that Mr Kinney didn't do anything wrong," the bulldyke corrected. "Let's cut to the chase, gentlemen," she suggested, "we all know you don't actually have sufficient grounds to fire my client. So, unless you're prepared to offer an advantageous severance package to Mr Kinney, there won't be a deal. Instead, we'll be taking you to court - and we'll win both a large settlement for my client and reinstatement to his current position."

"Just a moment," the legal head muttered, before huddling together with his boss and his legal assistant, the two lawyers flipping frantically through various documents.

Melanie grinned at Brian and unobtrusively patted his hand, mouthing, "It's in the bag."

For the first time since he'd entered Ryder's office, Brian was truly enjoying himself as he watched his soon-to-be former boss and his legal beagles scrambling to contain the situation.

"Here's our offer for immediate termination, effective today," Beanpole declared, sliding a paper with the carefully calculated sum across the table to Brian. "We'll even disseminate the information that this was a mutual decision. Mr Kinney can, of course, retain his keys to the building and the office until he has cleared out his personal effects. In return, Mr Kinney will agree not to enter into competition with this agency for a period of one year."

"No," Brian flatly refused, unable to remain quiet any longer. There was no way he'd agree not to compete with Ryder for a year; if he let that much time lapse first, it would be more difficult to establish himself. The advertising world was cutthroat, and - no matter how talented he might be - he'd be all too easily forgotten. The adman was hardly able to hide his shock, however - both at the generous, six-figure sum, and that Ryder wanted him out so quickly - although he supposed it could work to his advantage. He'd be able to woo potential clients without worrying about a potential conflict of interest since he'd no longer be working for Ryder.

Melanie placed a calming hand on his arm, concurring, "As Mr Kinney said, that's out of the question. The non-compete clause is no longer in effect if employment is terminated. That standard clause is clearly spelled out in Mr Kinney's contract."

The legal beanpole cleared his throat uneasily. "I'm afraid we've mislaid our signed copy of Mr Kinney's contract."

Melanie stared at the man in amazement. "My, you do have shoddy record-keeping," she drily noted. "I suggest you rectify that. It so happens, however, that I've made photocopies of the notarized contract from my client's file. You'll find everything in order, I believe," she remarked as she handed copies to both the beanstalk and Ryder.

Brian watched in satisfaction as Ryder blanched, his boss hissing at his legal head, "Can't you do something about this?" while the legal beagle shook his head in resignation.

Ryder directed a direful gaze at Brian and backtracked. "Fine. Kinney, you can keep your job," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

The conniving weasel, the brunet thought to himself. The sod was obviously scared stiff at the idea of having Brian as competition.

"In that case," Melanie inserted, "we'll be taking this agency to court for defamation of Mr Kinney's character." 

Brian thought she was bluffing, maybe, but he knew Ryder wouldn't take the chance.

And indeed, Ryder sagged back in his chair in defeat, nodding at his lawyer to proceed.

"We withdraw our request for the one-year NCC," Ryder's lawyer acceded, "with a corresponding reduction to the severance package." He wrote down another figure and slid the piece paper over to Brian.

"No," Brian interjected. "The original amount you offered or no deal."

"But..." Ryder spluttered as Brian looked at him coldly. He couldn't believe he'd once trusted this chickenshit weasel of a man and his all but guaranteed partnership.

Ten minutes later, Brian and Melanie waltzed into his former office, the signed agreement in hand.

"I can't believe we got that much," an elated Melanie effused. "Then again, considering the dolts didn't even have complete records, they're lucky we didn't demand more."

"It went well, I take it?" Cynthia inquired, leaping up from behind her desk.

"Better than expected," the suddenly exhausted ad exec confirmed. "My employment is terminated, effective today."

"But your accounts..." the shocked blonde replied.

"They're Ryder's problem to figure out," Brian shrugged. "I get to keep my keys until I've cleared out my personal belongings. I don't want to wait, though. Would you like to help me over the holiday weekend?"

"You bet your ass, I would," Cynthia replied. "I have the obligatory family thing tomorrow, and I'll be hitting the stores early on Black Friday, but I'm free after that. Monday, I'll be handing in my resignation; there's no way I'm working for someone else, not even for one day."

"Listen, Brian, I've got to get back to my office," Melanie interrupted. "You'll be there this evening to take over babysitting duties from Justin?"

"Shit, I'd forgotten all about that," Brian muttered, before hastily reassuring the dyke, "I'll be there, I promise."

As Melanie walked out of his now former office, he called after her, "Thanks."

The lawyer turned, walking backward a few steps as she queried, "Oh my God, did that hurt?"

"A bit," Brian chuckled, before stating sincerely, "Good work, counsellor."

With a wave of her hand, Melanie disappeared in the direction of the stairs. 

Brian offered, "Shall we go get a drink and discuss the future of our new ad agency, Cynthia?"

"Fuck, yes," the blonde eagerly replied. "There's a new wine bar over on French Street, not far from Liberty Avenue, that's supposed to stock imports from around the world."

Justin rang the doorbell of the Muncher Mansion at exactly five o'clock, clutching the plastic bag from the toy shop he had visited on the way here. He had bought Gus a box of Tinker Toys, which the little tyke would really only be able to use when he was a little older, but Justin hadn't been able to help himself when he had seen they were selling the retro edition he used to own as a kid.

The door opened, a blonde head full of hair curlers peeking out. "Justin?" Lindsay asked in surprise. "Is it five already?"

The teenager glanced at his watch to make sure. "Um, yeah?" he confirmed. "On the dot."

The flustered lesbian blinked at him. "Damn it," she whispered, ushering Justin inside. "Our reservation is for half five. We're so going to be late. It's just that Gus has been really difficult and-"

"Linds?" Melanie's voice interrupted from the first floor. "Was that Justin?"

"Yes," Lindsay shouted back.

"Thank fucking God, Gus is chewing on my blouse. Are you sure he's Brian's kid?" the brunette questioned, coming down the stairs. She was clad only in a bra and a pair of loose capri pants, Gus on her hip. The little boy had some sort of blue silk material clenched in his fist, shoving it in his slobbery mouth.

Lindsay shrugged with an amused smile. "We need to move, Mel, or we're going to be late."

The lawyer handed her son over to Justin, patting the baby's head. "We still have ten minutes before we have to leave," she assured her partner, wresting her blouse out of Gus' grip.

Justin smiled at the little tyke. "Hello, Gus. Are you ready to spend some time with Uncle Justin?"

The brunet boy gave him a gummy grin, letting go of the hostage material. "Jushun!" he greeted the blond. "Mwah!"

Pulling the curlers free of her hair, Lindsay explained, "That means he wants a kiss."

Justin chuckled, pecking the boy's wet mouth quickly, making an exaggerated ‘mwah' sound. "Like this, Gus-man?"

"Mwah, mwah! Babp," the nine-month-old agreed.

Justin took Gus into the living room, settling on the girls' sofa, while Lindsay and Mel continued to get ready. As someone who took five minutes on average to get ready - three of those minutes being reserved for teeth brushing - he was pretty intrigued by the complex ritual of women getting ready. He had never really seen his mother do this, because she was a proper WASP and always got ready alone in her bedroom and was out the door on time, so he enjoyed the show as if he were watching a National Geographic documentary.

Twelve minutes after he rang the doorbell, the lesbians were finally ready. "His bottles are in the fridge," Lindsay reminded him, slipping on some high heels to complement her navy blue suede dress - a fashion statement Justin wasn't sure what to think about. "There are some bananas in there too; just mash one in a bowl and feed it to him. If he doesn't want that, you can grate an apple and a carrot, mix them together, and spritz the whole thing with some lemon."

The blond teenager nodded, thinking to himself that there was no way he was going to fix Gus something different if the boy was fussy about the banana - he would damned well eat whatever Justin gave him.

"You have my number if anything happens," Lindsay continued, "and the number for Gus' doctor is on the fridge."

"I've got it," Justin assured her.

Putting on her coat, Melanie filled in, "Brian is supposed to come at seven, but knowing him, he'll probably appear later than that. He's only ever on time if it's his job - like today, he insisted on knocking on Ryder's office at ten o'clock exactly."

The blond frowned. Why was Melanie anywhere near Brian's meeting with Ryder? Did something happen? He didn't get to ask any questions as the girls hurriedly gave Gus some kisses and then rushed out, so Justin was left to wonder. He vaguely remembered Brian mentioning a coworker that was causing trouble for him about a week ago - was that perhaps somehow related?

He was brought out of his musings by a wet hand slapping against his face and a high-pitched giggle. "Bwah bop," Gus babbled.

Justin quirked a smile. "Is that right, buddy?"

"Ba!" the little tyke agreed.

Looking around, the blond's gaze fell upon some colourful plastic blocks that were strewn across the living room floor. "How about we play with these blocks, huh?" he suggested.

Gus pumped his arms up and down in excitement as if he actually understood what Justin was saying - and maybe he did - he was already past the age when babies started to comprehend meaning. 

"Blocks?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows and waiting to see how Gus would respond.

"Ya! Bah!" Gus called out enthusiastically - and damned if that wasn't an actual verbal agreement. 

The blond carried the little boy over to the blocks, noting absentmindedly that the wooden set he used to play with as a toddler looked much nicer than the plasticky monstrosities Gus had, and set him down on the floor. Sitting right next to him, he began stacking the blocks atop each other to build a tower, commenting on the process as he went along, "This blue one is the base, see? Then we put on the yellow one, then these two red ones, and then finish it off with a green one on top."

Gus leaned closer with a look of concentration on his face and then knocked the tower over with a few wild swipes of his arm. "Bah!" he cried out victoriously. "Ooh, bah!"

"Nice one!" Justin praised the boy. "Now do you think you can also build one?"

Gus swiped at the blocks again, sending them in multiple directions. "Bah!"

Resigning himself to an evening of building towers that got immediately sent to the ground again, Justin took hold of a yellow block. "Now we'll start with a yellow one, Gus, look."

"Ooh," the boy said, eyes intent on Justin's newest architecture.

"I'm going to set this red one a little off-centre, ok? And I'll do the same with this green one," the blond continued his narration, hoping that if nothing else, Gus might learn some colours. "Now, look! It's The Leaning Tower of Pisa!"

"Sa!" Gus agreed, once again sending the blocks flying.

"You're right, Gus," Justin assented in a snooty tone, attempting to sound like one of the ladies that used to pinch his cheeks at the country club when he was little. "Such an example of poor engineering shouldn't really exist. Now how about we try to build a pyramid?"

The two boys continued building and destroying other famous pieces of architecture, with Justin continuing to comment on what he was doing and Gus babbling and cooing along the way. It was nearing six when the brunet tyke decided he was bored and started whining.

"Do you want to play something else then?" Justin offered, "Maybe make some race tracks? Or colour?"

"Bap wah! Jushun baba ayayayaya," Gus demanded, an angry frown on his baby face and arms waving. "Bop," he concluded.

"Ok, Gus, how about I warm you up some milk. Would you like that?" Justin responded, standing up and quickly grabbing a bottle out of the fridge to show the boy.

Upon seeing the baby bottle, Gus got so excited he overbalanced in his attempts to reach it. "Babababa mmmm," he babbled, wiggling on his stomach.

Happy he'd figured out what the tyke wanted, Justin went back in the kitchen, boiled a kettle of water, and then popped the bottle into a bowl, pouring the water over it. When he thought it was warm enough, he tested the temperature on the inside of his wrist, and deeming it adequate, carried the bottle back to Gus.

The brunet boy grabbed after the milk right away, so Justin decided to just give it to him and use the opportunity to clean up the room a little in the meantime. He put away a lot of blocks, puzzle pieces, stuffed toys, and toy cars and was finally left with a clear view of the munchers' living room carpet. He also put away the new box of Tinker Toys, hoping the girls might not realise it was there for a while - he didn't really want to be questioned about how he'd spent his hard-earned money on toys instead of saving it for something more important, like college.

"Jushun, ta da baba," Gus informed him, waving his now-empty milk bottle at Justin.

The blond grinned, patting the boy's head. "Good lad," he praised him. "Was it good?"

The baby burped loudly in response.

Justin took the bottle away from him, rinsing it out quickly, and standing it upside down on a dish drainer. Then, returning to the living room, he noticed a bucket full of wooden pegs that the lesbians used to hang clothes to dry. "What do you say we build us some race car track with these pegs, Gus?" Justin offered. He supposed a game like that was still a little too advanced for the tyke, but a challenge never hurt anyone. Besides, he remembered building peg-tracks as a kid and thought they were a lot of fun - if nothing else, Gus would have something new to destroy.

An hour and three different race tracks later, Gus was hungry again, and Justin decided to make him some of the banana mush Lindsay had mentioned.

"Bamama!" Gus called out from his high chair as Justin put the food in front of him.

"That's right, Gus," Justin agreed. "A banana!"

"Bamama!" the boy insisted.

Justin just grinned and began feeding him the sloppy thing. Gus hummed his way through most of it, dancing rhythmically in his chair, clearly pleased by the evening's menu. "Mmm," he hmmed, swallowing another mouthful.

"Good, was it?" the blond asked when the plate was almost finished and Gus didn't want to eat anymore.

Gus slapped a pudgy hand down on his plate, grinning proudly at Justin as the banana mush splashed. "Bamama," he declared, offering a bit of the beige substance to the blond in his tiny little fist.

The teenager gave him a proud smile. "What good manners," he praised the tyke, patting his head softly, while trying to avoid touching any banana-contaminated surfaces. "Thank you, but I have already eaten," he begged off, thinking that he would probably just revisit his lunch if he did accept Gus' offer.

"Jushun," the little boy agreed, nodding his head once exaggeratedly, before concluding, "Bwah mam bob!"

Justin hmmed, a serious expression on his face. "You are right, Gus, we should definitely clean this up."

"Bah!"

The blond grinned. "So we're in agreement then," he exclaimed, standing up and reaching for Gus' plate. He made the mistake of resting his other hand against the table to support himself as he leaned over the table, though, his hand slipping on the mush-covered surface and landing Justin's whole upper body right in the mess.

"Ugh," he grunted in disgust, righting himself back up to the giggles of the little cheeky monkey. "This is no laughing matter, Gus," he reprimanded the boy halfheartedly. "I look like I rolled in vomit."

"Va va bah!" Gus agreed.

"Okay," the blond sighed. "I'm gonna go wash up, while you keep sitting in your highchair like a good little boy, okay? Then we'll clean this all up and give you a bath."

The brunet boy hummed, "Bahmhmhm, Jushun," slapping his hand against his plate again. Justin was just about to comment on the yellowy splatters suddenly adorning the kitchen floor, when the doorbell rang. 

"Shit," he whispered in panic. Surely that wasn't Brian already? "Do you think that's Daddy?" he asked Gus, hurriedly wiping his hands off with a kitchen cloth.

"Dada, shh, shh," the nipper told him as the bell rang again insistently.

"Oh, no! Shit, don't say that, Gus," Justin berated him, completely flapped. "That's a bad word."

As he ran to the kitchen to see who was at the door, Gus cried out after him, "Shh, shh, Jushun!"

Little brat. He was definitely Brian's son; there was no question about that.

Brian rang the doorbell again, huffing in frustration. It was cold as fuck outside, and the blond twink was taking his sweetass time getting to the door. Thank fuck for the three bottles of wine he had shared with Cynthia after work; otherwise, he'd probably freeze to death by the time Justin deigned to open up.

"Brian!" the blond greeted him, out of breath and looking like he had been chewed up and then spat back out. Literally, going by the beige goop that adorned his shirt. 

"It's good you don't give a flying fuck about fashion," the brunet disparaged the teen's ensemble. Who else would pair boring, greyish cargos with a plain white tee anyway?

Justin huffed. "Nice to see you too," he snarked.

"When did I say it was nice to see you?" he questioned, placing one hand against the blond's chest and pushing him out of the way. Brian didn't want any of that goop to contaminate his Zegna and Armani attire.

"That was sarcasm, you big... ugh!" Justin called after him in frustration. 

"I'm here to see Gus, not you," Brian called over his shoulder. "Where is my Sonnyboy anyhow?" 

He beelined for the kitchen when he heard, "Shh Jush ssh bah," from that direction as well as little fists thumping against what he assumed to be the tray of the tyke's highchair. 

He heard the blond follow him, still babbling, "I wouldn't really go in there, Brian, I haven't had time to-"

Brian arrived in the kitchen, eyes widening at the mess.

"-clean it up."

"What the fuck?" the stunned brunet asked. The same gunk that decorated the blond's shirt was everywhere - on Gus' face and hands, in his hair, on the floor around his highchair, on the table in front of the tyke. He squinted at the refrigerator, yards away from Gus, where it appeared that yet another splotch had landed.

"Yeah," Justin grumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck - unknowingly spreading the mush across his skin. "He was a bit enthusiastic about the banana?"

"Are you asking me?" Brian quipped, quirking one eyebrow at the abashed teen. It annoyed him that the blond looked kind of sexy in spite of his dishevelment.

"Fuck off, Brian," Justin snapped, scowling. "Just go and give him a bath, while I clean this up," he ordered the other man, ignoring Gus' eager cries of "Fah! Favavava!"

"Fine," the brunet snapped back. Brian quickly removed his overcoat, folding it over a chair after checking to make sure none of the banana mush had flown in that direction. Then he wiped off Gus' hands with a damp paper towel, before throwing a dishcloth over his shoulder to protect his shirt. He finally settled Gus on his hip, the little boy getting more and more excited and shrill in his greetings. "Just don't take long," he shot at the blond as he left the kitchen.

Ascending the creaky wooden stairs leading to the first floor, Brian grumbled to himself quietly. How could the irresponsible little brat let Gus get into such a state? Did he leave him unsupervised? That would be just like him, so maybe he should be thanking God there was no one around to steal his son...

Entering the bathroom, Brian sighed. What was it about the blond always doing the opposite of what he was supposed to do? Slapping gunk all over his son instead of feeding him. Accepting the go-go dancing job instead of doing as Brian had told him. Leaving the loft unlocked instead of setting the alarm... 

Gus interrupted his musings with a soft mumble of "Dada?" which he then followed with "Babamampf Bap!"

"Yep," Brian confirmed, wincing a little when one chubby hand tangled in his hair and pulled. "That muppet needs to learn to be a responsible adult and to heed good advice when he hears it."

He shook his head a little to clear it as he removed Gus' clothes, settling him into the shallowly filled tub of warm water. Maybe necking that third bottle with Cynthia hadn't been such a good idea, he mused as he bathed the tyke.

"Dada!" his son gurgled, happily splashing the water about. "Jush gah!"

What had the teen done to get his son so overexcited? the brunet wondered, glancing down at his dress shirt, which was now damp in several places. Fuck, he hoped the bubble bath wouldn't stain it irreparably.

"Bababababa," Gus sing-songed, wiggling on his bum and grinning gummily at his father. 

Brian couldn't help grinning back at Gus. The little boy was so good-natured. The brunet was glad he'd finally given in to his blonde friend's pleas to donate sperm; his son had three loving parents, when Brian hadn't even had one, not until Michael had introduced him to Debbie and Vic anyroad. And they could hardly parent an unfortunate fourteen-year-old full-time; it likely would've made things much worse for Brian if they'd tried.

"Dada bah Dada," Gus babbled some more, chasing away Brian's dark thoughts as he lifted his son out of the tub, pulling out the plug so the bathwater would drain.

The brunet toweled Gus off, wrapped him in a fresh diaper, and dressed the boy in his Mickey Mouse pajamas, muttering, "Fuck, I'm going to have to get you some better duds. Does no one except your dada have any fashion sense?"

The brunet carried his son back downstairs, not really expecting that Justin would have done much in the way of cleaning up in the short time it had taken him to bathe Gus.

"You finished in here?" he called out, hesitantly entering the kitchen. He was surprised to encounter the room spotlessly clean and Justin half undressed. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, glaring at the other man's pale back.

"What does it look like?" Justin turned his head from where he was rinsing out his T-shirt at the kitchen sink. "I had to take this off so I could remove the banana mush from my skin. I want to get the stains out before they're set in the fabric and impossible to remove."

"So you decided to walk around naked?" the brunet huffed, eyeing the soft-looking expanse of bared skin Justin was flaunting in front of him. Fucking blond.

"Naked?" the teen had the effrontery to giggle. "Since when is this your idea of naked?"

Gritting his teeth together, Brian bounced his son on his hip. "If you're trying to accomplish something by walking around like that, you'll be disappointed," he warned Justin. 

The blond tilted his head to the right, contemplatively eyeing Brian. "I've accomplished getting clean, which is all I had in mind. What were you expecting?"

"Whatever, just get dressed and you can go home. I think I've got it from here," Brian dismissed the teen, avoiding looking at the bared torso in front of him. Little tease, he thought. 

"With pleasure," Justin declared, rolling his eyes. "Who'd want to be around a fucking bear like you?" He took a plastic bag from under the sink, dumped his wet shirt inside, and pulled on his jacket, all without looking at Brian. Then he walked over, ruffled Gus' hair affectionately, placed a kiss on his brow, and promised, "I'll see you soon, Gussy."

"Fah! Fah, Jushun!" the boy returned the sentiment. 

Brian made a mental note to cut curse words out of his vocabulary whenever he was around the tyke - his ‘fah' was beginning to sound suspiciously like ‘fuck'. It was just like the blond not to consider that.

The teen then headed out the front door, closing it behind him with a firm thunk. 

Brian stared at the closed door in consternation. "Fuck," he muttered, immediately forgetting his new resolution. The whole situation felt like he and Justin had gotten divorced and were now sharing custody of their son - handing him over every other week. It was a really bizarre feeling, and the brunet hated it. He had no idea how he could fix things though... The teen was clearly just too young and irresponsible to actually behave like an adult.

Gus patted his face softly. "Babp," he murmured soothingly as if he could understand Brian's feelings. "Baba da?"

Brian smiled at his son. "Thanks, Gus. You're just what I need to get over my rotten day - it was my last day, actually, working for that Ryder pillock." The brunet figured he could unburden himself to his son, secure in the knowledge that the lad wouldn't repeat it to anyone.

"Ooh! Bah!" the tyke chimed in, pointing at something on the floor.

"Huh, what's this?" Brian asked, squatting down with the boy in his arms and examining the wooden peg track. "Were you showing Justin how to race cars?"

"Bamama!" Gus announced grandly, stretching out a hand toward the pegs.

"You're right. Ryder has a teeny-weeny banana," Brian stated seriously. "In fact, he's a dickless wonder. Firing an ad exec as brilliant as your dada. What a moron." 

"Bah! Ha! Bap!" the little boy gushed.

The older brunet looked around for some Hot Wheels cars he could race along the track, but he didn't see any. "Vroom, vroom!" he imitated the throaty purr of an engine, Gus crowing in delight as Brian ran his fingers across the pegs.

"Dada! Mwah! Ya. Nah," the boy chattered.

Brian smiled as he remembered the green Chevy Corvette he'd spent hours racing across the floor of his bedroom as a child. "We'll have to get a Stingray for your track, Gus," he decided.

"Ya!" the tyke waved his arms about vigorously.

"Don't tell your mums," Brian confided as he played with his son, "but your Mama Melanie was absolutely brilliant in that meeting with Ryder. I don't think I would have kept my cool without the bulldyke by my side - and she wangled far more out of that chickenshit tightwad than I ever expected. Cynthia, my assistant who's gonna help me set up my new agency," Brian divulged, "nearly peed her pants when I told her how Ryder's legal honcho admitted they'd lost their signed copy of my contract."

"Nah! Bah!" the little boy yelled.

"Yes, it was fucking hilarious," Brian confirmed, guffawing as he recalled the expression on Ryder's face. He still couldn't believe the unprofessionalism.

As Brian talked about his plans for the future, Gus started to nod off since it was now past his eight o'clock bedtime. Brian carried his son upstairs, tucked him into his crib, and bussed him on one rosy cheek. "Night, Gus," he murmured softly. "Sleep tight."

While he waited for the munchers to get home, Brian opened his computer, jotting down notes about everything he needed to get done, including making up a name for his fledgling agency. A banner suddenly popped up, indicating he'd received a new email. When Brian clicked on the message, he was informed that his old mattress had finally sold. He chuckled as he imagined regaling his friends with the tale of the donation he had planned - and how he'd raised the funds - during the Thanksgiving feast the next day.