It was a little after one in the morning, the weekend having slid into Sunday without either of the men noticing, when Justin was finally called into one of the examination rooms. "Taylor," a harried-looking nurse called out. "Justin," he then added, glancing down at the chart in his hand.

No fucking way, Brian thought, stifling a groan of dismay as he stared at the guy.

"Is that..." Ted wanted to know, his eyes narrowing as he studied the nurse, who was pretty much a shorter, curly-haired version of Brian.

"Yeah," Brian acknowledged on a sigh. Of all the rotten luck, they had to get the nurse he'd been fucking when Ted awoke from his coma. He never could have anticipated running into this particular trick; didn't the man work in the ICU or something?

"Maybe I should thank him for jolting me out of my sleep," Ted quipped, accepting the irony of the situation with surprising equanimity. "You'd better hope Justin doesn't catch on, though."

The only good thing about Justin being so out of it, Brian mused as he gently shook the boy's shoulder with his free hand - the fingers of his other hand were still entwined with the blond's - was that he likely wouldn't notice even if a conga line of his former tricks paraded through the ER. "C'mon, Jus, wake up," he urged, shaking him a little harder when the kid only groaned and snuggled closer. He wished he didn't have to wake him up - he'd bet this was the most sleep Justin had gotten in the last couple of days - but there wasn't any choice.

"Leave me 'lone," the boy mumbled.

Brian had to smile when, even as he was protesting the wake-up call, Justin squeezed his hand tighter.

"Cmon, Twat," he tried again. "Let's see the doctor, and then I'll take you home and let you sleep as long as you want."

All he got for that effort was a strangled "Mmph."

"The nurse is hot," Ted threw in his two cents.

Fucker, Brian thought, glaring at his friend. He immediately relaxed, however; that would never work, especially considering the state the short blond-

"Yeah?" One blue eye slitted open.

Christ, he was like a little kid with selective hearing, Brian thought in amused resignation. He only heard what he shouldn't.

Theodore, of course, had the gall to chuckle at having his ploy work so well.

His lips twitching, Brian looked down at the teenager. Justin smiled trustingly at him, and Brian felt his heart twist - kind of like it had right after that very first night, not that he'd ever admit it. There was just something about the little shit that drew him back like a moth to a flame.

Fuck, he chastised himself, now the brat had Brian mooning after him like a damned muncher. Despite his determination to put an end to the lesbianic shit, he could feel himself smiling foolishly back at Justin. "C'mon, Twat," he tried again, figuring a bit of levity might help, "all the really sick people have been seen. Now it's your turn." Mentally, he crossed his fingers, hoping that what he'd said would turn out to be true, that there was nothing seriously wrong with his young lover.

Justin's smile vanished and his grip on Brian's hand tightened, making the bones grind together.

Brian winced. He couldn't help it. This was way worse than when he'd been over at the munchers' house, and Lindsay had those false labor pains - whateverthefuck they were called. She'd yanked on his hand so hard that she almost sprained his wrist. Linds had nothing on Justin, though. The kid was clasping his hand so tightly that he had to be pulverising the bones.

"You're gonna go in with me, right?" Justin beseeched, big blue eyes swimming with tears imploring him to say yes.

Rather than crack a joke about not having a choice if he didn't want to lose his hand, Brian replied sincerely, "Just try and leave me behind, Sunshine."

The boy managed a watery smile as he clutched Brian's hand even more firmly.

"How about Theodore?" Brian asked, thinking it was time for a bit of payback for the ‘hot nurse' remark. "Would you like him there too?" 

"Wouldya?" Justin turned his imploring gaze on the older man.

Ted didn't stand a chance. Brian grinned to himself as he watched Theodore change his frantic headshake into an up and down bobbing motion. 

"Taylor!" the nurse boomed, becoming impatient. He scanned the room, which was much quieter and emptier than a few hours ago, looking for a response from someone, stopping when he reached Brian. A sly smile dawning on his lips, he appeared to forget all about his ‘missing' patient.

"Here!" Ted called out, drawing his attention as he eased Justin's feet off his lap and rose from his chair.

The nurse's smile slipped as his gaze flicked over to Ted. But then his gaze brightened again as he realised Brian was also standing up. Finally, he frowned in puzzlement as he noticed they were helping another man to his feet.

Incompetent jackass, Brian thought as he carefully helped Justin sit up. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was someone who didn't do their job properly, no matter how ‘hot' they might be. Of course, if he'd been using the head on his shoulders instead of the one between his legs back when Theodore was comatose, the nurse's eagerness to be fucked in the bed next to an unconscious patient's would've clued him in to the man's lack of professionalism.

Once Justin was upright, sitting on the edge of the chair between him and Theodore and leaning against the older man, Brian stood up. His legs immediately started tingling, all pins and needles as the numbness from sitting in the same position for almost three hours made itself known.

"Here, let me help you." The nurse was suddenly across the room, standing far too close. Placing one hand on Brian's sleeve, he stroked the dark green silk, a dreamy expression on his face.

"Do you mind?" Brian glared at the overly familiar man.

The medical assistant was obviously a bit dim because he didn't remove his hand or step back. He merely fluttered his eyelashes and breathed on Brian, his stale coffee breath revolting.

"My friend's partner is injured," Ted intervened in an icy voice. "I suggest you drop your pathetic attempt at a flirtation and help Justin. You know, do your job - if, that is, you don't want me to report you to the hospital administration."

The nurse went white as a sheet.

Holy fuck. Who knew Theodore had it in him to take charge like that? Brian thought, a little in awe of the older man. Strangely, he didn't mind being called Justin's ‘partner.' Maybe that was what he wanted to accomplish with Operation Twat Retrieval? To claim the brat as his partner? He shelved the questions for now; he'd have to think about it at a more appropriate time.

"Let go!" he barked at the moronic nurse, who was now clutching his arm, crumpling the silk. That bothered him way more than Justin's projectile vomiting on the fine material earlier tonight had done. After the curt dressing-down by Ted, Brian was almost certain the medical assistant was now holding on to him out of fear rather than desire, but he wanted to make sure the nitwit didn't start up again with the obnoxious flirting. "Do you really think I'm in the mood for a fuck?" 

"S- s- sorry," the nurse stuttered, hastily dropping his arm and backing away.

Brian's gaze dropped to the nurse's name tag and he snorted out a laugh when he realized it read ‘Robert.' Another Bob. Of fucking course. Fucking ‘Bobs' were plaguing him everywhere.

"Tell you what, Bobby Boy," he sneered, "why don't you show us to the examination room - you can manage that much, right? - and we'll follow along behind you with Justin."

Bobby, who'd been imitating a Bobblehead doll, stopped nodding. "Hospital policy," he spouted, "no one except family mem-"

"I think," Theodore interrupted silkily, "you'll want to make an exception this time. Don't you agree, Bobby?"

Brian was again impressed by Ted, particularly that he'd exactly matched the venom in Brian's voice when he pronounced the man's name.

"Y- yes, sir," Nurse Bob squeaked. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

Justin, Brian noted as he and Ted helped the boy get up, seemed much more alert now, taking in his surroundings with an awareness that wasn't there before. The long wait had served one purpose: it had provided time for him to sober up some.

"You fucked him?" the brat inquired in a hushed voice, watching the backside swishing along in front of them as they shuffled down the hall a ways behind the nurse.

He didn't sound accusatory, Brian realised, biting back the scathing retort that was on the tip of his tongue. In fact, he seemed... puzzled? Brian took another look at his one-time trick, and had to agree that, from the rear, the nurse was rather subpar.

"Yeah, what was up with that, Bri?" Theodore glanced over at him, tongue in cheek, a devilish twinkle in his brown eyes.

Brian ignored the raillery, concentrating instead on the huff of laughter from Justin. At this point, he wouldn't object to anything that raised the lad's spirits. Sure, he'd be getting a long lecture from Brian about his stupidity - regardless of the circumstances, the kid fucking well knew better than to accept drugs from an untrustworthy source - but not till he was sure Justin would be okay.

Once they reached the exam room, Robert gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat," he instructed Justin.

Since there wasn't much free space - most of the room was taken up by a transportable exam table; the padded chair Justin had just been offered, which was an improvement on the hard plastic in the waiting room; and a round doctor's stool, which was tucked under a counter with a sink - Brian and Ted crowded in next to the examination table, their shoulders touching.

"Uh, is it okay if I stand?" Justin hesitantly inquired, swaying a little and grasping the back of the chair to steady himself.

The nurse blinked in surprise and took a look at Justin for the first time, craning his head around a little for a view of the teen's posterior. 

Justin scooted closer to Brian and Ted.

"Are you fucking hard of hearing?" Theodore growled, sounding remarkably like Brian.

Pride in his friend surged through Brian. Ted had come a long way from the timid, uncertain reject he'd been less than a year ago. Part of that, Brian flattered himself, was due to him showing Theodore that it was all about projecting the right attitude - fake it till you believe it; some of it stemmed from meeting the professor and forging a relationship - Zen Ben had seen right through Ted's insecurity to the solid, caring core of the man; but mostly it came down to Theodore grabbing life by the balls and going for what he wanted.

"Wha?" Nurse Robert feigned innocence.

"Just take his temperature, blood pressure, and whatever," Ted clarified, "but otherwise keep your eyes - and your hands - off of Justin."

The troublesome nurse let out a huff of disappointment, but without any more shenanigans, he inserted a thermometer into Justin's right ear and took his temperature. 

"103.4," he reported, entering it on Justin's chart.

Brian frowned; that was pretty high. He hoped it was just from the lingering effects of the mystery substances the boy had ingested and that it would drop back down to normal soon.

"Now, can you please sit down?" the nurse almost snarled. "The doctor needs to know your blood pressure, and I can't get an accurate reading with you standing. Capeesh?"

Brian heard Theodore snicker at the mangling of ‘capisci' and exchanged an amused glance with his friend. Maybe they should ask Deb to stop by and give Nurse Bob language lessons along with ones in etiquette? He almost burst out laughing at the picture that sprang into his mind, Deb haranguing the nurse, a sharp red talon dangerously close to his eyes.

"Um, that's not how it's pronounced," Justin commented earnestly as he gingerly perched on the edge of the only chair in the cubicle. "I mean, you're kinda on the right track, but-"

Brian couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, drowning out what Justin was saying. The blond's timing for the delivery of one of his PSAs had never been better.

Robert shot a dirty look at Brian, who grinned back unrepentantly.

Ignoring his well-intentioned advice, the nurse patronisingly addressed Justin, "Now, hon..."

Brian bristled. Boy Bob should not be using any kind of endearment with Justin.

"...try to relax, so I can get a true reading." After waiting for a couple of beats, Bob briskly wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Justin's upper right arm and squeezed the bulb to inflate it.

"129 over 80," he noted as he wrote it on the chart.

High, Brian recognised, but maybe not horribly so. Part of the elevated readings could doubtless be attributed to Justin's anxiety, and the rest of it could be from those damned drugs. Someone at Babylon needed to take responsibility for this shit, he thought darkly, planning to have a little ‘chat' with Smythe. He'd leave and track the club owner down right now if Justin didn't need him.

"Let me just take your pulse," Robert requested, clipping an oximeter onto Justin's index finger.

"118," he stated moments later, adding the reading to Justin's chart.

That reading didn't particularly worry Brian. The kid's heart was probably beating a mile a minute from anxiety.

"Okay, I'm done," Nurse Bob brusquely announced as he removed the oximeter from Justin's finger. "Undress, put on the hospital gown," he motioned at the neatly folded item on the table, "and then have a seat up there. The doctor will be with you shortly."

Again giving Brian the stink eye, the medical assistant then flounced out of the room, the rings rattling on the rod as he dragged the curtain to behind him.

"I-" Justin glanced over at the hospital gown and then down at his clothed body, clearly overwhelmed by having to undress.

"Why don't I give you a hand?" Brian suggested. He didn't expect the boy to refuse, but just in case, Brian didn't give him a choice. His hands placed under Justin's arms, he easily lifted the blond to his feet and then tugged his T-shirt up and over his head, letting it drop onto the chair.

"Uh," Ted nervously cleared his throat, "maybe I should get out of here?"

Brian was ready to ask when Theodore had become a prude - he'd just seen the kid's junk a few hours ago, for fuck's sake - when Justin giggled, "Didn't you just have your ‘nose' in it?" His cheeks flaming, the boy then buried his face in the crook of Brian's neck.

The little shit, Brian mused, laughing. How much had he earwigged while he and Ted thought Justin was out cold?

"Uh, no," Ted spluttered helplessly, "I, uh, promised I wouldn't, 'cause-"

"It's a different package he's interested in," Brian finished dryly. "Right, Theodore?"

"You bet," the other brunet replied earnestly. "Ben's got the best-"

"Zen?" Justin cut him off, giggling some more.

The silly humour was infectious, both Brian and Ted chuckling.

With Justin distracted, he had the perfect opportunity, Brian realised. He quickly unzipped the lad's cargo pants, and stretching the elastic of his underwear away from his crotch, he pulled the trousers and briefs down his legs, letting them puddle on top of Justin's trainers.

The hospital gown, a rough green cotton in an ugly, abstract pattern, suddenly dangled between Brian and Justin, covering the teenager's groin.

"Prude," Brian muttered under his breath, clearing his throat immediately after.

"Don't worry," Theodore joked. "I got an eyeful. I might even say he rivals-"

Brian cleared his throat even louder.

"Zipping!" Ted finally responded appropriately although, going by the twinkle in his eyes, Brian hadn't really quelled him.

"Tell me later, 'kay?" Justin whispered loudly, grinning at Ted as he inserted his arms into the sleeves of the fugly gown.

Fucker, Brian thought ungraciously as Theodore winked conspiratorially at the boy and then reached around to fasten the ties behind his neck. "That's enough!" he barked when Ted's hands drifted down to the ties in the middle of Justin's back. 

"You got a tramp stamp there?" Theodore enquired innocently, winking at the blond. "Property of Bri-"

"Har de har," Brian growled, doing his best to ignore the two laughing hyenas as he crouched down, lifting up one of Justin's feet and then the other, so he could remove his sneakers and tug his clothes the rest of the way off. A tattoo like that would be fucking hot, he couldn't help thinking, although he wouldn't want to permanently mar that perfect porcelain skin. Maybe something temporary, though? Of course, the brat would doubtless want Brian to try one as well, but that would be okay, as long as no one else saw it.

"Wait, where's-" Justin breathing sped up, becoming panicky.

"Breathe, slow and easy," Ted instructed, while Brian ran a calming hand up and down one bare leg.

Justin shook his head frantically from side to side. "No, where's my mon-"

"Hello, Justin," a charismatic man with dark skin and greying hair smiled as he entered the room at that moment. "My name is Dr Rudra Singh and-" Casting a concerned look at Justin, he stopped speaking and moved closer.

Before the doctor could check Justin's airway or whatever, Ted intervened. "It's okay," he quietly, but firmly, assured the teenager. "All your, er, stuff is safe at Brian's loft. Okay?" 

Justin's breathing immediately calmed, and he blushed furiously as he looked at the doctor, simultaneously tugging on Brian's arm so he'd stand up.

Amused, Brian grinned as rose to his feet. Was the little twat worried that the doctor would misconstrue what he'd been doing?

Unperturbed, the doctor smoothly resumed speaking. "I'm Dr Singh," he introduced himself again. 

Good thing the doc assumed they'd hadn't heard him the first time around, Brian thought wryly. He certainly hadn't caught the man's name, and he doubted Justin or Ted had either.

"I will be treating you tonight," Dr Singh continued, smiling kindly at Justin. "Why don't you introduce me to your companions? You do want both of them in here, is that correct?"

"Uh, yeah. That's okay, right?" Justin asked, clutching Brian's hand as his anxiety returned full force.

"While it may not be strictly in accordance with hospital policies" - Justin's grip tightened to the point of pain but then relaxed as the doctor asserted - "I find that it makes my patients more comfortable to have whoever they want with them, so I prefer to bend the rules.

"Within reason, of course," Dr Singh added, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "I hope there's no one else you want in here; I doubt we could shoehorn them in." 

He'd still rather not be here, Justin acknowledged to himself, but he kinda liked this doctor. He had a good sense of humour, and Justin could already tell that he was way more easy-going than the doddering paediatrician his mum had been taking him to ever since he was born. "This is my partner, Brian Kinney," he daringly introduced Brian, testing out the word ‘partner' for the first time.

Justin held his breath for a moment, waiting to see whether his lover would object, especially since Brian had heretofore always been vocally opposed to any kind of relationship. 

Brian didn't look at all troubled as he shook hands with Dr Singh, nodding and even smiling a little as he murmured, "Doctor."

Despite his anxiety about his injury, Justin did a happy dance inside his head. That made twice in a short period that Brian hadn't raised an objection to being called his partner. Maybe Brian really did want him around for more than just sex.

Well, that sealed it, Brian was thinking at the same time; Justin had definitely overheard what Theodore told that idiot of a nurse. It didn't bother him at all to be referred to as Justin's partner; in fact, it sounded weirdly right. Maybe, as long as it was with Justin, he could manage a relationship after all. They could figure out what worked for them - play by their own rules - and fuck what anyone else thought.

"And this is Ted Schmidt," Justin introduced Theodore while Brian was mulling over the bizarre, yet now somehow appealing, notion of being in a relationship.

"Dr Singh." Ted clasped and shook the doctor's hand.    

"Now, Justin," the doctor turned to the blond teen, "I have your chart here with me, but why don't you tell me what ails you in your own words?"

Justin blenched. This was the part he'd been dreading - telling a doctor what had happened and then being examined and then... 

Brian gave his hand an encouraging squeeze, and releasing a pent-up breath, the teenager shakily began his tale. "Two days ago, um, I was eating lunch in the school canteen-"

"On Friday?" Dr Singh inquired, jotting down a note.

Justin momentarily looked confused. "Erm, no, Thursday. I guess that's three days ago now?"

"Almost," the doctor agreed, smiling at him in encouragement.

"Anyways, Justin swallowed hard, "I, uh, got shoved really hard and I, uh-" Justin stumbled to a halt, remembering again how much it had hurt when he forcibly impacted the sharp corner of the table, groin first. He wheezed a little, rocking back and forth on his sock-covered feet, his free hand cupped over his genitals.

"Some shithead rammed Justin into the pointed corner of a table," Brian explained for him. 

"It hurt really fucking bad," Justin confessed.

"I bet it did," Dr Singh observed sympathetically.

Despite the doctor's genuine sympathy, Justin clammed up, unable to say more.

"From what Justin told us," Ted picked up where Justin had left off, "he fell down on his knees - he's got the bruises to show for it - and waited for the pain to ease."

"I, like, started crying," Justin confessed. Christ, Dr Singh, was gonna think he was a wuss, the blond lad thought, staring down at the floor.

"That's a perfectly natural reaction," the doctor alleviated his embarrassment, bluntly adding, "I have yet to meet a man who didn't want to cry from being kneed in the balls." 

"No shit," Ted muttered into Brian's ear. "I was a blubbering mess after Mel kneed me down there."

Brian blinked at his friend in astonishment, his attention momentarily diverted from Justin. He wasn't surprised that Melanie would knee a guy in the nuts - he'd had a couple of narrow escapes himself - but rather that she'd done that to her normally mild-mannered, self-effacing friend. Whatever could Theodore have done to set off the ball-busting dyke? He'd have to winkle it out of Ted later, he decided.

"Were you able to stand up on your own?" Dr Singh inquired. "Did that make you dizzy or nauseous?"

"Uh, I couldn't even move for a while. Maybe half an hour?" Justin guessed uncertainly. "Hatch- uh, the canteen monitor, got me some ice packs, and once I was numbed up, she got me off the floor."

"So the severe pain lasted well beyond fifteen minutes?"

Justin nodded.

"Dizziness? Nausea?" Dr Singh repeated. "Headaches?"

"All of those," Justin acknowledged in a small voice.

"What did the school nurse have to say about your injuries?" Dr Singh cut to the chase. "Did they prescribe any medications?"

Justin shrank back against Brian. "I, uh, didn't see anyone," he mumbled almost inaudibly.

"Your eyes are quite dilated," the doctor observed. "Did you self-medicate?" he probed, his tone nonjudgmental.

Brian choked back a bitter laugh. That was one way of putting it, he thought.

Justin nodded, squeaking out, "Yeah."

"All right." The doctor set aside the file he was holding. He then picked up a small flashlight and briefly shone it into Justin's eyes. "I'll take a look at the injured area in a second. What did you take? Painkillers? Something stronger?"

Brian bit his lower lip. Good on him for noticing Justin was high, the adman thought to himself; it seemed like the guy might actually be worth his salt.

Justin, on the other hand, didn't appear to appreciate the doctor's keen eye. He squirmed, looking up guiltily at the Indian man. "Um, I took some... uh... drugs last night. Um, hard drugs," he admitted in a sheepish tone, eyes shifting all over the place.

The doctor, to his credit, didn't even blink at that. Instead, he just asked, "Do you know what it was?"

Had Brian thought Justin couldn't look any guiltier, he would've been wrong. The blond looked like he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. "No," he whispered.

"Can you describe the effects?" the man continued his questioning calmly, pulling on some latex gloves as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "You or one of your friends?" he added, glancing at Brian and Ted.

Since Justin didn't seem to be sure about anything, Brian was grateful when Theodore stepped in. "He wasn't tracking properly," the accountant told the doctor. "He seemed overstimulated and I'd say his judgment was, um, compromised."

Brian nodded in agreement. "The drugs did seem to help with the pain a little, though."

Justin winced. "The pills didn't," he corrected. "They actually made it worse. It was the, uh, powder that helped."

The doctor hmmed. "So there were some analgesic properties, but all in all, the drugs didn't really help much."

"Yeah," Justin sighed resignedly. He had really been stupid to take the stuff; God knew what he'd been thinking - he couldn't quite remember.

"Do you experience any burning in your throat, difficulty breathing, or itchiness?" the doctor inquired.

The blond shook his head. "No, I didn't have an allergic reaction," he denied.

"Which was lucky," Brian muttered snappily. "With how you're allergic to anything and everything, you could've easily gotten into anaphylactic shock."

Justin paled, the blood completely leaving his face. "Jesus," he whispered, only now truly realising the possible implications of his actions. "I am never doing drugs again, I swear," he promised, gazing imploringly at Brian as tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Brian squeezed Justin's shoulder in support, giving him a small smile. Now wasn't the time to tear into the boy, he reminded himself; he was distraught enough already.

"Now that we've settled that," the doctor said, "why don't you hop on the table and I'll take a look at the damage."

Justin nodded hesitantly, blindly searching out Brian's hand with his own sweaty palm. He and Ted then carefully helped the kid up onto the exam table, trying not to jostle him.

"I will lift up your gown now, all right?" the doctor asked, waiting for Justin to nod in assent before peeking under the ugly, green-patterned material.

Brian felt his stomach plummet. He immediately knew it was serious as the doctor's face went carefully blank upon seeing Justin's injury.

He cleared his throat. "Doctor?" he asked raspily.

The Indian man took a quiet breath, gloved fingers inspecting Justin's balls with barely there touches. "You were right to come in when you did. I have to be honest with you, Justin," he told the blond; "the situation isn't ideal. We need to get you over to radiology for an MRI before we can determine the proper course of action, but I'm not going to coddle you - it doesn't look good. From what I can see, there is a distinct possibility that we'll have to perform an orchidectomy."

Ted took in a sharp breath, letting it out with a hiss. Brian squeezed the blond's hand. What the hell was an orchidectomy that it made Theodore react like that?

Justin was apparently just as clueless; his lower lip trembled as he asked, "What's that?"

"It's the surgical removal of a ruptured testicle," the doctor explained, calm and collected in the face of such a possibility. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though; we first need to see the results of the MRI in order to figure out how to help you. I don't want you to panic."

Easy for him to say, thought Brian; the man wasn't the one in danger of losing his ball. The adman couldn't imagine what he would do if he didn't have both of his own nads, nestled warmly inside his briefs.

Justin whimpered, his voice rising in pitch, "I'm gonna lose one of my balls? But... I'm only seventeen!" 

Brian couldn't blame the lad for his hysteria, even if he knew logically that age had nothing to do with it. Although he was twelve years older than Justin, he still felt like he was way too young to end up... half a man. Having allowed the thought to enter his head so he could deal with it, Brian quashed it. He'd be no use whatsoever to Justin if the boy did need that surgery.

"He'd still be, uh, fully functional, right?" Brian voiced what had to be Justin's biggest worry.

The doctor gave Brian a look. "Let's not worry about any of that just yet, Mr Kinney. There is nothing certain as of now. I assure you that you will be told all the risks if it comes to it."

Brian frowned at the Indian man. Why the fuck had he indicated it was a strong possibility then?

Dr Singh had no trouble reading his thoughts. "Given the nature of Justin's injury, it's important that he be made aware that surgery may be needed. That's hospital policy." Calmly, he reiterated, "We cannot know definitely, however, until he's had an MRI." 

Brian subsided with an ill grace. He was used to fixing things for those he cared about, but there was nothing he could do right now, except hold Justin's hand in his own, equally clammy one.

"How long until Justin is taken over to radiology?" Ted asked, giving Brian's arm a comforting squeeze.

"I'm going to request an orderly right now," Dr Singh replied, "and someone should be here within ten minutes. Normally, young man," he informed Justin, "you'd be transferred to a room in the main part of the hospital for further treatment, but since a bed isn't available, you'll be returned to the ER, and I will discuss your options with you."

Too choked up with terror to even attempt to speak, Justin barely managed to nod before burying his face in Brian's shirt, quickly soaking the silky fabric with his tears.

"I am sorry, gentlemen," Dr Singh addressed Brian and Ted, "but I must ask you to return to the waiting area for now."

"Please" - Justin's muffled, tearful voice could barely be understood - "can't Brian stay with me? Just till the orderly gets here?" He knew he was being a pathetic little faggot, but he was barely holding it together; he needed Brian.

"I'm afraid not," the doctor replied, his tone sympathetic. "I can assure you, though, that you will be in good hands."

Leaning down, Brian whispered hoarsely in Justin's ear, "It'll be okay, Sunshine." Casting a quick look at Dr Singh, he added, "I'll be here when you get back from radiology."

"That's correct," the Indian doctor confirmed as he pulled back the curtain just far enough to exit the room. "Both Mr Kinney and Mr Schmidt can be present when I talk to you again."

"We'll be here," Ted assured the distraught teenager, giving him a pat on one ankle before taking Brian by the arm and gently drawing him out of the room in the doctor's wake.

Justin felt tears stinging at his eyes again as he lay on the exam table, waiting for whoever was supposed to wheel him over to radiology. He should've really gone to the hospital right away, he thought bitterly. Instead, he'd behaved like a little child, scared of going to the doctor, and now he was paying for it.

He was shaking, completely terrified by what Dr Singh had told him. What was he going to do if they had to operate on him? What if the doctors decided they actually had to remove the testicle? Justin gritted his teeth in fear and frustration at himself. All because he was stupid enough to try and ignore the pain and then self-medicate with unknown drugs, he was now in danger of losing his ball.

Tears rolling down his cheeks, Justin closed his eyes and buried his face in the threadbare hospital sheets. It wasn't fair. He had honestly thought the pain would ease over time. Well, at first at least, though by Friday night he'd really had no excuse. His mind must have been so clouded by pain at that point that the drugs had seemed like a good idea. In retrospect, he couldn't have been any dumber.

"Mr Taylor?" a pleasant male voice roused him from his self-pitying ruminations.

Justin opened his eyes, looking up into a smiling black man's face.

"I'm Tryone. I am here to take you over to radiology, okay?" the man explained, before grinning down at him and jokingly adding, "You don't have to worry about anything; I'm a safe driver."

Justin somehow found it in himself to lift up a corner of his mouth in a vague resemblance of a smile.

"Good lad," the fellow said, squeezing the top of his shoulder gently. "You keep smiling like that and everything will turn out okay."

If only he could believe that, Justin thought morosely.

"Are those your clothes?" the orderly asked, gesturing at the cargo pants and T-shirt on the chair where Justin had been sitting before moving over to the exam table.

That was just like his anal-retentive lover, Justin thought, his lips curving up in a smile and his tension easing a little. His tee and trousers had been neatly folded and placed dead centre on the padded seat, with his sneakers tucked under the chair. He had no idea when Brian had done that - he couldn't remember a moment when he hadn't been holding on tightly to the brunet - but it had to have been Brian. No one else would have taken that much trouble with old, ratty clothes that were anything but clean at this point.

"Yeah," he choked out, the sight of his clothes making more tears well up for some stupid reason. "The shoes too."

"Let me just cover you up - before you get goose pimples on your goose pimples," the man jested.

Justin glanced down at the goosebumps on his arms and legs, a shiver wracking him. He hadn't even realised that he was cold, attributing the gooseflesh to his fear of losing one of his balls. Now, though, he noticed it was actually chilly here in the ER, the flimsy hospital gown not providing any warmth.

"Here you go." Tyrone snapped open a lightweight blanket he must've carried into the cubicle with him, placing it over Justin's body and tucking it in around him.

"Warm," the blond mumbled, soaking in the heat from the blanket.

"Nothing but the best for our guests," the black man proclaimed. "We're working on getting our fifth star here at Allegheny General."

The silly banter made Justin smile.

Tyrone grinned back at him. "There you go. That's the right attitude." Taking a clear plastic, drawstring bag from a drawer, he announced, "I'm just gonna put your duds in this bag. Your stuff will go with you, since you'll probably end up in a different cubicle after you're done with your MRI."

Justin nodded mutely.

After bagging his trainers and clothes, Tyrone slipped them out of sight. He then did something beneath the exam table with his foot, enquiring, "Ready for a ride?" 

"Um, don't I have to get on a gurney or something?"

"Nope, you're ready to rock and roll," the man informed him as he started to wheel the bed toward the curtain.

Huh, that was kind of cool. As the off-white walls in the corridors blurred past him, he distantly pondered whether Tyrone and his colleagues ever held races with the rolling beds - it struck him as the sort of thing the slightly cheeky orderly might do. In fact, if he wasn't being wheeled off to his doom, Justin was pretty sure he'd enjoy it too.

Brian squeezed his eyes closed tightly as he sat back down on one of the plastic waiting room chairs, caressing Justin's tatty jacket so tenderly, you'd think it was the boy himself and not just a threadbare garment. He could hear Ted settle down next to him, his coat rustling as it was folded across the man's lap, but paid him no mind. If only he hadn't kicked the brat out after the burglary, for which he was now certain Justin wasn't to blame, for fuck's sake, the kid wouldn't have started dancing at Babylon, and he would never have taken those fucking drugs, and Brian wouldn't be sitting here in the ER, fearing the worst. His brain swam with images - Justin's bright smile, his naughty smirk, the flush of arousal across the boy's chest and face, the way he'd wrap Brian in his arms and offer wordless comfort, the-

"Bri-" His friend placed a hand on his leg, claiming Brian's attention.

"What?" Brian barked. "You gonna try and sell me some bullshit about how I'm not responsible for this, Theodore?"

"Never try to con an adman," Ted quipped, a wry smile on his face as he spouted one of Brian's favourite axioms.

"That's right," Brian concurred, frowning at the older man in warning. "So let it rest, okay?"

Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin, the accountant eyed him appraisingly. "So... let's say that it's your fault that Justin took drugs."

The ad exec nodded curtly in agreement.

"Then it follows," Ted proposed, "that it's that twink's fault that I swallowed GHB that night."

"Different circumstances," Brian snorted, rolling his eyes. What a fucking stupid analogy. "You're an adult, Theodore. You coulda said ‘no.'"

"Does that mean Justin couldn't refuse the drugs because he's not an adult?" Ted countered tranquilly.

Brian's eyes narrowed in irritation. Fucking Ben was making Theodore way too Zen. He could do with a rousing good argument to distract him, but it was proving more difficult than he'd expected to provoke Ted. "Christ, Theodore," he snapped, "of course I think of Justin as an adult. We don't play ‘big daddy, little boy,' you know." Getting turned on by the kid wearing his St James uniform didn't count; Brian was not into chicken.

Before Ted could respond to that sally, a gruff voice remarked, "Good to hear, Kinney. That would be a bit much for this old cop to handle."

"Horvath," Brian breathed in greeting, standing up. It figured that the detective would arrive just as he and Theodore were discussing daddy kinks.

Poker-faced, the older man nodded at him, then at Ted. "Where's Justin?" he asked, eyes flitting around the waiting room. 

"Getting an MRI," was all Brian could get out, the concern he'd been trying to hold at bay crashing down again.

Carl frowned. "Is it serious? What did the doctor say?" he asked, the picture of a worried father.

"He may need an orchidectomy," Ted revealed as he stood up next to Brian, before clarifying, "That's what the MRI is for - to find out whether he has a ruptured testicle."

"Cheese and rice," the copper sighed brokenly, running a hand across his face. "That's-" he paused before starting again, "What the hell happened to him?"

"Fucking Hobbs," Brian muttered. "That's what happened."

Carl smacked his lips in irritation. "Care to elaborate, Kinney?" he snapped. "I have a kid in the hospital who's in danger of getting his ball cut off because of some damned bully, and that's all you have to say?"

"Christ!" Brian shouted. "What do you want me to say? That it's all my fault? I already fucking know that!"

"I think what the detective wants, Bri," Ted intervened, speaking calmly, "is the details about what happened. The only one blaming you is you - and you need to stop with that shit, okay?

Carl calmed down some at hearing Ted's level explanation, though he still seemed agitated. "Right," he agreed, taking a deep breath. "Just tell me what you know."

"The short version or the long one?" Brian joked feebly.

"The short version is fine for now," the detective allowed. "I just want to know how bad it is."

"Justin got shoved hard, groin first, into the sharp corner of a cafeteria table during the lunch hour at St James," Theodore reported succinctly.

"By Hobbs?" the stocky man asked for confirmation. "The idiot that torched his locker?"

"That's the fucker," Brian growled.

Horvath shook his head in disgust. "What the hell is going on in that school?"

"Same thing that goes on at schools everywhere," Ted observed bitterly. "It's a free-for-all when it comes to fags."

There was a pregnant pause, the three men falling quiet at the accountant's blunt words.

"So, uh," Carl spoke up in a quieter voice, "how long is the MRI supposed to take? I left Wen at a stakeout, so I have to get back as soon as possible."

"Fucked if I know." Brian ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "I forgot to ask the fucking doctor before we were shooed out of the exam room."

"Hang on," Brian's ever-helpful CFO offered, trotting over to the receptionist's desk. 

The copper huffed out a tired breath, unbuttoning his coat in the warmth of the hospital. "Why did he even wait this long?" he asked suddenly. "This happened on Friday, you said?"

"Thursday," Brian bit out, getting angry all over again. Stupid little twat.

Carl raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"The kid had finals on Friday," Brian explained. "One of them was with that homophobic prick of a maths teacher, so he apparently couldn't miss it." Brian could kind of understand the brat's reasoning about the finals; Dickhead really had it in for Justin.

Horvath was quiet for a while, glaring at a wall above Brian's shoulder. Then, eyes focusing back on him, he pronounced with feeling, "Your boyfriend is an idiot."

Brian shrugged, not even registering the way Carl had referred to Justin. "No shit," he agreed.

The older man suddenly looked smug. "I knew it," he proclaimed. "You weren't fooling anyone, Kinney. Good on you, finally admitting that."

Brian stared at the policeman blankly. What was he on about? 

"I know, right?" Theodore agreed, popping up at Brian's side and grinning evilly. "But it's partner, not boyfriend."

If Ted hadn't proved himself rather useful so far, Brian would've fired him on the spot. Instead, he simply demanded, "Well?"

Now it was his friend's turn to look confused. "Well what?"

"The MRI, Theodore," Brian reminded him. "How long's it gonna take?"

"Oh, right." Ted flushed in embarrassment. "The desk nurse said a pelvic MRI normally takes anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. So," he glanced at his watch, "I reckon Justin should be out in about twenty minutes."

Carl glanced at his own watch, a calculating look on his face. "I figure I can wait that long," he concluded. "I want to see how Justin's doing. Wen will be fine for a bit longer; she can take care of herself."

The scary Asian woman could probably handle a whole gang all by herself, Brian thought, grateful she was stuck on stakeout and wouldn't be showing up at the hospital.

"How about I get us some coffee?" Ted suggested, digging in his pockets for change and jogging over to the vending machine on the far side of the waiting area before either man could answer. 

"Um, two sugars for me, thanks," Carl remarked, though his voice was quiet and had no chance of reaching the mild-mannered accountant.

Brian snorted. "He always brings too much sugar for me. You can have some of mine," he offered magnanimously.

Carl raised his brows at him, looking amused for some reason as he took a seat on one of the hard plastic chairs.

Brian went to sit next to him when his gaze caught on a glint of metal as the detective's coat fell open. It was the man's badge, the glaring silver of the shield looking almost obnoxious next to the dull black of his coat. At the sight of it, Brian started thinking uneasily about the drugs that were burning a hole in his pocket. 

Justin was feeling slightly dizzy by the time his bed cum gurney stopped in front of a white double door leading to the MRI machine, the orderly pressing a button on the right-hand wall. He was also feeling nauseous again, and worried that he was gonna ralph. Not that he had much inside him that could come up - just the water he'd drunk at the loft. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to control the wave of queasiness.

"Don't worry; the folks down here in radiology really know their stuff," the black man tried to cheer him up as the doors swung open and he manoeuvred the hospital bed inside. He'd evidently mistaken Justin's nausea for trepidation about having an MRI, continuing, "They'll talk you through the whole thing, and you'll be done in no time."

Lacking the energy to explain what was actually wrong, the teenager essayed a weak smile. "Thanks, Tyrone," he croaked.

"Thanks for delivering the patient safely," an apple-cheeked, rotund woman with carroty hair teased the orderly.

"You know me, Dr Miller. I always deliver them in the same condition in which I get them," the cheeky bloke joked back, his eyes dancing with good humor.

"Yeah, yeah," the woman laughed loudly, completing what must have been a familiar exchange. "Dead or alive, I can always count on you, Tyrone."

The doctor with the orangey hair and brash sense of humour kinda reminded Justin of Deb, and the lad felt his spirits lift a little.

"Hello, Justin." She smiled down at him. "As I'm sure you heard, I'm Dr Miller, a radiologist here at Allegheny General. Let's just get you on the MRI table" - the doctor gestured at a flat surface perpendicular to Justin's hospital bed - "and then I'll send this scapegrace on his way."

Justin eyed askance the table, which was even narrower than a twin bed, a strip of thin padding down the center. He swallowed hard as he took in the large, round structure that loomed over the table - it looked scarily like an alien monster from an old Star Trek episode.

"You need me to get up?" he asked thinly, doubting he could so much as roll over right now.

"All you need to do is lie there," Dr Miller chuckled, "while Tyrone and Paul do the heavy lifting. Not that there's enough of you," she added, laughing again as she patted her own ample belly, "for there to be much heavy to the lifting."

"I'm Paul, the doc's right-hand man." A slender scarecrow appeared at the doctor's side. "We'll have you moved over in a jiffy," he assured Justin as he lowered the railing on one side of the hospital bed, Tyrone mirroring his actions on the other.

Taking hold of the sheet beneath him, the two men picked him up, turned him sideways, and quickly transferred Justin to the MRI table, his feet facing toward the domed machine. Maybe that should be doomsday machine, Justin reflected a little hysterically as Paul slipped the sheet out from under him and handed it to Tyrone.

While Tyrone moved the hospital bed close to the double door, Paul gently lifted Justin's head, placing a pillow beneath him before lowering his head back down.

The pillow was so flat - it lacked any kind of stuffing - that Justin wasn't sure why the man had bothered with it. Feeling as if he were lying on a cement slab, the teenager longed for the cushioning of the hospital bed.

"I know that's not very comfortable," Dr Miller understated the matter, "but we need you in a flat, supine position to obtain good slices."

"Slices?" What the fuck were those? Justin wondered. It sounded like they were going to cut into him or something equally horrible. Maybe the machine really was an alien being of some sort?

"That's just another word for images," the radiologist explained. "Magnetic Resonance Imaging takes pictures of a cross section of your body, so that seemed like an appropriate name for the process."

Justin would've bet she also got a kick out of terrorising her patients with that terminology. He held his tongue, though, still absurdly afraid of getting sliced and diced by the MRI machine.

"My pager's going off, so I'd better book it back to the ER," Tyrone suddenly announced. Placing a hand on Justin's shoulder, he wished him good luck with, "Break a leg, kid."

Christ, he wished that Tyrone had come up with some other form of encouragement, Justin thought, wincing. His testicles were, after all, dangerously close to his ‘third leg.'

"Just a few questions before we proceed," Dr Miller addressed Justin as the orderly hurried out of the room, the doors swinging closed behind him.

Pain radiating from his testicles and increasing nausea made it hard for Justin to concentrate, but he did his best to pay attention.

"Have you had anything to eat or drink in the last six hours?"

"Uh," the blond boy struggled for a moment to remember, "I drank, like, most of a bottle of water."

"Do you know how long ago that was?"

"At least four hours," Justin calculated.

"That won't be a problem then," Dr Miller commented. "Anything to eat?"

"No food, but I took drugs earlier tonight," Justin admitted in a small voice. He was so busy mentally kicking himself that he almost missed the doctor's next question.

"Dr Singh knows about the drugs?"

"Yeah. I don't know what I took, though. Will that be a problem?" Justin half hoped they'd cancel the MRI; he wasn't looking forward to more of this torture - even though all that had happened so far was that he was lying on the most uncomfortable ‘bed' ever, answering questions.

"Since Dr Singh is aware of the situation - he made a note ordering your MRI be done without the contrasting fluid-"

Whatever that fluid was, it didn't sound pleasant. But maybe he needed it, Justin worried. "Contrasting fluid?" he queried, interrupting the doctor.

"It's a special dye, injected via an IV, so that certain areas can be seen more clearly," Miller replied. "But since we don't know how it would interact with the drugs already in your system-"

The radiologist's tone remained even, and she didn't look perturbed or anything, but Justin nevertheless felt well chastised and again wanted to kick himself. How could he have been so fucking stupid as to take drugs - from Sven of all people? The other go-go boy was always high, behaving in a shifty, furtive manner. Before accepting the drugs from him, Justin had never even had a real conversation with the other dancer. Now, because he had been such an idiot, he couldn't even have a proper MRI to determine-

"-we'll proceed without the contrast," the doctor's voice broke into his fretful musings as she continued speaking. "Only a few more questions that I'm required to ask in case anything has changed since your patient file was last updated - it's for your safety. Okay?"

Justin nodded in understanding.

"Do you have any cochlear implants, stents, artificial valves, or any other metal inside your body?"

Justin knew ‘cochlear' had something to do with the ear, but he had no idea what ‘stents' were. He answered, "No," however, figuring he was safe since he didn't have any metal inside his body. He didn't even have any fillings in his teeth.

"A pacemaker?"

That made the blond giggle; he was way too young to need a pacemaker. He sobered quickly, though, remembering his conviction that he was too young to lose one of his nuts. Maybe they had pacemakers for ‘defective' balls? he speculated wildly.

"I'll accept your laugh as a no," Dr Miller commented dryly. "Looks like you're good to-"

"Uh, wait a sec," Justin interrupted her, suddenly recalling that he did have something metallic on his body.

"Yes?" The doctor looked at him inquiringly.

"I, erm, have a hoop in one nipple," Justin explained, colouring up.

"That should definitely be removed before we commence," Dr Miller noted, indicating a large, framed photo on the wall to his right. "Unless you want your right tit to end up glued to Darth." The woman guffawed, moving closer to the machine and patted the domed cover.

The name didn't exactly reassure Justin, but he had to giggle at the doctor's risqué humour. She really was a lot like Debbie. He examined the photo of Darth, which showed various items clamped around the edge of the ‘black hole' - a folded wheelchair, a pair of trousers with the legs dangling on either side of the opening, a necklace, and a couple things he couldn't identify. "You should make that a cartoon-style drawing," he blurted. "It would get, like, a lot more attention."

"Maybe," the radiologist allowed, glancing at the picture, "but about all Paul or I can draw is stick figures. So the photo will have to do."

Justin caught himself just in time, biting his lip so he wouldn't offer to create a sketch for her - he was never coming anywhere near radiology again, not if he could help it.

"Would you like to remove the nipple ring yourself or have Paul take it out for you?" the doctor asked.

Normally, Justin would have taken it out himself, but he was feeling really shaky. "Um, maybe Paul had better do it," he mumbled. "He'll make sure it goes inside the bag with my clothes, right?"

"You betcha," the technician assured him, smiling at Justin from beside the MRI machine, where he was checking something or other. "I'll have to move the bed outside this room - or Darth will suck it up - but you don't have to worry about your stuff being safe and sound. No one can get back to this area unless they're accompanied by someone on the hospital staff."

"Erm, could you maybe keep hold of it?" Justin asked. He knew rationally that it probably would be perfectly safe, and it wasn't like the nipple ring was valuable - he'd had just enough money for the piercing and a cheap, hypoallergenic hoop. But it held sentimental value for the boy; after all, for all his feigned indifference, Brian loved tugging at the ring.

"Sure," the technician agreed. "Just don't let me forget to give it back to you, okay?"

"After Paul removes your nipple ring," the radiologist resumed her spiel, "he'll prep you for the MRI. That includes setting you up with a pair of headphones and an intercom button. If you need us to stop at any time, just press that button, okay?"

"Can I press it now?" Justin squeaked out in a weak attempt at a joke.

"Nice try." Dr Miller patted him on the shoulder. "The MRI won't hurt, I promise. It'll just get loud since you'll be in a tight area, with noise coming at regular intervals as the machine scans your pelvic area. That's one of the reasons for the headphones. The other is so we can talk you through the process - for instance, we'll occasionally ask you to hold your breath - as well as being able to hear you if you need help."

"How long will this take?" Justin asked, wanting to know how long he'd be trapped inside the monster of a machine.

"Forty-five minutes, give or take."

Justin didn't ask how much time the ‘give or take' involved; he figured it was better not to know.

As Paul rolled his hospital bed out of the room, Dr Miller gave the side of the machine another familiar pat before moving back to Justin's side. "You'll be fine," she assured him, patting him on the shoulder once more. 

Bemused, the lad pondered whether it was only his imagination that she'd patted the machine more fondly than her patient. He listened to the doctor's bright orange hospital shoes squeak on the tile as she moved out of sight, a door opening and closing somewhere behind him. Justin assumed she'd entered the glassed-in room he'd glimpsed when he was wheeled in here for his MRI.

"Okay, let's get that nipple ring out," Paul briskly stated, pushing back through the swinging doors and donning a pair of medical gloves as he approached Justin. "I'm going to have to lift up this ‘lovely' hospital gown, okay? I'd have to do that anyway," he added, "to get you ready for the MRI."

Justin shrugged one shoulder in assent.

It only took a moment for the technician to remove the blanket that had been keeping him warm - he moved it down so it covered only his lower legs - raise up the fugly gown, and extract the hoop, which he sealed inside a small plastic bag before placing it in an outer pocket of his scrubs. He then lowered the gown back down so that it covered his nipples, which had formed into hardened nubs in the cold air.

"This part isn't going to be much fun." The angular man glanced at him sympathetically as he separated his upper thighs and placed a rolled towel beneath his scrotum.

Justin's breathing, which had sped up so that it came out in panicky bursts, slowed back down. That wasn't so bad, he thought; in fact, other than the pain that had shot through him when his balls were touched, he now felt better. Having his bruised and swollen testicles hanging down on the MRI table had hardly been comfortable.

"Try to relax," Paul advised.

Before Justin could ask why, the man's fingers closed around his penis like a vise, and he tugged it up until it rested on his belly, using surgical tape to fix it into position.

Justin screamed and tried to roll away from the technician.

"Sorry, I know that hurt."

He had no idea, Justin thought distantly, fat tears welling up in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. It was just as bad as when he'd hit the corner of that table in the canteen, maybe even worse considering the swollen and bruised state of his testicles.

"That's the worst of it, I promise," Paul attempted to console him. "I just have to put this surface coil" - he held up a weird-looking, rectangular, latticed object - "over your abdomen and scrotum, and you'll be almost all set for the MRI." He placed it over Justin's stomach and groin as he spoke, the coil lightly touching his balls.

Justin whimpered a little, more pain blasting through him, although it wasn't nearly as intense as having his dick manhandled.

Taking a blanket from the shelf behind him, the gaunt technician folded it over the blond's chest and around his arms, leaving just his hands free. He then produced a set of headphones which he placed over Justin's ears. "Is that comfortable?" he asked.

"They pinch a little," the blond replied.

After loosening them, Paul enquired, "Now?"

"Good." Justin heard Dr Miller's voice through the earphones. "Paul's going to hand you a remote" - the technician wrapped the fingers of Justin's right hand around a narrow remote as the radiologist spoke - "and I want you to press the button so we can check that it's in working order."

Justin looked questioningly at the technician, who he now noticed had an earpiece in his left ear; that must be how he could hear Dr Miller, the teenager realised. When Paul nodded at him, he pushed the button on the end of the remote.

"Good," the radiologist said again. "We always test the emergency button to make sure it's working. If, for any reason, you need us to stop, press that button and we'll turn off Darth. Okay?"

"I bet Luke would've liked to have this button," Justin mumbled, making both the doctor and Paul laugh.

"No doubt," Dr Miller agreed. "Paul's going to join me now," she informed Justin, "and then we're going to turn the machine on. Your ‘bed' is going to slide into the machine, and it is going to be pretty noisy - Darth gets quite the rumble going - so don't freak out, okay? Just follow the instructions that we give you."

The teenager felt a clammy sweat break out all over his body as he slowly trundled toward the MRI machine. His left hand curled into a fist, but he maintained just enough presence of mind not to clench his right hand. He did not want to depress the intercom button, or it would be even longer before this nightmare was over.

For the next ‘who the fuck knew how long' - it seemed like way more than forty-five minutes - Justin followed the instructions he was given, holding his breath and letting it out when he was told to do so; forcing himself to relax his muscles; and flattening his legs against the hard surface beneath him when he inadvertently drew them into his body. 

The intervals of thrumming noise from the machine, which his earphones hardly muted, seemed like they were coming faster and faster, making him feel disoriented and even more nauseous. When he tried to breathe steadily and focus his eyes, the white ‘walls' of the machine blurred around him. Before he knew it was going to happen, he convulsed, barfing on himself once and then a second time, a sour aftertaste filling his mouth.

Darth stopped humming and his bed slowly withdrew from the monster's maw.

"It's okay," came a soothing voice. After removing the headphones from his ears, Dr Miller ran a damp washcloth across his lips and chin, erasing the traces of vomit. 

"S'rry," Justin slurred, mortified that he hadn't been able to control himself. 

"You're hardly the first person to toss their cookies during an MRI," the radiologist told him matter-of-factly.

"'s prolly the drugs I took."

"The drugs may be contributing to your queasiness, but I reckon it's largely due to the pain from your injured testicles," Dr Miller matter-of-factly replied, "I bet you've been experiencing headaches, dizziness, and uncontrolled bouts of crying too."

"All of those," Justin confirmed, feeling a little better and more lucid now that he was no longer encased inside the machine, inundated with its loud hum.

The radiologist lifted up the blanket that had been tucked under Justin's chin and asked, "Would you like me to help you change your gown? Your neck and chest are kind of damp."

"It has to be mostly water that I spit up," Justin figured. "I just hope I don't upchuck again; my stomach doesn't feel very settled."

"We're almost done," Dr Miller stated. "We'll have to redo a couple of the slices, but it shouldn't take more than twelve minutes to complete the whole process. Do you think you can hang in there for that long?"

Justin hated the idea of being inserted back into Darth, but he knew he needed to get this over with. He didn't dare nod - that might bring up more water - but he managed a one-word response, "Yeah."

"Good lad." Dr Miller put the earphones back over his ears, patted him on the shoulder, and returned to the control room.

Gritting his teeth, the teenager watched as he slowly re-entered the MRI monster. Twice more, he held his breath and released it on command.

What he assumed must be the promised twelve minutes later, he exited Darth for a second time.

A smiling Paul was waiting for him when the bed ground to a halt. "You're all done," he announced cheerfully. "Let me get the surface coil off of you and un-tape your dick, and you should feel at least half human."

Justin squeezed his eyes tightly shut when the tape came off, barely holding back another scream. "Cold," he querulously muttered when his testicles again came into contact with the hard surface of the bed.

"I'll have you back on your hospital bed in a jiff," the technician promised as he pushed up the lad's gown and deftly reinserted his nipple ring. He then unfastened and removed the soiled gown, handling Justin's limp, unresisting body with ease, before dressing him in a fresh one that was a vivid orange colour.

"Dr Miller likes orange, huh?" he took a wild guess. 

"You're right about that," the radiologist replied with one of her booming laughs. "You take care of yourself, lad," was her next comment. "We'll get the images to Dr Singh in short order, and he'll interpret them for you."

Justin felt his stomach knot back up. 

While Paul rolled the hospital bed back inside the room, transferred him to it, covered him with another pre-warmed blanket, and then wheeled him out into the hallway, assuring him that someone would be along soon to collect him and return him to the ER, he silently prayed, Please, please, please don't let me lose a ball. I'll never do drugs again, I promise. Please.

The coffee that Ted had bought was long gone, and Brian was getting more and more impatient. Unable to sit still any longer, he'd gotten up a few minutes ago and was pacing around the waiting room, glaring at the nurse sitting behind the reception desk every time he prowled by it. 

The nurse, who was busy checking in more visitors to the ER and entering data into her computer, paid him no heed. If she even noticed him, which Brian doubted, she showed no hint of it. Then again, the staff in the ER were probably used to distraught people pacing around the waiting area and had long since learned to ignore them unless they became violent or had a seizure or something.

"Christ," he growled as he stalked past Ted and Carl for the fifth time, "there must be something we can do to help. Like give blood or something." He knew it was a stupid idea even as he uttered the words, but he was sick and tired of not being able to do anything. 

"Justin would probably be in an even more critical state if a transfusion were needed," Theodore noted reasonably. "Besides," he scoffed, "we couldn't donate blood anyway."

Goddammit, Ted was right, Brian realised, uselessly thumping a fist against his thigh in an effort to ease his frustration.

"What do you mean, we couldn't give blood?" Carl rumbled, his voice low and gravelly. "That's stuff and nonsense."

"Not you. Us." The financial wizard gestured between him and Brian, clarifying, "Because of Aids, we're prohibited from giving blood."

Slumping back down onto the seat next to Carl, Brian chimed in sourly, "No one gives a fuck if you actually have HIV or not. They probably wouldn't even care if you were a fucking virgin. The minute they hear gay, you're out the door."

"Then don't tell them," came the detective's blunt response. "How're they gonna know who's gay and who's straight?"

Brian stared at him in shock. He'd never thought Carl would suggest circumventing the law.

"They're gonna test the blood before they give it to any patients anyway, right?" Carl probed, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Isn't there a whole battery of tests?" 

"Some people," Theodore sneered, "are afraid getting blood from a gay person will make them gay."

"Jesus." Carl shook his head in disbelief. "When I got hurt on the job, I was just glad the blood type I needed was available. I wouldn't have cared if it came from an alien."

"Me neither," someone interjected briskly. "Anyone who donates blood to keep me alive becomes my bosom buddy."

Startled, Brian tore his gaze away from his companions, only now realising that one of the ER nurses was standing in front of them - her shoes musn't have made any sound on the lino.

The no-nonsense looking woman nodded approvingly at Carl as she asked, "You the folks who're here with Justin Taylor?"

"Uh, yeah. We're-" Brian cleared his throat, planning to forestall Theodore and announce he was Justin's partner.

"-his family," Carl declared, his firm tone brooking no room for doubt.

"Then I reckon you'll be glad to know he's back from radiology," the nurse imparted, "and that the results of the MRI should be delivered to Dr Singh shortly. I can show you to the room he's in now, but I'm afraid there's just enough space in the cubicle for one, or maybe two, of you to visit Mr Taylor at the same time." She eyed the three men appraisingly, before her gaze settled on Carl. "Maybe his dad first?"

The policeman didn't bother to correct her assumption as he looked at Brian. "If his partner doesn't object," Carl agreed, his eyes twinkling.

Was everyone gonna bandy that word around, without giving him a chance to use it? Brian wondered, swivelling his head around and glaring at Ted, who'd instigated this ‘partner' rubbish. 

"Yeah, sure," he responded a bit ungraciously. "I'll just go with you so I know where the room is. Theodore," he barked at his grinning CFO, "you can get me another cup of coffee in the meantime."

"I'm on it." Ted immediately jumped up and trotted over to the vending machine.

Even though Theodore obeyed with suitable alacrity, Brian noticed that his smile didn't lessen one whit. Maybe he'd have to fire the grinning hyena after all, he reflected irritably as he and Carl followed the nurse. 

"There's someone here to see you," the steel-haired nurse informed Justin, smiling at the boy as she pulled back the curtain to his cubicle and peeked inside. 

The teen summoned a wan smile for the stout, formidable-looking woman, whose friendliness belied her appearance. Even if she weren't really nice, she'd still be a big improvement over Brian's former trick; Justin was relieved not to have to deal with the handsy fellow again.

"Brian?" he asked expectantly, already holding out one hand, desperate for his lover to console him.

"I'm afraid not," a deep voice rasped. "But maybe I'll do in a pinch?" 

Carl sidled through the opening provided by the nurse, and to Justin's dismay - and likely the copper's as well - the teenager promptly burst into tears. He hadn't realised until now how much he needed the man who was rapidly becoming his father. He just hoped Carl would forgive him for being such a pathetic, stupid, little kid and a giant disappointment to boot.

"I'm sorry," he wailed, rivulets of tears streaming down his cheeks as he reached desperately for the kindly man.

A few short steps and Carl was at Justin's side, enfolding him in his brawny arms.

Justin rolled over and wrapped his own arms around the fatherly man's waist, sobbing disconsolately into the folds of his coat, his indistinguishable babble of ‘msree, msree, msree' muffled by the thick fabric.

Carl didn't say anything; he just held him securely in his embrace and ran a soothing hand up and down Justin's spine.

The blond boy wept for what seemed like forever, Carl humming wordlessly in consolation as he continued to rub his back. The deep rumble and the gentle rubbing motion slowly worked to ease his raw, jagged nerves and calm his frantic sobbing. He thought sadly that even without the whole ‘gay' thing, his biological dad would never have been this caring. He wished - not for the first time - that Carl, not Craig, was his father. Would the man be offended if he asked if he could call him ‘Dad' or was it way too early to even think about it? he wondered. He'd probably better wait at least a little while, he ultimately decided, until he'd proved that he wasn't always such a fuck-up. Show everyone, not just the detective, that he was actually an adult, not a wayward child who needed to be taken care of.

When his convulsive sobbing finally started to subside, Justin sat back and released the material of Carl's trench coat, which he'd been clenching with his fingers. He looked up at the detective, whose features reflected only warmth and concern for him, rather than the admonishment Justin knew he deserved. 

Hiccupping a couple of times as he endeavoured to get his emotions under control, he noticed the mess he'd made of the policeman's clothes, both his coat and shirt spotted with tears and what looked suspiciously like mucus. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he blurted, utterly mortified.

"It'll wash out." Carl shrugged off his apology. "No one's gonna see me anyway; Wen and I are on a super boring stakeout."

Over Carl's shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the wall clock he'd noticed earlier when he'd been returned to the ER from radiology. Fuck, it had been at least half an hour since then, which meant he'd been keeping the detective away from his duties - stuff that was way more important than taking care of a good-for-nothing brat like him. 

"I took you away from your job?" he sniffled, feeling even worse about being such a crybaby. 

"Super boring," Carl repeated. "I was glad to have a break, although I wish it was for a different reason."

"I don't know why you want to have anything to do with me," Justin snivelled.

"Like I'm gonna give up on you just because you did something dumb, no matter how big a mistake it was," Carl chided, his voice both gruff and gentle. "I'll spare you a lecture - for now anyroad - since I suspect you've learned a hard lesson. Am I right?"

Fresh tears welling up and trickling down his cheeks, Justin nodded furiously. "Sorry," he apologised again, trying to dash the tears away with one hand.

"There's no shame in crying, son," the bluff detective comforted him. "Anyone would - me included - under these circumstances."

"I'm sc- scared," Justin admitted, gazing up at Carl with blue eyes that were swimming with more tears. "I d- don't wanna lose one of my balls."

"You don't know that's gonna happen," Carl reminded him. "Besides, even if it does, you'll be okay. All of us will be there to help you-"

"Brian won't want me anymore," the disconsolate boy whimpered. "No one else will either. Who'd want a one-ball wonder - especially one who's so fucking retarded?" he finished bitterly.

The older man nudged him underneath the chin chidingly. "Don't talk about yourself like that, Justin. You're an intelligent boy who just made some poor decisions," he said firmly. "You're not the first, and you won't be the last. As long as you take something away from this and learn from it, you can chalk it up to a learning experience - it's part of growing up."

Justin sniffled, shoulders slumping as all the fight left him. "I guess," he mumbled, eyes fixated on his lap, nervously wringing his hands.

Carl combed his fingers through Justin's messy mop of hair soothingly. "Now listen, son," he told him, "I feel really bad about leaving you like this, but I'd better get back to that boring stakeout. Wen's got to be dead tired of staring at that building, waiting for something to happen."

Fuck, the teenager thought, everyone - including the intimidatingly competent Asian detective - was going to know what a waste of space he was. "Tell Wen I'm sorry, okay?" he mumbled, still staring down at his lap, his fingers now crumpling the bright orange material of his hospital gown. "I didn't mean to take you away and have her end up there alone."

Carl huffed out a laugh. "Wen practically pushed me out the door, son. If I hadn't come here to check on you, she'd have had my ba-" The detective stuttered to a halt, his face turning a florid red as he realised what he'd almost said.

For some reason, it struck Justin as funny, and he choked out a watery laugh. 

The detective sighed indulgently. "She'd have my head," he amended, patting Justin's shoulder lightly.

Justin gave Carl a tremulous smile. "Tell Wen ‘thanks' then, okay? It helped... having you here."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," the man replied with a genuine smile. "And I promise I'll be back later, once I'm off work, both to check up on you and to get a statement from you about how everything happened."

"A statement?" Justin asked, exhaustion, pain, and anxiety clouding his mind so that he couldn't imagine why Carl would want a report from him. "About the drugs?" Fuck, he hoped not. He'd probably be banned from Babylon if he narked on one of the other go-go boys.

"Although I do want the full story about what happened at Babylon, it's the bullying at St James - and how you came to be injured - that I'm most concerned about," Carl averred.

"Oh," Justin breathed out. "Right." That made sense, he thought; he should've realised that Carl would want to know about Hobbs. The man must be so disappointed in him for not telling him about what had happened, especially after the locker incident. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I know I promised to report any more bullying."

The detective harrumphed. "Yeah, well..." he started before trailing off, a slightly strained look on his face. "We'll talk about that when you're feeling better, yeah?" 

Feeling ashamed of himself, Justin nodded. "Okay," he whispered in agreement.

"Now I really need to go," Carl said with regret, reaching for Justin to give him another hug.

Justin closed his eyes, enjoying the comforting contact. He even imagined he could feel the older man pressing a fatherly kiss to the top of his head.

"Can you ask Brian to come back here?" he asked, his voice wavering. "If he's still around, that is."

"Enough with the negative thinking," Carl gently remonstrated, squeezing him a little tighter for a moment. "Of course he's still here." Smiling at the lad as he drew back, he added, "Your partner has been busy wearing a path in the linoleum and pestering everyone about what's taking so long. He'll be here as soon as I tell him it's his turn, okay?"

Huh, Justin mused, apparently Brian hadn't nixed the whole ‘partner' thing. Hearing Brian referred to that way - this time by his ‘almost dad' - he suddenly felt happier than he had in days. Maybe his lover actually thought of himself as Justin's partner, despite having a complete idiot - who might end up a one-ball wonder - for a boyfriend?

"Okay," he breathed out, delight fizzing through him at the notion of having Brian for his partner.

With another pat on his shoulder, Carl then exited the cubicle. "One anxious partner coming right up," he threw over his shoulder.

Justin smiled. Weak but genuine.

Brian looked up as soon as Carl stepped back into the waiting area. "How's Justin?" he immediately enquired, not giving the bulky detective a chance to address him first.

"He's a little out of it, and understandably anxious about the MRI results," Carl reported, "but he was smiling when I left his room."

Brian let out a sigh of relief as he stood up and tossed his half-drunk cup of hospital swill into the nearest trash can. "So he seemed okay then?"

"He's coping remarkably well," the detective allowed, "but it's a lot for him to deal with."

"I doubt I'd be doing half so well," Ted inserted. "Come to think of it," he added wryly, "I didn't. I ended up in a coma."

Carl shot a startled glance at the accountant but didn't quiz him about what had happened. 

"Anything I should know?" Brian prompted the cop, growing even more antsy to see his boy right fucking now.

"You might want to reassure Justin about how important he is to you," Carl advised.

What the fuck did that mean? Brian tried to figure it out, his eyes narrowing as he studied the detective. Unfortunately, Carl's face remained impassive, not providing any clues that Brian could pick up on.

"That's a good idea," Theodore chimed in. When Brian turned to look at him - what did Ted know that he didn't? - he expounded, "I mean, he's got to be feeling stupid and worthless and like no one wants to be around him..."

For the first time, Brian wondered whether Ted had talked to anyone about what he'd gone through - having a pretty blond boy chase after him, taking him home, and then having a seizure and falling into a coma, all because he foolishly let the twink doctor his drink. Had all Theodore's friends simply blown him off when he tried to talk about it? Fuck knew, he had. So maybe Ted had had good reason to go off on him... The uncomfortable sensation that it wasn't just Theodore who owed him an apology hit Brian. He should probably apologise to Ted as well. The way Brian had handled the decision about whether or not to pull the plug on his friend was hardly stellar, even if the burden of being his medical POA had been sprung on him in the worst possible way.

He'd think about it later, Brian decided. For now, he'd welcome any insights Ted - and Carl - had to offer into Justin's state of mind. It certainly sounded like it would be a good idea to lay off with guilting the lad about his stupidity, especially since there had been plenty of poor decision-making, from him as well as from Justin, going around. He could always reinforce the importance of ‘staying the fuck away from drugs that come from dubious sources' later on, once the lad was doing better, both physically and mentally.

The jingling of change recalled his attention to Carl, who was fishing around in his pocket for coins. "I'll just buy a cup of coffee for Wen," he commented as he extracted some quarters, "by way of making up for leaving her on her own. She doesn't really need me there; she can take care of herself," he reiterated what he'd said earlier, "but still."

"Shouldn't you at least stop by a Starbucks?" Ted voiced the question on the tip of Brian's tongue. "The hospital joe is real sludge."

Brian nodded in agreement. How he'd managed to down one and a half cups of the stuff, he wasn't sure.

"Nah, the more it's like motor oil, the better Wen likes it," Carl explained.

Brian winced, watching as the detective moseyed over to the vending machine, inserted some of the coins, and punched a couple of buttons - doubtless selecting the strongest java on offer. He remembered the ‘battery acid' Justin had specially brewed for the scary Asian woman and then accidentally poured into his cup at the diner. Her innards must be made of cast iron or something - that swill would strip the lining from any normal person's esophagus and stomach. 

"Is he getting her an espresso?" Ted asked, an aghast expression on his face. "I mean, the regular coffee is bad enough" - he paused to rub his stomach, grimacing as it emitted a weird gurgle - "but that's gonna give the woman the worst heartburn ever."

Christ, Theodore would have to go and share his indigestion, Brian thought, his own stomach lurching. Before he could voice a complaint, however, Horvath returned, cautiously holding Wen's high octane fuel at arm's length, obviously wary of it spilling out even though it was covered.

Smart man, Brian thought approvingly. He had no doubt that it would burn a hole right through the material of Carl's coat. Not that it would be a big tragedy, mind; the coat was already in a pretty bad state.

"Ring me as soon as you know the results of the MRI, would you, Kinney?" Carl requested. "I'll be pulling for the lad to be okay. This is a tough thing for anyone to go through, much less a young man like Justin."

"I'll call you," Brian assured the detective.  

"I'll be back later, after I get off work," Carl promised before striding quickly out of the waiting room, the cup of joe held well away from his body.

Maybe by then, Brian thought, giving the slight bulge in his coat pocket the side-eye, he'd have decided what to do about the mystery powder.

"C'mon," Brian urged Ted as the detective vanished from sight. "Let's go see how the little twat's doing."

"About that-"

"What?" Brian barked impatiently.

"Why don't you have a few minutes alone with Justin?" the older man suggested quietly. "I bet Justin would like that," Ted continued, "and it would be good for you too, Bri."

It would, Brian silently agreed, but he wasn't going to say so and risk sounding like an overly sentimental lesbian. "Give me ten minutes," he told Theodore, "and then come join me. That doctor should be turning up with the MRI results at any moment."

A couple minutes later, when Brian entered the cubicle where Justin was waiting, the boy let out an audible sigh of relief. "I was starting to think you weren't coming," he quavered.

"Don't be a twat," Brian grunted.

Right as he was thinking that was hardly the most reassuring thing he could have said - the dried tear tracks on Justin's cheeks and the way he was white-knuckling his blanket provided clear evidence of his distress - the blond managed a wobbly smile and a weak retort, mumbling, "I'm not a twat."

"Could've fooled me." Brian strolled over to the hospital bed. "If you weren't a twat, you would have stopped me from doing that," he teased, gently flicking the boy on the forehead.

Justin didn't laugh, as Brian had hoped he would. Instead, his smile disappearing, he asked, "You're not gonna leave? You'll be here when the doctor," his voice hitched and grew fainter, "tells me whether I'm gonna lose m- my ball?"

Shit. He was obviously going to have to do more than make a lame attempt at teasing the blond kid out of his anxiety. He might as well bring out the big guns, Brian thought, sighing. "Just try and get rid of me," he muttered. "You're stuck with me now that I'm your p-"

"Partner?" Justin whispered uncertainly when the word got stuck in Brian's throat.

"Yeah, that," the adman acknowledged.

"You mean it?" Justin double-checked, big blue eyes searching Brian's face. Letting go of the blanket with one hand, he clenched the brunet's fingers in a death grip. 

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"But you didn't say it," the lad protested.

Fuck. Brian realized he was gonna have to utter that damned word after all. It couldn't be that difficult, right? No way was Brian fucking Kinney afraid of a stupid word. Besides, it would definitely be worth it if it helped Justin. 

"Partner," Brian blurted, the word coming out embarrassingly high-pitched. "Partner," he repeated more firmly. "There. I said it. I'm your partner."

When Justin rewarded him with a bright smile, Brian wondered why he'd ever been scared of the P-word. It hadn't even hurt - much - to say it. Not that he was in any hurry to say it again; he reckoned three times was enough for the next couple of weeks. Or months.

The curtain to the room was drawn back right then, and Dr Singh entered, Ted on his heels.

His face falling, Justin went white as a sheet.

He took it back, Brian thought. He'd be willing to say the bloody P-word a hundred times if only the kid would keep smiling.

Dr Singh smiled at the two of them. "I have your MRI results here with me, Justin," he informed the blond. "And I have good news," he tacked on immediately upon seeing the wobbly look on the boy's face.

Brian squeezed Justin's hand tightly.

The doctor went on, "I can tell you that, at this moment, exploratory surgery isn't required. The images did show some intratesticular haemorrhage but no tunical rupture." 

No rupture was obviously good, Brian thought, letting out a relieved breath. He didn't have a clue what kind of rupture had been avoided, though. He glanced at Justin who, although still white as a wall, didn't seem to be panicking. He looked more puzzled than anything else by the gibberish Singh had just spouted. Maybe Ted-

As Brian turned to his friend, Theodore bluntly asked, "What is ‘tunical rupture'?"

Brian was a little embarrassed that he hadn't asked the obvious question himself.

"I apologise," Dr Singh replied, colouring up a tad. "I sometimes forget my patients aren't familiar with medical terminology. The tunicae are basically membranes; in this case, we're talking about a membranous sheath surrounding the testicle." 

Justin gripped Brian's hand even more tightly, prompting the adman to ask for him, "But Justin's okay, right? No rupture?"

"It's possible," Dr Singh allowed, "that there is a small rupture that we just can't see through the blood. However, going by the extent of the bleeding, I am comfortable with proceeding with conservative treatment."

"That means no operation, right?" Ted asked for clarification.

"That's correct. Surgery won't be required," the Indian doctor agreed.

"I'll be okay?" Justin squeaked in a breathy, high-pitched voice.

Brian looked down at the boy, who was blinking furiously in an effort to hold back tears.

"You should be fine," Dr Singh assured him, "but if you suffer a similar injury in the future, you should see a doctor immediately." Casting a stern look at the teenager, he continued, "Research has proven that timely surgical intervention is crucial with injuries like yours; early intervention can prevent an orchidectomy that could otherwise have been avoided."

Brian could feel Justin tense up, shoulders drawing upwards in shame.

"You were very lucky, young man," the doctor continued. "It was very foolish not to come in immediately after the injury. These things can be very serious."

Justin burst out crying, burying his face in Brian's side. The adman ran a consoling hand up and down the kid's back, trying to soothe him and get him to stop soaking his designer shirt with tears and God knew what other fluids. Not that it would make much difference to the state of his green silk shirt at this point, but still.

Dr Singh gave them a sympathetic smile. "You should drink some water, Justin," he advised. "You must be getting dehydrated."

Justin snorted, chuckling wetly. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I haven't cried so much in my entire life, I don't think."

Brian patted his back. "Liar," he joked. "You're a little drama queen."

"Wow. You've graduated from drama princess," Theodore teased, winking at the boy. "That's not easy to do. Keep it up and you'll match-"

His eyes narrowing in suspicion, Brian loudly cleared his throat, cutting his friend off.

Ted stopped speaking, thankfully, but that didn't stop him from giving Brian a tongue-in-cheek grin.

Fucker stole that expression from him, Brian thought uncharitably. He couldn't come up with a better response than glaring at the impertinent accountant, so he was grateful when Dr Singh resumed speaking.

"Here, drink this," the Indian man insisted, handing Justin a bottle of water. "Slowly," he added, when the blond lad unscrewed the cap and took one large swig and then another. "Sip it, or you'll make yourself sick."

All over him, Brian suspected, taking a cautious half-step away from the boy. Justin would probably spew on his Prada boots, the only item he'd missed when he threw up on Brian a while ago at the loft.

Justin edged over, eliminating the bit of space between their bodies, so that he was again pressed up against his lover.

When the boy whimpered, the movement doubtless exacerbating the pain in his balls, Brian winced and sighed, giving up on the effort to save his footwear. What the fuck - they were only shoes, right?

"Hurts," Justin mumbled.

"I've consulted your medical records," Dr Singh responded to his complaint, "and I'm going to put you on a course of antibiotics - one to which you are not allergic - to prevent infection." 

Justin nodded in understanding.

The doctor popped a pill out of a small packet and handed it to Justin. "Take the first one now," he instructed, "another one tonight, and then twice a day - morning and evening until you've finished the ten-day supply. Take the antibiotic with plenty of liquid - water or juice."

Justin swallowed down the pill, sipping from his bottle of water, and nodded again as the doctor held out the packet and a slip of paper.

"Here are two more of the same to tide you over until you can get to a pharmacy and have the prescription filled. There's no point," he commented dryly, "in having you jaunt halfway across town to the only open pharmacy in order to have the prescription filled at this hour."

Thank fuck that the ER doctor was so sensible, Brian thought as he intercepted the pill packet and the prescription slip and placed them in his inner jacket pocket. Either he or Ted would've stayed with the lad while the other man went to fill the prescription, but now they wouldn't have to mess with that.

"Since you're allergic to Tylenol," Singh continued, "you can take aspirin for the pain."

"Is extra strength okay?" Ted interjected.

Good question, Brian thought. Regular aspirin probably wouldn't help much, not unless Justin downed four or five of them at once. 

The Indian doctor nodded. "That is fine, but be careful not to take more than two at a time, every four to six hours. Be sure to take them with water, and do not exceed eight tablets in twenty-four hours."

"He won't," Brian grunted. He'd make sure of that. Just 'cause he swilled aspirin like candy when needed to cure a hangover didn't mean he'd let the lad do the same. Do as I say, not as I do, Brian thought bitterly.

"The aspirin will not only ease your pain - far better than those unknown substances you ingested," Dr Singh elaborated with another stern look at Justin, "it will also reduce the swelling in your scrotum and lower your temperature if you become feverish. I suspect that," he raised his eyebrows in question, "in addition to being feverish now, you have also been suffering from fevers since the time of the injury. Is that correct?"

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged before clamming up.

Ted piped up, "His skin's really clammy and his forehead was really warm to the touch."

When in the heck had Theodore tested the kid's forehead? Brian wondered. He shouldn't have been anywhere near that part of Justin's anatomy. 

"The next time you have a temperature of," Dr Singh consulted his patient's chart, "103.4, I suggest you immediately visit the emergency room, young man. A temperature that high is a signal that something may be seriously wrong."

"Okay," Justin mumbled, avoiding the doctor's eyes.

"Did you take your temperature - even once?" Brian asked, the kid's evasive actions leading him to suspect that Justin hadn't bothered with that basic precaution.

"I, uh, I didn't feel hot," Justin tried to excuse his inaction. "I thought I just had, you know, some sweats and chills along with the nausea."

That tore it, Brian thought. The kid couldn't take care of himself, so he was gonna have to stay at the loft; that way Brian could look after him.

"It can be difficult for a person to assess their own temperature. That's why we have thermometers," the Indian doctor noted rather tartly. "Therefore, if you suffer from ‘sweats and chills' in the future, even if there are no other symptoms, I expect you to use common sense and check your temperature. With a thermometer," he stressed.

"I will," Justin promised, red flags of embarrassment staining his cheeks.

"He will," Brian assured the doctor, speaking at the same time at Justin.

"He really will," Ted interjected, chuckling. "It's not like we're gonna give him much choice."

"Good." Dr Singh looked at Theodore, then Brian, and finally Justin. "If your temperature is 103 degrees or higher, please use more common sense and come to the ER."

Justin nodded.

"You should take your temperature at least twice a day, after you take your antibiotic pill. If your fever does not begin to abate within the next twenty-four hours, or if it gets worse, please contact either your regular doctor, or if they aren't available, you can call me; I'll be on duty here in the ER for the next two nights. If your temperature is not in the normal range - 97.6 to 99.6 degrees - by the time you finish the course of antibiotics, please contact your doctor."

Justin nodded again, now looking rather apprehensive.

Brian speculated that the brat was probably imagining Debbie shoving a thermometer in his mouth every half hour and clucking over him like a demented mother hen. He wouldn't be wrong, the adman thought in satisfaction. Provided they made it to Sunday dinner tonight - he doubted they could get away with skipping it unless, that is, they wanted everyone to decamp to the loft - all that motherly smothering was gonna drive Justin bonkers. Really, it was just what the little twat deserved.

"In addition to taking aspirin for the pain, keep using cold packs and try not to aggravate the affected area," Dr Singh recommended. "Wear soft fabric clothing - basically, no denim - to prevent chafing and painful rubbing."

Tongue in cheek - he still did it with more panache than Theodore ever would - Brian smirked down at his blond. "You might want to wear a jockstrap to keep your pants from pressing against your nuts, Sunshine. I'm pretty sure I've seen one amongst your belongings."

"If not, I'm sure you could lend him one, right, Bri?" Ted inquired.

Turning his head to the side, Brian examined the accountant's face. Did he know about Justin swiping one of his jocks, which Brian had later discovered with Justin's things? 

Theodore looked back at him innocently, eyebrows raised in question.

"A jockstrap is a good idea," Dr Singh confirmed, "particularly if you need to move around. You should rest and limit your activity as much as possible, though, until the swelling has gone down and the pain has lessened."

"In other words," Theodore joked, "park your arse on the sofa - or the bed - and don't get up."

"Essentially, yes," the doctor concurred. "When you are sitting or lying down, you might also want to elevate your testicles with a folded towel. That will help ease your pain and reduce the swelling."

"When will I be able to, like, do stuff again?" Justin asked. "Like, you know, work and stuff..." he trailed off before specifying what he had in mind.

"Young man," Dr Singh reminded Justin, "you need to recover before you'll even want to do more than just rest. But as long as it doesn't increase the pain, you can engage in regular activity - if you stop to rest frequently."

Like anyone was gonna let the lad do much of anything, except get up to take a piss, Brian thought, snorting.

"You should avoid sitting for long periods of time," the doctor added, "so that you aren't putting pressure on the injured area."

When the boy started to pout at being so restricted - Christ, was he already forgetting that he'd barely escaped having a ball removed? - Brian teasingly cajoled, "C'mon, Sunshine, you like being on your back."

The pout immediately turned into a laser-like glare at Brian, which was exactly what the adman had intended. Far better, in his opinion, that the kid get angry at him than act like a whiny brat.

Before Justin could voice the retort that was trembling on his lips, Dr Singh directed, "You should schedule a follow-up appointment with a urologist - here at the hospital or elsewhere - within three to seven days, to make sure everything is healing properly. You may need another MRI for the urologist to make that assessment."

"Another MRI?" Justin squeaked, clutching Brian's hand tightly. "I'll have to come back here?"

"If the urology practice includes a radiology unit," Dr Singh responded, "you can have the MRI on-site; otherwise the urologist will refer you to a radiology centre. If you prefer to go somewhere other than Allegheny General for the scan, be sure to let the urologist know. Pittsburgh is large enough," he concluded, "that you will have a handful of options."

Appeased, Justin relaxed his grip on Brian's hand, but then, a woebegone look on his face, he muttered, "Uh, what about sex? If I ever feel good enough to have it again," he tacked on, his voice almost inaudible.

Now Brian felt kind of bad for jumping on the kid a second ago. He'd assumed Justin wanted to go back to work and earn money, which was a big part of what had landed the boy in the ER tonight. Wanting to know when he could have sex again, though... that the brunet stud could understand. He'd have asked exactly the same question.

The Indian doctor's voice gentled as he assured Justin, "You will be ready to have sex again sooner than you expect. Until you have your follow-up appointment, however, and the urologist confirms that you are healing properly, you should avoid any sexual activity."

"Then, once you get the all-clear," Brian's wiseacre CFO quipped, "you can let your partner do all the work for a change."

Brian didn't have enough time to properly glare Theodore into submission before Dr Singh continued speaking. "Unless you have any other questions, I'll leave you to get dressed. I'm sure you're anxious to leave the ER behind and get home. For some reason," he concluded wryly, "our visitors prefer not to linger."

All three ‘visitors' were laughing as they shook hands with Dr Singh.

Shaking the doctor's hand, Justin thanked him for a second time.

Singh counseled, "You should return to the ER immediately, Justin, if you have a sudden or severe pain in your testicles or abdomen, you start vomiting, your fever spikes, elevating your testicles causes the pain to increase, or your scrotum turns blue."

"Turns blue?" the lad questioned, blanching and pausing in vigorously shaking the doctor's hand. "Bluer than it is now?"

Thinking of the way Justin's scrotum looked - it was essentially one big, purple bruise - Brian winced. Could it really get darker in colour?

"I was referring to your scrotum turning a dark blue after the current discolouration has diminished," Dr Singh clarified, "which could mean your testicle is not getting the blood flow it needs. I don't anticipate that happening, but it is important that you be aware of the possibility and react appropriately in case it does happen."

Justin swallowed hard before thanking the doctor yet again. Gripping the Indian doctor's hand tightly, he pumped it enthusiastically. "Thank you so much, Dr Singh. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

"You'd better let go," Ted playfully teased, "or the doctor will be short one hand for the rest of the night and won't be able to help anyone else."

"Sh- uh, sorry." Justin again turned bright red as he hastily dropped Singh's hand.

The Indian man waved off the apology as if it were of no matter, but Brian was amused to note that he exited the room hurriedly, calling out, "Goodbye," the curtain swinging wildly on the rod as he rushed to close it behind himself.

A good thirty-five minutes later, Brian and Ted helped the exhausted blond lad out of the elevator, his sneakers dragging against the cement as they crossed the short distance between the lift and the door to the loft. Getting dressed again at the ER had been a slow, painful process, every movement sending shooting pains through Justin's crotch and making him wince in distress. That effort had depleted the last of the teen's energy, and he now could barely summon the strength to assist the two older men.

Once the door was unlocked, they slowly led Justin across the loft and towards the platform bed. He stumbled, lurching to the side and hissing loudly at the painful jostle to his genitals.

"You all right?" Ted asked quietly, muscles straining as he supported the majority of Justin's weight. 

On the other side of the lad, Brian hastened to help after having lost his grip on the boy during the stumble. "Slippery little shit," he mumbled under his breath.

"S'rry," Justin apologised raggedly, panting as he tried to regain his balance.

"Not your fault," Brian quickly assured the boy, helping Theodore in stabilising him before the trio resumed their slow shuffle.

"Is my fault," Justin insisted, determinedly eking the words out. "Fucked up big time. Don't know why you wanna have anything to do with me."

"Everyone fucks up," Ted huffed. 

"Can you two stop it with the pity party?" Brian scoffed. "Justin's fine. He's still a two-balled wonder, so everything's fine!" he exclaimed forcefully. "Now shut up and get on the fucking bed."

"All of us?" Ted enquired cheekily. 

Justin chuckled. "I wouldn't mind," he teased back, eyeing Ted's straining biceps as the two men helped him sit down on the mattress.

Brian blinked, surprised by how much the formerly underwhelming accountant had developed his muscles. If he didn't watch out, Theodore might provide some actual competition for him. 

Thankfully, before he could consider Ted's physique further, a moan from Justin drew his attention.

"Sorry, sorry," Ted apologised, despite not having done anything wrong. "I know it hurts."

"Let's get your jacket and T-shirt off," Brian suggested, taking charge of the situation. If he left it up to Theodore and Justin, they'd be here, gabbing, for the rest of the fucking night. "Then you can lie down while we take off your shoes and cargo pants."

While Brian was talking, Ted had toed off his loafers and crawled up on the bed behind Justin. He eased Justin's arms out of his jacket, tossing the garment to the foot of the bed once it had been removed.

"Raise your arms," Brian told Justin, then working in tandem with Theodore to slide the tee up the lad's torso and over his head.

"Cold," Justin complained, goosebumps immediately springing up on his skin.

Before Brian could even think about what to do, Ted was draping Brian's cashmere throw across Justin's shoulders. Jesus, he was slow, he thought to himself. 

"Better?" Theodore asked.

"Yeah, thanks," Justin mumbled, wrapping himself up in the throw so that he was almost cocooned in it.

Brian watched, still feeling stupid tired, as Theodore took charge of the proceedings. "I'm going to help you lie back, okay?" he told Justin. "And then Brian will pull off your pants."

"'Kay," the boy agreed, allowing Ted to guide him down until his upper body was resting on the mattress.

"Bri?" Theodore prompted.

Shaking off his sluggishness, Brian pulled off one of Justin's trainers and then the other, not bothering to undo the laces first. Then he popped open the button and slowly but steadily unzipped the flies on his cargos.

Justin whimpered, and Brian froze for a second. Fuck, he hated that he was hurting the kid.

"Almost done," Ted stepped in to reassure Justin, his voice a soothing rumble.

Hardly, Brian thought, shooting a weak glare at his friend. He still had to get the cargos down over the boy's hips. At least they had the sense not to put those fucking tight underwear back on Justin at the hospital; instead, Brian had stuffed the underwear into his coat.

"Go on," Ted encouraged him.

His glare intensifying, Brian promised himself that the world would be restored to its proper order soon, and he'd be the one telling Theodore what to do. In the meantime, he might as well just get the kid's damned pants off.

A few minutes later, not only were Justin's cargos gone, Brian had also succeeded in putting a pair of his silk pyjama bottoms on the lad - and he'd figured out how to do it all by himself, without any instructions from the Schmidt peanut gallery.

As he was looking around, wondering where Ted had gotten off to while he did all the hard work, his friend nudged his elbow and held out a hand towel.

"From your towel warmer in the bathroom," Theodore explained when Brian looked at him in puzzlement. "You know... to elevate Justin's balls."

"You don't have to explain it to me," Brian snapped. "I know what it's for." His brain fuzzy from lack of sleep, he'd just forgotten for a moment. Ignoring Theodore's knowing smile, he grunted, "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me get Justin all the way onto the bed?"

Ted helped him situate Justin properly - pillow at the lad's back, the throw still around his shoulders, and the warm towel rolled up underneath his balls. It seemed like it took forever, soft whimpers coming from the teenager the entire time, his eyes squeezed shut to hold back tears. Finally, though, they were done.

"What am I gonna do when I hafta to pee?" Justin mumbled, cracking an eye open.

"You can always pee into a beer bottle," Ted joked as he trotted up the stairs from the kitchen. "The fridge is half full of those."

Justin essayed a small smile. "Poppers take up the rest of the space," he contributed.

The wit was totally fucking lame, but Brian supposed he could live with it as long as it put the boy in better spirits. 

"Now, now. Don't forget the guava juice," Theodore chided, holding out a glass filled with the juice.

"Is that supposed to cure him?" Brian snarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Along with a couple of aspirin, sure," the accountant snarked right back, gesturing at the bottle he'd placed on the nightstand, fuck knew when.

Brian wrestled with the lid on the bottle for a moment - fucking childproof caps only foiled adults - before he got it open and shook a couple of the pills into Justin's palm.

"Thanks," the blond muttered, popping the pills into his mouth and washing them down with the full glass of pink nectar.

Brian followed after his friend as Ted took the empty glass back into the kitchen. "Long night," he commented, running a hand through his hair. He managed to half-successfully suppress a yawn, his eyes glazed with fatigue.

The accountant set the glass in the sink, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, it was." Then, glancing at his watch, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow, it's five o'clock already."

"Shit, really?" Brian said with a frown, looking around in a fruitless search for a clock.

"Yeah," Ted confirmed. "I better go if I want to get more than two hours of sleep," he added, walking back to the bedroom to slip on his previously discarded shoes.

"I'm gonna go, Justin," the older man told the kid quietly, running a gentle hand through the blond's hair.

Justin hmmed in agreement, a little spaced out. "Thanks, Teddy," he mumbled, doing his best to meet the man's eyes. He didn't quite manage.

Ted smiled before stepping back into the living room. "You two going to be okay?" he asked Brian.

The adman nodded. "We'll be fine," he assured his friend, giving him a tired smile. "Now go," he prompted the other man.

Theodore turned to go but Brian stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. "Thanks for being here for him," he said reluctantly, ‘and for me' going unspoken.

Ted's eyes softened. "No problem," he replied, stepping closer, and before Brian could defend himself, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"Ugh, Theodore, get off," Brian complained, wrapping his arms around the other man to return the embrace.

Ted chuckled, letting him go with a short squeeze. "Good night, Bri."

"Good night," the adman returned.

No sooner had Brian closed and locked the door when someone started knocking on it.

"What?" the adman barked as he opened the door, almost getting rapped on the nose by Theodore. "I'm fresh out of hugs. Go see the munchers - or Debbie - if you want another one."

"Haha, Bri," the accountant huffed out on an exasperated sigh. "I just wanted to remind you to call Carl with an update. I'll go now," he finished, retreating toward the open elevator and slamming the wooden grate down harder than was strictly necessary.

Well, shit, Brian thought morosely as he closed and locked the door behind his friend for the second time. Ted had been doing him a favour, and he had to go and show his arse. That never would have happened if he wasn't so fucking tired.

Extracting his mobile from his leather jacket, he punched in the detective's number before he again forgot to call.

"Horvath," the policeman answered on the second ring.

"Good news," Brian reported, struggling to speak clearly through a fog of fatigue. "Justin's gonna be okay - no surgery needed."

Carl's whoosh of relief was clearly audible over the phone line. "That is good news. Does he have to stay overnight at the hospital?"

"Nah. We just got back to the loft and got him on the bed," Brian revealed, speaking more and more slowly, his words running together.

"I'll see you later on at the loft then," Horvath commented. "Thanks for calling, Kinney." With a jovial laugh, he rang off with, "Now go take care of your partner."

After pressing the ‘end call' symbol, Brian staggered across the main area of the loft and up the steps to the bedroom, so fucking tired that he could almost have fallen asleep standing up. He debated briefly about leaving his clothes on and just flopping face first on the bed, but he knew he'd never be able to settle into a real sleep if he did that. Not only was he way too accustomed to sleeping in the nude, he knew his form-fitting clubbing clothes would chafe in all the wrong places. Worst of all, he fucking reeked - his glands had been busy producing a nervous sweat for hours, and vomit, drool, and other unidentified substances decorated him from the neck down. 

One or more of those substances had probably even gotten into his hair, but he didn't have the energy to shower it away. Wouldn't be much point to showering anyhow, he reckoned as he looked at the blond boy in his bed. They could just be ripe together. 

On that thought, Brian finally succeeded in peeling his black leather pants down over his hips. What the fuck had possessed him to wear such skintight trousers? the stud chastised himself. It only took one look at the blond lying on his bed, though, to remember that it had all been a means to an end. He'd wanted to attract Justin's attention and drive all thoughts of ‘Bobs' and ‘Podricks' and ‘whoever-the-fuck else' - anyone except him, that is - right out of the blond twat's head. 

Brian snorted. Talk about dumb. All he'd needed to do, apparently, was to acknowledge Justin as his partner. Huh, maybe he could use that whole partner status to his advantage, Brian mused as he shucked the last of his clothes and clambered onto the bed, scooting over until his right shoulder aligned with the blond's left, skin lightly rubbing against skin.

A second later, his bare flesh pebbling in the cool air, he sat up, grabbed hold of the duvet, and pulled it over both of them, making sure it floated down gently on top of the boy, before settling back down next to Justin. 

"Bri?" Justin mumbled, his eyes fluttering open.

"Yeah," Brian replied, his fingers twining together with Justin's. "You weren't asleep, were you?"

"Nah, just kind of drifting. The pain's still kinda overwhelming, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Brian confirmed, his voice heavy. He knew only too well, having endured numerous beatings at Jack's hands.

Neither of the men said anything else for a few moments, Brian idly brushing his thumb over the soft skin of Justin's hand.

"Are you still pissed at me?" Justin finally asked, a couple tears trailing down his face before disappearing into the cashmere throw.

"I was," Brian acknowledged, turning his head to look into Justin's eyes, the boy tilting his head toward Brian at the same time. "But," he gave a lopsided shrug, "it would be pretty fucking hypocritical of me to tear into you for taking drugs. I don't get why you accepted iffy shit from that meth head go-go boy, though. You can't need the money so badly that you have to dance, Justin."

Justin swallowed hard, his eyes swimming with more tears as he looked at Brian.

As the adman had pretty much expected, his gentle prodding wasn't enough to get Justin to cough up the reasons behind his actions. "Like I said," Brian tried another approach, "I understand the allure of drugs. The high they give you, the way they make something shitty seem better, at least for a little while."

"Doesn't work," Justin mumbled. "Makes it worse."

Good, Brian thought, the kid was listening to him.

"That's right," the stud agreed. "It's really fucking shitty when you come down off a drug-induced high and fucking crash. But," he looked deep into the boy's blue eyes, "that's not the worst part."

Justin's brow furrowed, betraying his confusion.

"Under the influence of drugs," Brian elaborated, "it's all too easy to lose control. For instance, you might be foolish enough to fuck someone without a condom or to let someone bareback you."

"I'd never-" Justin immediately protested.

"Yeah?" Brian spoke right over him. "How would you have stopped someone from taking advantage of you tonight, Justin?"

"Freddie-"

Brian cut him off again. "The bartenders do their best to look out for the go-go boys, but they can't have their eyes on you all the time. What about when you're in the break room, or the men's room? There's someone passed out in the WC at Babylon at least once a week, and no one fucking cares. They just step over the guy and go on about their business. Do you want that to happen to you? Do you, dammit?" Brian demanded, his voice rising. He hadn't meant to let his emotions get the better of him, but Christ, he didn't ever want something like that to happen to Justin.

Shit, he thought sourly when the boy started sobbing. Way to go, Kinney. "Look," he moderated his tone, "I don't want you to end up with HIV or some other STD, okay? HIV's the most dangerous, but even syphilis is nothing to sneeze at. You wanna be walking around with one of those white canes or something?"

Justin hiccupped and wiped his face off on the cashmere throw, before admitting in a faint voice, "I just, I guess I didn't really think about anything like that happening to me."

Although Brian had hoped that Justin might fess up about the two aggressive fags who'd assaulted him outside Babylon last night, he realised it would be a mistake to press the boy about it now. He wasn't even sure Justin was connecting the dots; it was more likely that he was caught up in worrying about HIV and other sexually-transmitted diseases.

Brian wasn't sure he was ready for that discussion anyroad. He was too fucking tired for one thing, and for another, what had almost happened to Justin was way too similar to the assault on Brian in Babylon's backroom not long ago. "Tell you what," he proposed, "why don't we make a deal?"

Sniffling, Justin asked, "A deal?"

Brian wanted to kick himself for badgering the kid when he was supposed to be resting. At least he'd diverted Justin from the pain in his nuts, even if he went about it in an atypically heavy-handed way. Besides, he was pretty sure the brat would like his proposal.

Rather than immediately explaining the deal, Brian asked another question. "We're partners, right?"

Justin blinked at his lover in shock, too surprised to respond. He hadn't thought Brian would renege on being his partner, but he didn't expect him to bring it up again either.

Taking his silence as assent, Brian extrapolated on his deal idea, "If you'll promise not to do drugs again, I'll do the same."

"No drugs?" he spluttered, even more stunned.

"Not unless we agree on an exception," Brian verified. "Like sharing a joint."

"What about the poppers?" Justin waved his free hand in the general direction of the kitchen. "Your fridge is, like, full of them."

"Maybe," Brian claimed, peering at the boy through long eyelashes before turning his head away, "I've found something that works better than that shit."

Holy shit! Brian meant him, Justin realised, astonished as he watched colour bloom in the older man's cheeks. Brian wanted him more than any of the drugs in which he regularly indulged. This was way more important than Brian calling himself Justin's partner; it showed the boy how much Brian cared about him. Even though Justin wanted to crow that Brian so loved him, he knew that would only embarrass his lover, so he'd have to tamp down his excitement for now.

"Yeah, okay," was all he said, clasping Brian's hand a little more tightly to try and convey how much this meant to him.

"I can always give the poppers to Honeycutt" - Brian inclined his head so he was looking at Justin again, a sly smile on his lips - "so he can host a drag queen bash or something. Not till after Kinnetik opens, though; I don't want a bunch of loopy waitstaff wandering around spilling drinks on the guests or anything."

Justin smiled back at Brian, his eyes sliding shut as he mumbled, "Em'd like that." A beat later, it was lights out for him, the trauma of the day, his medication, and fatigue finally taking effect.

Brian's smile altered as he looked at his lover, becoming soft and warm. Reaching over with his free hand, he tugged the duvet up a little higher - he didn't want the boy to get chilled - before he, too, passed out, exhausted from lack of sleep.