Brian sighed in disappointment as he twisted his body in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom to check on Justin's watercolour pencil masterpiece. Devastatingly, the drawing was smudged all over the place - the edges blurred, the colours mixed in a way the blond hadn't intended, and the details gone. He figured it made sense that pencil - watercolour or not - wouldn't adhere to or last well on skin, but he had hoped to preserve it for a bit longer. He'd planned to cover the drawing with a large waterproof bandage to protect it while he took his morning shower, but there really was no point now.

Turning to glare at his duvet, which was bunched up in the middle of the bed, he realised he'd actually ended up with more paint on his clothes and his sheets than on his back. It looked like he'd not only wrapped the duvet around himself - there were streaks of various colours all over the comforter - but also rolled all over the mattress, as attested to by yet more smears of watercolour pencil. Improbably enough, even one of the pillowcases was splotched, the pillow having somehow wormed its way under the covers. He couldn't believe he'd moved around that much in his sleep; he'd gotten into the habit of sleeping on the left side of the bed, saving the right side for a certain blond twat. The twat would drape himself all over Brian, using him as a pillow and making it hard for him to move so much as an inch. It was Justin who was the restless sleeper, not him.

Crap. He couldn't leave the bed looking like this. If the lad was in Brian's bed - where he belonged - he'd just send his employees down to the corner coffee shop if they needed to take a leak. As it was, he supposed he'd have to allow them to use his bathroom. First, though, he'd have to do something about the stained bedding, or he'd hear all sorts of ‘witticisms' from the comic relief duo Abbott and Costello if they saw it in this state. It would also make the wrong impression on the newbie Gertrude. It was the woman's first day; he didn't want to scare her off before she'd even started.

Whose bright idea was it to run Kinnetik out of his loft? he wondered irritably as he took a couple of long strides from his mirrored closet over to the bed. He wasn't going to have the time for a proper shower if he took the time to switch out the bedding, so Brian just straightened the sheets a little, figuring he'd cover the mess with the duvet and pillows. Unfortunately, no matter which way he flipped the duvet, some of the discolouration still showed, even with the top of the comforter turned down.

The duvet was no real loss - he'd already planned to discard it so no one would see the hole - but he didn't yet have anything to replace it. Fuck this. Brian was ready to abandon his efforts to cover up the stains since it was cutting into his shower time. He stomped toward the bathroom, his bare feet too quiet on the wood floor to properly express his annoyance. Then, getting an idea, he spun about and trod down the steps to the living room. Snagging the blue cashmere throw from the sofa, he returned to the bed and spread it over his duvet, repositioning it so it covered all the discoloured spots. The throw ended up draped artfully over the bed, dangling down almost to the floor on the side nearest the bathroom. To those without any artistic sensibilities, it might appear that he'd still been half-asleep when he made the bed - but at least it should forestall any overly impudent remarks from his cohorts. Really, the little twat couldn't have arranged the throw any better, Brian thought smugly.

Satisfied that his bed looked presentable, Brian made his way into the bathroom. The pipes in the old building would take a few minutes to warm the water to the desired temperature, so the first thing Brian did was open the shower door, reach in, and turn on the water. He might not be as odoriferous as the day before, but he still felt like there was an unpleasant film lingering on his skin from all the hours he'd spent in the hospital. As Brian moved the dial higher than yesterday's tepid temperature - when he'd had to take into account the blond's delicate skin - he nudged it a degree past his usual preferred setting and turned on the water. Forty degrees centigrade ought to really cleanse his pores, the brunet figured. He then hurriedly backed out of the shower and over to the toilet. In his rush to warm up the water for his shower, he'd cut that a little close, Brian realised, letting out a sigh of relief as he emptied his bladder into the bowl.

Moments later, he sighed again as the hot water pounded down on his back. The sigh turned wistful, however, as he watched the last of the ‘painting' vanish down the drain in a swirl of colour. Fuck finishing the roll of film before he got it developed, Brian decided; he'd just drop it off at the local CVS. For an extra fee, they promised prints would be ready within an hour. After he had the photos, he'd make another trip to Blick's. They could point out the best paints, brushes, palettes, easels, and whatever-the-fuck else Justin would need to recreate the drawing as a ten by eight foot or larger painting. At least the track lighting that hung from the ceiling was still there - the thieves mustn't have wanted to take the time to disassemble it for fear they'd be caught.

He'd get an assortment of canvases and let the kid decide on the best size, Brian mused as he lathered up his hair with his Guerlain shampoo and body wash. They could select the frame together once the painting was done, so that it enhanced rather than overshadowed the work of art. Once they chose that frame, he'd go ahead and get a better frame for the drawing Justin had created of him in all his glory; the cheap mounting the GLC had used didn't do Justin's talent - or Brian - justice.

The place where the naked man painting had hung was now way too bare, and Brian was itching to hang a genuinely good piece there. It was just as well, really, that the robbers had nicked the thing; while the painting was fucking huge, it wasn't valuable, or for that matter, particularly well executed. Why the artist had chosen such a fugly model, Brian had no clue; they should've at least given the naked guy better attributes, instead of a dick that was barely measurable. Then again, maybe the model had been reasonably good looking, handsome even, but the artist just sucked so bad- 

Brian burst out laughing at his mental pun. That must be why the naked bloke's equipment had looked like it was trying to crawl up into his body; the painter had given him a lousy blowjob, forgetting to cover his teeth or something.

Completely unlike his blond, Brian thought. The boy was a fucking natural - at both sucking and painting. Brian was willing to admit to himself that Justin's art far outclassed what he'd had on his walls - not that he was about to give the blond boy a swelled head by telling him that. The naked man had served a purpose, however, proclaiming that Brian was out and proud - and sending Claire scurrying from the loft when she'd come by for a handout a few years ago. She hadn't darkened his doorstep since, and Brian hoped it would stay that way. His bitch of a sister had a tendency to turn up like a bad penny whenever Brian thought of her for too long.

Deliberately turning his mind away from Claire - talk about ruining his day before it had properly begun - Brian luxuriated in the hot water that was cascading down his body, his eyes half closing in bliss. After a couple of minutes, he soaped up his loofah and began running it over his body, paying close attention to his privates. He had just conjured up his favourite teenager in his mind, the blond looking up at him with an impish smile, when the doorbell rang.

No fucking way, Brian thought. Which of his minions had had the temerity to arrive early? Quickly rinsing himself off, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Since he had every intention of returning to finish his shower - after he gave someone the rough edge of his tongue - he didn't bother to pat himself dry. He just slung a towel around his hips and stomped over to the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him. Having decided it must be his accountant - Cynthia bloody well knew better than to arrive early - Brian disengaged the alarm and threw open the door, growling, "What the fuck, Theodore-" only to abruptly stop speaking. 

For a millisecond, he thought it was Claire standing there, gaping open-mouthed at him, a cardboard tray with coffee drinks clutched to her chest, a paper sack in one hand, and some sort of odd bag hanging over her shoulder. Brian shook his head to clear away the nightmarish vision that had popped into his brain - his sister asking him to babysit her bratty sons - and took a closer look at the woman.

Besides the square jaw and brown hair, which was a shade lighter than his own, she bore no resemblance to Claire. Not only was she too short, she was also considerably more svelte. Plus, she was ogling his body admiringly, not with the jealousy Claire usually exhibited because he'd got all the good looks.

The main difference was that the young woman came bearing coffee. Claire would never have sprung for java for the two of them; it was always Brian who was expected to put out.

"M- Mr- Kinney?" the girl squeaked nervously, finally lifting her eyes from his chest and meeting his gaze.

The way she addressed him so politely cinched it for Brian. This must be Ger- No, wait. That wasn't her name. Dammit, this was all Ted's fault; he was the one who'd insisted on calling the girl ‘Gertrude.' All Brian could recall at the moment was that she was Cynthia's pal from Ryder - the one who was always nicking the Godiva chocolates.

It didn't matter, Brian decided. There was no need to address the girl by name. His annoyance at her early arrival having been ameliorated by the coffee she carried, he was even willing to take it easy on her. It was her first day, after all; he'd just have to put a bee in Cynthia's ear so she got her friend trained up right.

"That for me?" he inquired, reaching out for the cardboard tray.

A brief tug of war ensued before whatsherface let go, leaving Brian in possession of the coffee and the girl clutching the white paper bag, from which the scent of baked goods was wafting.

"Shit. I mean, I'm sor-"

"Bethany? Is that you?" a voice came from down below. "I thought I saw your ride out front."

"Yeah, it's me," the girl barely got out, her voice too quiet to be heard by anyone other than Brian.

That was it, Brian thought - Bethany. That explained why one of the coffee cups - the one Brian had just picked out for himself - was marked with a ‘K.' No one else who was supposed to make an appearance at his loft had a name that began with a K. Taking a sip, he screwed up his lips in disgust at the bitter taste of the liquid and belatedly thought... unless Trudy's last name also started with a K.

"How'd you beat me here?" Cynthia queried as she came into sight.

Brian was actually grateful that his assistant was also early since she came bearing another container of drinks. Thank fuck; these should at least be potable since she knew he preferred his joe with a smidgen of sugar.

The blonde woman continued, "I thought you wanted to stop by the-" She broke off, blinking in obvious surprise as she took in Brian's déshabillé.

Cynthia flapped a hand at Brian while looking at her friend. "Brian, uh- he-" she stuttered, at an unaccustomed loss for words.

Just then, the elevator, which had noisily been making its way between floors ground to a halt opposite Brian's loft. After lifting the wooden grate, Ted walked out, raising an eyebrow at the scene.

"Oh, have you started without me?" he deadpanned, giving each of them a brief look before walking unconcernedly past Brian into the loft.

Utterly disconcerted, Brian stood rooted to the spot. When the hell did he and Theodore reverse roles? That new-grown spine of his was starting to become more trouble than it was worth.

"Lose track of time again, boss?" his blonde secretary inquired with a cheeky grin and a meaningful look at his towel-clad groin.

Brian stopped himself from making a weak excuse about his bedside clock malfunctioning - even though it had - and instead swept back into the loft. Dropping the cardboard tray on the counter, he sauntered toward his bedroom, almost ruining the affected nonchalance when he slipped a little on one of the damp footprints he'd left behind. Quickly catching his balance, he continued on to the top of the steps, where he paused briefly, letting the towel slide from around his hips in direct view of the others. He smirked, pleased with the gasps and sighs that move elicited. I'll see your bet and raise you, Theodore, he thought smugly.

Craving caffeine, he didn't take long to style his hair and get dressed in jeans and a jumper - there was no need to suit up today. In short order, he returned to the main room to see Ted, still standing by the door, excitedly windmilling his arms and gushing over some damned thing or other. To Brian's distaste, the normally staid man now appeared to be imitating Emmett.

"Did you see that beauty?" Theodore was saying. "As far as I can tell, the Honda's in mint condition. Royal blue with gold detailing," he waxed on enthusiastically. "They haven't made that model in years - decades even!"

Brian rolled his eyes. Who cared about some Honda, regardless of the detailing? The cars were a dime a dozen; Cynthia even drove one.

"There's even a Bell helmet locked to the handlebars," the accountant elaborated, hardly pausing for breath. So not a car then, thought Brian. Ted went on, "It totally matches the bike - and it looks like an original, not some modern rip-off of a classic."

Christ. Brian struggled to maintain a blasé expression. Not so much because he was interested in motorcycles - he wasn't, except for the ‘cool' factor - but because Ted was apparently something of an expert on the topic. The man had raised the stakes of their one-upmanship yet again.

Cynthia chuckled, apparently amused by her colleague's enthusiasm, and pointed at Frieda, who had a self-satisfied curl to her lips.

What was that supposed to mean? the baffled adman wondered. Was the newbie also a motorcycle aficionado? He hoped not; listening to Theodore show off was more than-

"It's mine," Trudy asserted before Brian could proceed any further with his conjecturing.

"Huh?" Ted looked up from the coffee cup he'd just closed a hand around - the one with the crookedly penned ‘T' on the side. "Did I grab the wrong one?"

"She meant the bike," Cynthia clarified with another laugh, holding the drinks container steady so Theodore could remove his coffee. "The Honda is hers - her parents got it for her."

The brunette nodded. "It was in pretty bad shape when I got it, but since there's a lot of know-how in my family, we were able to re-"

Ted asked, the awe plain in his voice, "Your dad knows how to restore motorbikes?"

This time it was the new girl who laughed. "Nope. My mum. My dad hardly knows how to change oil in a car. He bakes a mean soufflé, though," she said cheekily.

Brian grinned as his CFO shuffled his feet in evident embarrassment. Really, Theodore should have known better than to ask such a narrow-minded question; one of his best friends was a bulldyke, for fuck's sake. Melanie would be pretty damned offended if she heard about Ted's gender-centric assumption. Hadn't Linds said something about the bulldog attorney riding a motorcycle, back before they settled into domestic bliss? Brian couldn't quite recall, but he speculated that might be where Theodore had acquired his knowledge of motorbikes. He couldn't say that he'd ever heard Ted talking shop with the devil dyke, but Brian was probably on the prowl - or he purposely zoned out - when they got into the nitty-gritty of wrenches, oilcans, and pistons. 

"Dad thinks motorcycles are accidents waiting to happen," the petite brunette went on. "He'll only ever ride pillion behind me and my mum because he knows how careful we are."

Not wanting to look like a wuss, Brian stopped a nod of agreement just in time. He had to agree with whatsit's dad, though; a bike didn't provide enough protection, no matter how competent the motorcyclist was. Thank fuck he hadn't brought Justin home with him last night. If the little twat heard about Trudy's bike, he'd probably latch onto the idea of acquiring one. The coolness of owning a motorcycle would lure the kid in. Then the brat's obsession with saving money would take over; a bike would be way cheaper and more fuel-efficient than a car. If Justin so much as mentioned purchasing a motorcycle, Brian decided he'd tie the little twat to a chair - and keep him there. He wasn't gonna go grey worrying about the kid on a bike. He wasn't sure how to keep the kid away from his new employee's motorcycle, though; it would be best if the twat never caught sight of it.

"Um," Ted mumbled, interrupting Brian's mental gymnastics as he tried to come up with realistic methods for keeping Justin and the new girl - and her motorbike - apart. The accountant looked down at his feet and ditherhered for a moment before lifting his head and gazing earnestly into Trudy's bright green eyes. "I have to agree with your dad. I love bikes, but they really aren't safe. There's nothing you can do about the idiots riding your fender or whizzing by you. Even a small car provides better protection. Not to mention the blind spot," Ted continued. "Drivers often aren't careful when changing lanes at high speed on the motorways, and it's very easy to overlook a bike if you don't have a blind-angle mirror and aren't used to looking over your shoulder."

"You're right." The brunette nodded in agreement. "That's why a motorcycle rider should be extra-observant and cautious. I'm not gonna be one of those idiots who weaves in and around cars in heavy traffic, relying on the motorists to keep an eye out for them. Some careless driver clips you, and you're as good as dead." 

Brian blanched. No way was the blond gonna end up as roadkill.

"If you're gonna jibber-jabber about riding motorcycles," Cynthia interjected, addressing her buddy, "why don't we at least get comfortable - get rid of our coats and take our coffee over to the table. Heck, sweetie, you haven't so much as dumped your saddlebags yet."

Now he knew why the bag the girl was toting around had looked so odd, Brian thought. It was one part of a set of saddlebags, the rear side - which he hadn't been able to see until she slipped it off her shoulder - appearing to be equally stuffed full.

"Let me help you, Gertrude," Ted offered, outstretching a hand.

Her eyebrows drawing together, the girl released her hold on the bag. Ted mustn't have been prepared for the weight of the thing, as the saddlebags slid through his fingers and landed on the floor with a thud.

"It's Bethany," the girl tartly corrected him. "And you'd better not have damaged my laptop."

"Um, Bethany, right," Ted stuttered, looking adorably flustered as he rubbed the back of his reddening neck sheepishly. Brian winced as soon as he thought the A-word, which wasn't supposed to be part of his vocabulary. Unless it applied to his Sonnyboy or his blond anyway.

"Sorry," Ted continued. "I knew that. I'd just got used to Brian calling you Gertrude." 

Any thoughts of Ted being adorable immediately vanished from Brian's mind, substituted with plots of quick and gruesome murder. So much for becoming buddies, he thought snarkily; he'd been thrown under the bus at the first opportunity.

"Thanks a lot, Theodore," he harrumphed. "You know I sometimes have trouble remembering names; way to make fun of me for my disability.

The older man snorted. "The only disability you have is arrogance," he contradicted. "You just don't care enough to remember." 

Cynthia interjected, "That's not entirely true. When I first came to work for him, Brian actually wanted to remember my name, but he still had trouble recalling it - even after a month."

Ted looked at Brian and then his blonde colleague skeptically. "What makes you think Brian wanted to remember your name? In my experience, he barely remembers a person exists after he first meets them. Except for Justin, that is," he tacked on after a moment's thought.

Frieda raised an inquiring eyebrow at her blonde friend when Theodore mentioned Justin, prompting Cynthia to give a slight, conspiratorial nod in response. 

Great, Brian thought, the two straight broads were probably spinning ridiculous, romantic fantasies about him and the blond in their off time. Women.

"Brian could hardly afford to forget I existed since he depended on me so much," Cynthia drawled, smirking at Ted. "It's why I thought he was genuinely struggling to get my name right at first," she explained, gesturing at her boss with a finely manicured hand. "He needed my cooperation to make himself look like partner material in front of Ryder, so his stumbling over my name seemed kind of sweet."

Brian didn't bother to hide an eye-roll, not that it had any effect since none of his employees were looking at him. He would most likely never understand the way a woman's brain worked. How in the heck did his periodically yelling ‘Hey, you!' to get his secretary's attention translate to being sweet?

"My bet is that Brian was just teasing you," Theodore postulated. "I haven't noticed him having any trouble remembering names when it matters."

Cynthia nodded. "Like you, I soon began to suspect Brian was having me on, especially when he would smoothly address clients he'd just met by name but would still butcher mine. If he was playing games, I wasn't about to give in, so I started ignoring him when he didn't use my name. He tried getting my attention with all sorts of oddball variations on my name - Cecily, Selena, and Carylon, to mention a few - but I just politely corrected him and waited till he correctly said my name before I helped him."

Her brow furrowed, the new girl asked, "You really thought that would be effective?"

Brian grinned, remembering the cat-and-mouse game they'd played, waiting to see who would crack first.

Cynthia chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I thought I was winning when Brian started addressing me more frequently by my first name - even without coming out to my desk and reading it off the nameplate I'd placed there to help him out. He even threw in my last name a time or two."

"I can't imagine Brian giving in that easily," Ted observed, his eyes narrowing in thought as he held out a hand for Cynthia's coat after helping the newbie off with her jacket. "What happened next?"

The blonde glared at her colleague as she juggled the drinks' container she'd arrived with, shrugging her puffy coat off one arm and then the other.

Brian reached out and removed the tray from her hands, which Cynthia apparently didn't find all that helpful, as she just transferred the glare to him. Smiling unrepentantly, Brian started laughing as he recalled how he'd wound his blonde secretary up. "I told Cyn she reminded me of one of the actresses on that show about four women and their sexcapades in the Big Apple. She totally fell for it and got all puffed up at being compared to Cynthia Nixon."

"You said I had Miranda's smarts - that's the character Nixon played," the blonde clarified, presumably for Theodore's benefit since Gertrude was nodding in understanding. "But that I had Samantha's looks," she finished proudly.

Christ, Brian thought, amused, Cynthia was still falling for it.

"Sex and the City?" Brian's CFO gasped. "You watched a show for chicks?"

Brian shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. If it wouldn't give away that he had watched it, he would be tempted to ask how Theodore had so readily identified the TV show.

"So you never really had any trouble remembering Cynthia's name?" his CFO pressed.

It had helped to associate the two Cynthias, but Brian wasn't about to admit that. Shrugging again, he observed, "Cynthia lasted for more than a month - which was weeks longer than any of my previous assistants - so I thought I'd do her the favour of learning her name."

"Only you would call that a favour, boss." The blonde woman shook her head chidingly.

"So you had it memorised from the beginning?" Ted asked, plainly disappointed.

"Not exactly." Brian grinned wickedly. "I just thought of ‘Cyn Moore'" - he pronounced it sin more - "and I had no problem remembering Cynthia's name after that."

Frieda belted out a laugh. "Christ, that's perfect, Cyn," she teased her friend.

"I know, right?" Cynthia readily agreed. "I mean, it's been fun playing the field. All I wanted for a long time was a hook-up - one night or maybe two if the bloke was really good in the sack." 

That sounded just like him, Brian thought, glancing at his assistant in approbation. 

A wistful note entering her voice, Cynthia continued, "Nowadays, I wouldn't mind trying someone out for longer, but most guys are duds, you know?"

Brian found himself nodding in agreement - along with Ted and the new girl. Not that he had to worry about getting stuck with a-

Snatching the words from his brain, Theodore, looking like the cat that just ate the canary, spoke up. "I don't have the dud problem." With a glance at his boss that conveyed his approval, he added, "Neither does Brian."

Cynthia's brunette friend shrugged and heaved a resigned sigh. "That's because you're gay. All the halfway decent blokes are gay."

"Yeah," Cyn echoed. "Most straight guys are duds. The ones that don't need a road map to satisfy a woman in bed still need, like, an entire Encyclopaedia Britannica on how to be an okay partner."

Brian preened a bit, smug about getting a handle on the whole partner thing. Thedore didn't seem to be doing too badly either. As that thought crossed Brian's mind, he noticed that Ted was looking a little green about the gills. Everything was obviously going great with ‘Benji,' so he figured it must be the chatter about hetero dating that was making the older man nauseous - even though the girls weren't talking about munching or anything truly vomit-inducing.

That was probably why Ted stuttered, "Um," once more, again looking flustered. Rubbing at the back of his neck, which was now a brick red, he awkwardly blundered, "I could use some kind of word association to help me out with your name... Gerthany."

Brian winced at the way Theodore had bungled the poor girl's name - combining ‘Gert' with ‘hany' like that. Or maybe it was ‘Ger' with ‘thany.' Whatever. Brian would never do anything that gauche.

A charming, tongue-in-cheek smile was apparently enough to get Theodore out of the doghouse before he was properly in it, both women grinning at him as he claimed, "I've got ‘Gertrude' stuck in my brain."

Brian needed to have a word with his impertinent CFO; he couldn't let the man get away with stealing his patented expressions on top of his parking karma, which Brian still planned to reacquire. If only he could figure out how.

A bit out of sorts, Brian stomped over to the counter with the second tray of coffee drinks and examined the cups to figure out which one was his latte. The three stooges could brainstorm all they wanted and get the word association nonsense out of the way while he quaffed a cup of coffee. He'd begin with the cup Cynthia had brought him - she had the barista trained to put in almost enough sugar now - and then figure out later on how to doctor the cup of motor oil Frieda had purchased fuck knew where.

He paused, uncertain, when he noticed one of the drinks was marked B1 and another B2. He should be B1 but-

Cynthia came to the rescue before he had to ask. "Don't worry, boss; you're B1."

Of course he was. He should never have doubted the blonde, he thought, bestowing a grin on her.

"While we're at work anyway," Cynthia amended her assertion, puncturing Brian's ego.

What was it with all the pert blonds in his life? Brian wondered, ignoring the laughter from the peanut gallery as he dislodged the B1 cup from the container and took a cautious sip. The corner shop really was getting the message about adding a reasonable amount of sugar, he noted in satisfaction as he removed the lid from the cup, grabbed a teaspoon, and ladled in just a bit more of the white stuff. They'd probably finally get it right after Kinnetik moved into their new premises. Smirking at his cheeky assistant, he mused that she'd just have to instruct the new dogsbody as to how his coffee should be made; Trudy could then train up the baristas at the local coffee shops.

"Oh!" Ted exclaimed as the brunette set down on the counter the large paper bag she was still clutching. "You went to the Queens' Court!" He licked his lips. "Did you by chance purchase some of their scones... Tiffany?"

What the heck? Brian gave the older man an incredulous stare. How had Theodore come up with that one? It didn't sound remotely like the new girl's name - whatever it was. A little irritated that he couldn't remember it - he'd been too entertained by Ted's awkwardness to actually pay attention to Trudy'real s name when she corrected his CFO - he decided to listen in now. Theodore was probably due for another set-down; if not, he'd just see if the word association his minions came up with had any merit.

Instead of issuing another tart correction, however, Frieda just laughed. "You think just because a name ends in ‘any,' it will help you remember mine?"

At least, thought Brian, the new office factotum realised who it was with the memory problem... even if Ted's guess wasn't quite as random as he'd first thought.

The blonde, who'd just removed plates and cutlery from cupboards and drawers, carried everything over to the kitchen table before returning for the cups marked B2 and C. "Bring the pastries, would you, Gloria?" she asked as she carried the drinks over to the table.

Brian blinked in confusion. Gloria? That definitely wasn't right.

He was apparently the only who thought that, though, Ted gushing, "That's perfect! You even look a little like her."

"My mum thought about Gloria for a middle name," Gertrude divulged, carefully opening the paper bag and piling the baked carbohydrates on the plate that Cynthia had just placed in the centre of the table. "Dad said it just didn't scan well with my first name, though."

Which was what? a frustrated Brian wanted to know.

"Glo isn't all that well known outside biker circles, unfortunately," the petite brunette lamented, "so I doubt it would help anyone remember my name."

Gloria was some biker chick? Fucking useless memory aid, Brian mused irritably as he absently slid one of the scones onto his plate before sitting down.

"I think it's the hair," Theodore deliberated, studying Trudy a little more closely as he plunked his rear down on a chair.

"Mmm, that and the chin," Cynthia averred.

Ted snapped his fingers. "You're Beethoven-esque!"

Brian bit his tongue to avoid barking out a comment about how that didn't help either. Sure he knew who Beethoven was - didn't everyone? - but it was hardly going to help him recollect Trudy's name.

As she took a seat, the blonde opened her laptop and powered it up, carefully keeping it away from her coffee. A few taps of her fingers later, she raved, "You are so right, Abbott!" Cynthia turned the computer around so everyone could see the painting of Beethoven that she'd found. "The wild hair, the jaw - it's spot on. Plus, ‘Beeth' and ‘Beth' almost rhyme - the ‘h' is largely silent in both of them."

That might just work, Brian thought, rather impressed with his lackeys' reasoning. He now recalled that the new girl's name was Bethany. The ‘Beeth' thing wasn't quite enough by itself, but if he put the first part of Beethoven and the last part of Tiffany together, he should be able to remember the brunette's name. ‘Beethoven's Tiffany' would sound well weird if he said it out loud, but as a mnemonic, it would do.

Beaming at his blonde colleague as he helped himself to one of the scones, Theodore said, "Thanks, Costello."

Frieda joked, "If only I played the piano," as she settled into the only empty seat.

Theodore chuckled. "Now that's something you really couldn't transport on your bike."

Her brow furrowed, Cynthia asked, "How did you manage everything, sweetie? The drinks' tray wouldn't fit in your storage compartment, never mind your saddlebags."

"After you told me the best way to get on the boss' good side was to ply him with sh-" 

Cynthia frantically shook her head at her friend.

"Er, lattes," Bethany hastily corrected herself.

Brian narrowed his eyes at his assistant as he downed the final bite of his scone and chased it with a swallow of his latte. She must've blathered on about him putting more than an average amount of sugar in his coffee. That was bollocks, of course, but the new girl must've gotten it wrong and understood that he didn't take any sugar in his joe. Hence, the bitter brew that was going to need heavy doctoring when Brian finished his current cup.

"Anyway, when I swung by the Queen's Court and discovered that they had fresh-baked peach and cranberry scones-"

Those cranberry scones weren't bad, Brian mused, sliding his tongue out to scoop up a crumb which was clinging to his lips. Maybe he'd also try a small wedge of a peach one. He could always stop by Ript before he went coat shopping; it wouldn't take long on the treadmill to work off the few measly bites he'd eaten.

"-I had to get some of those too," Bethany related. "Besides making the boss happy, I wanted to celebrate my first day on the new job."

Brian acknowledged that with a nod at the newbie. It made sense she'd want to celebrate joining his team.

"How'd you get everything here, though?" Ted prompted Bethany, evidently as curious as Cynthia.

The brunette shrugged, picking up the B2 cup and taking a swig. "The paper sack fit inside my storage compartment, and I strapped the drinks' container to my saddlebags with a couple of bungee cords. The cups were snugged into the container tightly, and the lids on the cups are pretty secure. I figured as long as I didn't take a corner too fast or anything, no one behind me would end up with a windshield covered in java."

Brian smirked, a vision of Smythe's windscreen decorated with coffee popping into his head. The Brit probably drove something poncy like Rolls Royce or a Lotus. It would serve the smarmy club owner right if his car got decorated with the sludge the Queens' Court passed off as coffee.

"Mhmm," Theodore moaned right then, the appreciative, almost orgasmic, murmur ruining the imaginary scene. Paying no heed to Brian's dark glower, he continued, "This coffee is good, but the Queens' Court makes the best go-juice ever. I'm saving that for when I finish this cup."

"That was my thought," Trudy agreed. "I've patronised the Queens' Court since they opened, but the barista must've gotten the order for Mr Kinney's coffee wrong. He repeated the fi-"

She suddenly broke off with a yelp, her B2 cup bobbling in her hand.

Warily eyeing the hot cup of coffee, Brian and Theodore slid their chairs backward. The cup looked like it was gonna land on the table with a splat any second and send coffee flying every whichaway. 

With a roll of her eyes at the two men, Cynthia reached out and steadied the cup.

Gertrude shot an indecipherable look at her friend, like she couldn't decide whether she was grateful for the assistance or pissed off at Cynthia about something. "Barked my shin," she muttered through clenched teeth.

Brian scoffed mentally at what was almost certainly a falsehood. With the three legs arranged in a criss-cross pattern under the center of the table, Frieda would've had a hard time even reaching the nearest one with her ankle. She could've banged her shin against one of her chair legs, he supposed, although the newbie didn't strike him as the clumsy type. Given the semi-glare that she was now directing at Cynthia, he suspected his secretary had kicked Trudy, although he wasn't sure why. 

"Guess that wouldn't have made the right impression, huh?" the brunette got out a couple seconds later, followed by a wry laugh. "Dousing my boss in coffee."

"Especially not the good stuff," Cynthia corroborated, winking at Frieda.

"I'm sorry about the bitter coffee from the Queens' Court, Mr Kinney," Bethany politely apologised. "I'll make sure the barista gets it right if I go there again."

Not wanting to appear too lenient, Brian grunted something that might be taken as assent. The girl should work out okay. She clearly recognised the importance of caffeine for fuelling their brains, and she wanted to make sure their coffee drinks were correctly prepared.

"I just hope that barista didn't screw up anyone else's coffee," Bethany remarked, glancing first at Cyn and then at Ted. "Be careful when you try yours; you may need to add milk or sugar."

That perfectly rational observation made the blonde woman crack up for some reason. "Good thing we didn't communicate clearly about which of us would be stopping for the java," Cyn commented, another laugh escaping as she finished speaking.

He wouldn't mind if both women stopped for coffee every day - once Bethany was trained properly in coffee girl duties - but it might be a bit much to say that, Brian determined after deliberating for a moment. Cutting off another tiny wedge of the peach scone, he put it on his plate and suggested, "Why don't you fill Bethany in on some of the hats she'll be wearing, Cynthia?"

He smirked when the blonde's eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline as the new girl's name tripped off his tongue. Brian disregarded the fist pump and loudly whispered, "Beethoven for the win!" from Theodore. The man was probably just missing the opera he used to listen to at Wertshafter, often while watching porn, Brian would wager.

The adman knew Cyn would've already given her friend an earful about her various duties, but he wanted it reinforced. Bethany sounded promising, or he wouldn't have agreed to hire her. If, however, there was any chance she'd scarper at the notion of long hours and a little hard work, better that she quit now than after his new agency was up and running. He didn't want to be left in the lurch at a critical juncture.

"You already know you'll be supervising the receptionist and helping to supervise the interns," Cynthia began.

A smile on her face, Bethany nodded. "I'm looking forward to learning more about the workings of an ad agency instead of just being stuck in the bowels of accounting."

"Hey!" Ted objected. "Those are my bowels." As everyone else fell about laughing, he coloured up, his entire face going red. 

"Way to go, Theodore," Brian teased his friend. "You've scared off our new dogsbody" - he glanced over at his Crosby wall clock - "less than an hour into the job."

"I didn't mean to phrase it quite like that," Ted confessed, chuckling good-naturedly as he joined in the general hilarity. "I will want your assistance with the books, however," he went on. "It's always good to have more than one pair of eyes on the financial end-"

"The bowels," Cynthia deadpanned.

"-of things," the CFO finished a bit lamely.

Green eyes twinkling, Bethany declared, "Don't worry, Ted; I like working ‘deep inside.' Besides," she added more seriously, "accounting will always be my first love. I like following the clues the numbers reveal - it's exciting."

Brian snorted when that had his CFO making cow eyes at the newbie.

"Accountants," Cynthia muttered next to him. "Can't live with them, can't shoot-"

"You can always buy me a couple of shots," Bethany interjected, reaching down to rub at her ankle. "You owe me."

"Sure, sweetie," Cynthia readily acquiesced. "Spill after we finish up today?"

Brian stared at his assistant blankly. What the fuck was Trudy supposed to spill about?

"Oh!" Ted interposed, unknowingly satisfying Brian's curiosity. "I think Spill is the wine bar where Emmett was going to meet his org- er, pals last night. It's the one on the other end of Liberty Avenue that opened recently, right?" 

That was a clever name, Brian allowed. It might even be worth checking out the wine bar with his blond; they might need some top-notch advertising to back up their moniker. "Staffing," he curtly reminded his employees, who were now yakking about local wine bars.

"Rise and shine, Sunshine!"

Deep in REM sleep, all the lad registered was some kind of annoying buzz that was trying to drag him to wakefulness. He swatted at the clock, assuming it must be the alarm, and attempted to re-immerse himself in his dream.

An ache travelled through his body, keeping him from settling back into the dream, in which his lover had been slowly drawing a wet trail down his chest... Weird, the boy thought, his brow wrinkling in confusion. Reaching for the clock shouldn't cause that kind of soreness.

"Up and at 'em!" a cheerful voice insisted.

"Nngh," Justin protested, now realising that it must be someone speaking to him that had roused him.

The voice was followed by a hand landing on his shoulder and shaking gently.

Giving up on returning to the dream, the blond cracked open an eye to see Debbie's smiling face beaming down at him. Worried that his mum was gonna catch sight of his morning woody, the lad lifted his knees to tent the bedding over his midsection. The movement, though, set off a dull throbbing in his balls and made him recollect everything that had happened in the last few days. The woody - if one even existed outside his dream - had deflated, his flaccid penis resting against his thigh.

"Pay that no nevermind," Debbie advised whilst shaking the old-fashioned glass thermometer she'd used on him last night. "You'll perk right up before you know it."

Justin could feel the red creeping up his face and cursed his fair complexion. It gave away his embarrassment every damned time.

"Sit up," Debbie ordered, giving the thermometer another shake. "Then it'll be easier to down your antibiotic once we've taken your temperature."

Justin leaned forward, intending to put one of the extra pillows he'd shoved to the side of the bed behind him, but before he'd done more than think about it, Deb reached over him, grabbed a pillow, fluffed it up by shaking it, and squeezed the pillow behind his back. The lad was amazed at how Debbie hadn't even looked away from the thermometer whilst she did all that. She was on autopilot, like some kind of super-duper mothering machine, although the redhead was way too warm-hearted for a machine.

As he settled back against the pillows, Debbie peered at the bulb intently. Evidently deciding the mercury had descended far enough into the bulb to get an accurate reading, she commanded, "Open up," sliding the metal tip between his lips and under his tongue as soon as he complied.

The blond closed his lips firmly around the thermometer before Debbie could tell him to do so. 

"Don't bite."

Geesh, the teenager mused, embarrassed to have his temperature taken like this, you'd think he was just seven years old, not almost eighteen. Maybe it was his baby face that was causing Deb to give him step-by-step instructions?

"Aren't you the cutest thing?" Debbie observed. "You look like a baby chick that just pecked its way out of the shell and is being fed through some kind of artificial teat."

Justin's face heated up so much that he figured you could've fried bacon on it. 

Humming The Little Drummer Boy, his mum gathered up the clothes he'd left on the floor the night before and dropped everything in a laundry basket she'd left just outside the door to his room. She then vanished, presumably into the other bedrooms and the bathroom, before reappearing a minute later, dumping more laundry on top of Justin's - actually Brian's - clothes.

"Okay, Sunshine, that should do it. Let's see what my trusty old thermometer has to say about how you're doing."

Justin reached up with one hand to take the thermometer out of his mouth.

"I've got it." Debbie intercepted the glass tube. Holding it up, she checked the reading. "Hmm," she hmmed, poker-faced.

Unable to determine whether that was a good ‘hmm' or not, Justin shifted anxiously on the bed, holding his breath. If his temperature hadn't dropped, his mum would probably make him stay in bed all day.

"It's still a touch over 100 degrees," the woman finally revealed. "Not quite as low as I'd like, but better than the 101.5 last night and well better than the 103.4 you had in the ER. I reckon you're on the mend, Sunshine."

The breath whooshed out of Justin as he smiled at Debs. 

"I still expect you to take it easy, mind you." Debbie shook an admonishing finger at him as she set the thermometer down on the night table.

The lad was surprised to see that she'd changed her polish, going from blue to a more familiar scarlet shade. When in the heck did she have time to do that? It had to be pretty early in the morning, and after she'd escorted Justin to his bedroom last night, took his temperature, and gave him the antibiotic and more aspirin, Debbie had announced that she was gonna hit the hay early - as soon as she shooed everyone except Vic out of the house.

"What time is it anyway?" he asked, carefully stretching out his limbs so he wouldn't set off more of an ache in his groin. "Seven?" 

"Seven!" Debbie sputtered. "Sunshine, it's past nine!"

That couldn't be right, could it? Justin twisted his neck to the left and followed Captain Astro's pointing figure. Sure enough, it was 9:06, the clock flipping over to 9:07 as he watched.

"I slept for fourteen hours?" Justin couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten that much sleep. If he stayed in bed for more than eight hours, it was usually because he was sick or... He cast a furtive look toward his crotch, his cheeks pinkening again.

Looking satisfied that he'd slept so long, Debbie judged, "Your body needed the rest, Kiddo. I hated to wake you up just now, but I reckoned it was time to take your temperature and give you your antibiotic." With that, Deb grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand. A quick, expert twist of her wrist had the cap off, and she handed the opened bottle and a tiny paper cup - like the ones they used for condiments at the diner - to Justin.

Fucking antibiotic had to be one of those horse-sized ones, the boy thought, eyeing the pill in disfavour before placing it on his tongue. At least Debbie was letting him put the antibiotic in his mouth instead of force-feeding it to him, Justin thought a trifle hysterically. Taking a swig of the water, he swallowed hard a couple times to get the pill down his gullet.

Debbie had a frown on her face, her gaze focused on the bed as he fought with the ginormous pill. His eyes watering a little - the pill had briefly gotten stuck in his throat - Justin tried to figure out what she was staring at. There wasn't a puddle from the ice pack, was there? A wetness she might mistake for something else? When he wiggled a little and didn't feel any dampness, the blond lad sighed in relief.

"Sunshine, when did you change your sheets last?" the woman finally enquired.

That was what was causing his mum to frown? Justin wondered, gaping in astonishment. The sheets could doubtless use a wash, but why all the concern?

"Sunshine?" Debbie prompted, arching an eyebrow when he didn't answer. "You've gone from a baby chick to a goldfish. Or maybe you're the first ‘birdfish,'" she chuckled.

The colour which had just started to recede from his face surged back up. "Erm," he stuttered, scrambling to remember whether his sheets had been washed since his last ‘dream' about Brian.

"They obviously need a good washing then," the redhead declared. "Dust mites can build up in unlaundered bedding. Other things too."

It was the ‘other things' the teenager was worried about.

"You get your rear in gear, and I'll be back for your bedding as soon as I get the first load started." With that, Debbie stepped over to the laundry basket and easily picked it up. The overflowing basket braced against one hip, her arm across the top, she tripped down the stairs with light-footed grace.

Justin eased off the bed, swinging his legs over the edge first, and was relieved to note that except for a dull ache in his groin and twinges of protest from his bruised knees, he could now move much more freely than anytime since Hobbs had pushed him into the table in the St James canteen. He felt a bit shaky as he stood, his head swimming for a second, but he soon found his balance. Once he was steady, he reached for the sheets, tugging them off the bed and bunching them up so that the stained part was hidden in the middle.

"Shit," he muttered a tick later, realising that he'd bundled the ice pack in with the sheets. He dug around in the pile of dirty sheets, finally finding the pack - now warmed up to body temperature - buried in the middle. Wrinkling his nose at the crusty residue which surrounded the towel-wrapped ice pack, Justin quickly removed the towel and bunched everything back up for Debbie to collect.

After snagging a clean T-shirt, pullover, jeans, socks, and a pair of his comfortable tighty-whities - they'd have to do in lieu of a jockstrap - the boy cocked his head to one side, listening intently for any noises indicating that the redhead was on her way back up the stairs. All Justin heard was muted voices, so he figured he'd be safe if he nipped down the hall in the altogether. He didn't want to flash his mum - or Vic - and be subjected to all sorts of ribald comments. 

Fairly certain no one would see him, the teenager nevertheless covered the short distance between his bedroom and the bathroom as quickly as possible. Not quite quickly enough, it turned out, a wolf whistle floating up the stairwell just before he would've been blocked from view. "Nice hiney, Sunshine!" followed close on the whistle.

Crimson staining his cheeks, Justin nipped into the bathroom and hurriedly shut the door behind him. That would be the last time he pulled that stunt the blond thought as he caught sight of his flushed face in the mirror. Really, he should have known better - it was like his mum and Vic had some kind of radar that had them popping up whenever they could majorly embarrass him.

Smiling wryly, he dumped his clean clothes on top of the laundry hamper. That should at least fill his quota of ribald comments for the day, Justin reckoned, splashing water on his hot cheeks before rinsing off his face. A quick sniff at his pits had him sighing in relief. There was no need for more than a quick wipe-down with a wet flannel, thankfully, since he didn't feel quite ready to take a shower on his own - and he wasn't about to ask either Vic or Deb for help.

The teenager cautiously ran the washcloth over his privates, braced for it to abrade the sensitive, bruised skin. It did hurt a little - it wasn't like the soreness was going to disappear overnight - but it was significantly less painful than just twenty-four hours ago. After all, he could move without wanting to curl up and die, and he was going to do his utmost to keep it that way - he didn't want to encounter ‘Darth' up close and personal ever again.

After cleaning under his armpits and around his groin, the boy leaned over to wipe off the soles of his feet. That turned out not to be the best idea, his head swimming and his knees going wobbly. Letting the flannel fall to the floor, Justin took one deep breath and then another, clasping the edge of the sink tightly in both hands.

His genitals throbbed as he carefully rose back up to a standing position, holding onto the sink the whole time. He was gonna have to take it a little slower and more cautiously than he normally would, Justin realised; he was probably rushing his recovery a little. A couple of those extra-strength aspirin wouldn't go amiss either.

Taking another washcloth from the bathroom cabinet that Deb always kept well-stocked with towels, Justin dampened it. He then shuffled the short distance over to the toilet, closed the lid, and lowered himself until he was sitting on the edge. The fuzzy, garish, crocheted toilet lid cover wouldn't provide much cushioning, and he didn't want his testicles to press directly against the hard plastic.

Justin tried not to look at either the orange and pink lid cover or the matching rug in front of the toilet; that combination of colours was enough to make him go blind. Instead of bending over to wipe his feet clean - he didn't want to get dizzy again and take a header onto the rug - he lifted his left foot up and ran the washcloth over it before doing the same with his right foot. 

The soles of his feet as clean as they would get, he then gingerly set both feet back on the mat, eyeing it little warily. It looked like it belonged in the wash with the rest of the stuff Debbie had just collected. He considered gathering up all the crocheted items, including the cover over the Kleenex box on top of the toilet tank, and dumping them in the machine, but then he decided against it. Those items probably needed a special washing cycle or something, and Deb would give him an earful if he ruined them.

Stretching out a hand toward the hamper, which almost had him falling off the seat as it was barely within reach, he slid a sock over one foot and then the other. Next came his underwear.

He sighed in pleasure at the softness of his old tighty-whities against his skin, not even minding that he had to lift his behind to get them on all the way. No matter how unsexy they might be, they made him feel more like himself again. His balls throbbed a little as he pulled them all the way up, but he was able to reach down and adjust himself so that they didn't put undue pressure on his bruised testicles.

His lone pair of sweats and his cargo pants in with the rest of the wash, he had to make do with jeans. Fortunately, the pair of jeans he'd acquired secondhand for, like, a buck fifty, were nicely worn in and didn't cling tightly around his crotch.

Finally done with the bottom half, Justin slowly stood, only a slight lightheadedness assailing him. It was then a matter of moments to pull on a white T-shirt almost as ancient as his briefs and a sweatshirt over that. He'd nicked one of Michael's, but he doubted the man would notice since it wasn't one of his Green Lantern or Green Arrow ones, instead just an ordinary blue one. He wasn't even sure why Michael had that one. Justin had only ever seen him dressed either in an inexpensive suit for his Big Q job or in a comic-branded tee and jeans.

Justin took an experimental step toward the door, relieved when nothing rubbed too unpleasantly against either his testicles or his knees. The moment he opened the bathroom door, his nose twitched at the enticing smells wafting up from the kitchen and his stomach rumbled. Fuck, it was good to have an appetite again, the lad thought, smiling broadly as he made his way to the stairs.

It wasn't till he was halfway down the stairs that he realised he'd forgotten all about returning to his bedroom to put on his sneakers. He shrugged it off, more comfortable just with socks. It wasn't like he had a pair of house shoes he could slip on instead.

As he shuffled into the kitchen a couple minutes later, he noticed that his socks were no longer quite so white. He must've collected some lint and grit that had been tracked through the house in the last day or two, he reckoned. Justin frowned, wishing that he was just a little steadier on his pins; then he could shove that old Hoover of Deb's around like no one's business. 

"There's the boy with the cute tush," his mum greeted him, expertly flipping a couple of pancakes in a cast iron frying pan.

Vic, who was still in his PJs, looked up from the newspaper and quipped, "It's not meant to be hidden by baggy jeans, though."

Justin glanced between the two siblings, suddenly uncertain as to which of them had issued the wolf whistle and teasing comment as he dashed to the bathroom just a little while ago. He'd been sure it was Vic, but it now struck him that the siblings sounded remarkably alike at times.

Catching sight of the bottle of extra-strength aspirin next to the glass of water and the place setting in front of the chair that had become his, Justin forgot all about the ribald teasing from the siblings and smiled happily. He couldn't help turning his nose up at the water - that did not go with the pancakes Debbie was making - but his smile returned when he noticed the donut cushion on the chair. Those chairs might be padded, but not enough to protect his genitals. Although the cushion might look funky, it sure did feel good under his bum and kept his scrotum away from the chair's surface. 

Debbie motioned with her chin toward the analgesic. "Reckoned you could use that, Sunshine."

"Yeah, thanks," Justin gratefully acknowledged. He sat down carefully, not wanting to send the donut cushion flying out from under him. Then he sighed. It was absolute bliss not to have his gonads constrained by anything except the soft cotton of his tighty-whities and the equally worn denim of his jeans.

"That donut cushion does the trick, right?" Vic asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"It's not bad," Justin allowed, popping the pills into his mouth and swallowing them down.

"Christ, you sound just like Brian," Debbie observed as she ladled a short stack of the steaming flapjacks onto his plate.

Vic murmured, "High praise indeed."

Justin glanced across the table and saw the older man's pale blue eyes were twinkling, his tongue poking into his cheek. The lad suspected it was Vic that Brian had gotten that cheeky Kinney-esque look from. The ‘not bad' too? he wondered, not for the first time. 

"Eat up!" Debbie urged. "I've gotta feed you two boys up before I head over to Costco for Christmas fixins." She peered at the rooster wall clock. "I should have just enough time to do everything before my shift at the diner."

Justin was about to ask whether he could have herbal tea instead of water - who knew you could get so sick of H₂O? - but he decided he'd rather lobby to go along on the shopping trip. He could always sweet-talk his mum into letting him drink tea later on.

"Can I come with?" he asked hesitantly, giving his mum his best puppy-eyed look. "I'm feeling loads better," he claimed, stretching the truth just a little.

The frying pan suspended in mid-air, the redhead planted her other fist on her hip, the spatula sticking out at an angle and brushing against Justin's sweatshirt. She arched a brow, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Justin side-eyed his sleeve, grateful to see that the spatula didn't appear to have left any doughy residue on the borrowed garment, as he scrambled for a way to convince Deb to let him go along. "School supplies!" he blurted.

The perfectly plucked eyebrow rose a little higher.

"I mean," he elaborated more calmly, "I need some more notebooks and pencils and stuff." That really was true. His notebooks from the last semester were pretty much used up, and he didn't want to bum anything else off of Daphne. "Costco has the best prices," he finished up. Also true, although he'd end up with more than he needed since the store sold everything in bulk. He could always use the stuff for college, though- "CLEP tests!" he threw in, getting a little desperate when his mum's expression didn't change.

Now Debbie looked puzzled. "CLEP tests?"

"College placement exams, Sis," Vic interjected.

"I know what the fuck they are!" Deb rounded on her brother, shaking both her head and the turner at him.

A tiny piece of the cooked dough - sort of a miniature pancake - landed on the left lens of Vic's reading glasses before dropping onto his plate.

The older man chuckled unrepentantly. "Is that all I get?" 

Debbie ignored him, shaking the turner again and continuing her tirade. "Those were around when we were in high school, Victor Grassi."

Vic lifted an eyebrow at her.

"I think," the redhead amended.

Vic nodded as if that was more like it.

"Whatever." Deb waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter if those CLEP thingies were around back in the day."

Justin did a quick mental calculation. Debbie had Michael when she was, like seventeen, and Michael'd just had his thirtieth birthday, so that would've been back in the late sixties. The middle sixties if he included Vic since he was younger than his sister. Not that you'd know it to look at him, Justin thought sadly.

Debbie enlarged on the topic, "I do know that when it looked like Michael might have to repeat a grade, I went with him to see his high school counselor. There was one of those smarty-pant kids in with him, getting information about those CLEP tests. Christ" - she shook her head again - "that scrawny, bespectacled kid can't have been more than twelve or thirteen."

"Fat lot of good that counselor did," Vic groused. "I'm pretty sure he was the same yahoo we used to go to."

"Yeah, he was pretty much only interested in the little geniuses. Like you, Sunshine," she noted, her smile a little subdued as she looked down at the blond boy.

Justin was dying to know what had happened with Michael, but he didn't want to dredge up any more bad memories. Drizzling syrup over the pancakes and cutting off a wedge with his fork, he figured it couldn't have been anything too dire since Michael had graduated along with-

Debbie stole the name off the tip of his tongue. "Brian," she sighed. "Thank fuck for that ragazzo. He got Michael to buckle down and study, enough to pass his classes anyroad."

"When that wasn't enough," Vic inserted, "Brian would push his tests over so that Michael could copy off them."

His fork suspended part way to his mouth, Justin listened raptly.

"Vic!" Debbie shouted.

"Calm your tits, Sis!" Vic shouted right back. "He's hardly the first one to cheat on a test or two - and get away with it. The police aren't gonna come take Michael's diploma away."

Her fury turning her face almost as red as her hair, Debbie wailed, "B- but I don't want everyone knowing Michael cheated!"

"Sunshine's not ‘everyone,'" Vic retorted. "Who's he gonna tell anyhow?"

"No one," Justin squeaked. "No one," he repeated more firmly, flummoxed that Vic had shared that information about Michael. The blond lad was fascinated because it provided real insight into the kind of people both Brian and Michael were. Michael apparently didn't have the drive to achieve anything - Brian had to lend him his own will - while Brian wouldn't stop at anything to help those he loved. Still, it was something he really didn't need to know, and he wished Vic hadn't divulged it. He was uncertain as to the older man's motives - maybe it was some kind of weird quid pro quo for what had happened with BOB 1.0? Whatever the reason, he wanted off this topic, stat.

"Uh, Costco?" he clumsily changed the subject.

The teenager wasn't sure Debbie even heard him, what with the way she was glaring at her brother and brandishing the frying pan as if she'd like to bean him with it. Maybe Deb was worried about David finding out, and that was why she was so worked up. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours but couldn't have been more than a minute or two, she stomped over to the cooker and banged the frying pan down on one of the burners. "You can get your own damned pancakes!" she yelled, her voice oddly muffled as she stood there with her back to the table.

Just now realising his fork had never made it to his mouth, Justin lowered it to the plate, his appetite gone. Shit. He should've guessed how upset his mum was and not asked about Costco again.

"Christ, Sis, I'm sorry," Vic apologised. "Y-" He swallowed the word he'd been about to utter and tried again. "I have a big mouth sometimes."

Debbie didn't acknowledge the apology, only letting out a strangled noise.

"You're right; it wasn't my place to share that," Vic went on rather desperately. "I can go sit in the corner if that would help," he added.

Justin had to suppress a giggle. He was pretty sure that despite the tongue-in-cheek delivery, Vic's offer had been at least half-serious, but it would doubtless undermine the older man's efforts to worm his way back into Debbie's good graces if Justin laughed right now.

"No," the redhead replied, the single word coming out suspiciously thick.

"Fuck, I'm a such a wanker," Vic muttered as he stood up and crossed over to stand behind his sister, awkwardly patting her on the back.

After the shit he'd pulled lately, Justin knew he didn't have any right to judge Vic, but that really had been unnecessarily cruel. Hadn't Vic just recently asked him not to say anything about what happened with the original BOB - all because it would upset Deb? Then why had the older man turned around and hurt his sister's feelings even worse?

"It's just-" Debbie choked out, her shoulders shaking. "I know Michael's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's a good kid, Vic."

Justin had to listen closely to decipher what she was saying. She must be crying, he realised, horrified. Up till now, he'd assumed there wasn't anything that would make his mum break down and cry.

"I don't want anyone smearing his name just 'cause he cheated on some stupid test," Debbie mumbled.

"I know," Vic murmured, patting his sister's back again. "I shouldn't have said that about the tests. I was just being a wiseass. I promise I didn't mean it. I love Michael. He's a good kid."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Vic assured her. "I really am sorry, okay?"

"Okay." Debbie let Vic off the hook. "Apology accepted. Let me just put myself to rights - she turned on the faucet and splashed some water on her face - "and then we can eat."

Crisis averted, Justin thought with a sigh of relief, watching as Deb patted her face dry on her pinny. Maybe there was still a chance he could go along to Costco? he couldn't help wishing.

"No." His mum flattened his hopes as she pulled a plate covered with more flapjacks out of the oven and set it in the middle of the table. "No, you're not going to Costco."

Justin struggled to keep his lower lip from jutting out like a little kid's. It was so unfair; it felt like Debbie was taking her upset with Vic out on him. Pouting wouldn't improve his chances, however.

Vic cleared his throat, maybe as a preface to saying Justin should be able to go with her, but a warning eyebrow from the redhead had him shutting up before he'd even opened his gob.

His shoulders slumping, the boy was about to give up when Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer filled the kitchen with noise, indicating someone was at the front door.

"Come on in!" Debbie bellowed. "It's not locked!"

"Howdy-do," Emmett cheerfully greeted everyone as he sashayed into the kitchen, unwinding a long lavender boa that he was apparently using in lieu of a scarf and shrugging off his fluffy violet coat. 

The two hues should have clashed, Justin thought - the boa was a sort of pinkish-purple, while the coat had more of a red tint. As was usually the case with the stylish queen, however, the combination worked.

"Em!" "Emmett!" "Have a seat!" came the slightly too exuberant greetings. Justin almost started giggling at how glad they all were to have someone else to focus their attention on.

The southerner blinked in surprise before giving them a gap-toothed grin. "I know I'm fabulous" - he struck a pose reminiscent of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever - "but if I'd known y'all would be this happy to see me, I would've come over sooner." Taking notice of the pancakes, he dropped his arms and asked, "You have enough for me?"

"You betcha," Debbie replied, jumping up to get another place setting.

Vic almost spoke over her, "Sis always makes plenty, just any case any of her ‘lost boys' show up."

The motherly woman requested, "Hang your things up and grab a chair from the dining room, would'ya, Em, honey?" before motioning for Justin and Vic to scoot over and make room for the newcomer. 

After getting settled, Emmett took one pancake, coated it with butter and maple syrup, and then added another pancake on top of that one. He repeated the process until he had a stack of three flapjacks, butter and syrup oozing down the sides.

Justin watched in fascination as his friend cut off a large wedge. Could Em really fit all that in? Evidently so, since he popped it into his mouth in one go. 

The southern man took his time savouring the ‘bite' of syrup-drenched triple-decker pancake. "Mmm," he hummed, a pleased smile forming on his lips. "There's nothing like hot cakes made from scratch. These are almost as good as my Aunt Lula's."

Deb, who'd also been watching in astonishment, her eyebrows hiking up her forehead, objected, "Almost?" 

Emmett explained, "She uses sour cream and buttermilk. They don't turn out as light and fluffy if you don't use both of those ingredients." A nostalgic gleam in his eyes, he continued, "That's only if she wants something other than johnnycakes, of course."

"Isn't that just a southern word for pancakes?" Justin asked.

"What?" the campy man screeched. "No, no, no, Baby. Absolutely not." 

When Em subsided, muttering ‘no' a couple more times and shooting an appalled looked at him, Justin expected Deb or Vic would step in - rescuing him from whatever egregious faux pas he'd committed in regard to southern cookery - and clue him in as to what in the heck johnnycakes were. Unfortunately, both siblings remained silent, which left the blond boy to press for more information.

"Well?" he asked, feeling like a complete dunderhead. "What are johnnycakes?"

"Oh, baby. They're heaven," Emmett responded. "At first glance, you might think they're either pancakes or corn tortillas, but a johnnycake is neither. I suppose the best way to describe a johnnycake is as a cornmeal flatbread - in fact, it's sort of a simplified cornbread. Just round instead of square," he tacked on after a moment.

"Those sound right tasty," Debbie ventured.

It dawned on Justin that maybe the reason the siblings had been of no help regarding johnnycakes was that neither of them had been any wiser than him about the pancakey cornbread thing.

"Oh, they are, honey." Emmett grinned slyly. "They're also known as hoe cakes."

Vic chuckled. "Like-"

The southerner nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Exactly like. Well," he flapped a hand, "the first word is theoretically pronounced with a ‘w' sound at the end, so that it comes out more like ‘how.' I swear, though, that absolutely no one utters that ‘w'."

"So it's like you're eating a, erm" - Justin cast about for a polite way to put it - "promiscuous, um, person."

Emmett nodded again. "Yep." He paused for a beat and licked his lips. "And equally delicious."

Once the gale of laughter died away, Vic questioned, "What're you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be getting ready to open up Torso?"

"I'm not on till the afternoon," Em responded. "We're expecting a crush of customers every day between now and Christmas, so I reckon this will be my last free morning for a while. We just got in a new line of swim trunks-" He broke off, a naughty giggle emerging before he resumed, "Not that they're trunks exactly. More like Speedos - very skimpy Speedos."

"Speedos?" Justin questioned. "Isn't it, like, the wrong time of year to go swimming?" His nose scrunching up, he added, "I mean, you could go to the Y, but-" 

"The Y?" Em sounded appalled. "Who would wear Speedos to the Y? The Speedos are for those who need an alternative to hitting the ski slopes. They go Down Under or to Rio or wherever."

Vic chuckled, "My days of wearing skimpy, skintight anything are long past." Winking at Justin, he added, "Once you're up to par again, you should check it out, Kiddo. Gotta showcase that booty."

Predictably, the lad could feel himself flushing. After dancing on top of the bar at Babylon in his blue briefs, he had no interest in an even scantier garment, one that was usually designed to showcase a man's ‘goods.' He also didn't want to wear anything that might press his genitals up into his body. The mere thought of it made him wince.

Picking up on the wince, Emmett patted him on the thigh before cutting off another large forkful of the flapjacks on his plate. "Come see me next year, Baby. I'll set you up with a swimsuit that you'll like."

Despite having no intention of following through, Justin nodded.

"Since I was feeling a mite peckish," Em resumed the tale of how he'd ended up having breakfast with them this morning, "I wandered over to the diner to see my favourite redhead and get a bite to eat." He smiled at Debbie, who smiled right back, preening a little.

"The place was a zoo. Apparently, the other waiter - that Asian kid? - was well late for his shift. It took me forever to flag Kiks down, only to find out that you had the morning off."

Sighing, Deb rubbed her forehead. "‘On time' just doesn't compute with Harry. If he wasn't such a good worker, I'd have to let him go. That would cause quite the hullabaloo, though - everybody likes him."

Justin felt compelled to defend his friend and coworker, even though his habit of running late could get really irritating. "He always makes up for it, right?" At Debbie's questioning look, he elucidated, "Harry will, like, stay late, or um, be the one to scrub out the men's loo." The boy's nose scrunched up as he thought about that unsavoury task, which was always last on the staff's to-do list.

"Next time he's late, I'll make him clean the women's WC," Debbie said firmly. "That'll get him to fly right - or at least on time - soon enough," she cackled. "Believe you me, the ladies make as big of a mess of their restroom as the men do. The sinks are way worse - what with all the makeup stains and long hair clogging the drains."

All three men looked at one another in shock, aghast at the notion of having to deal with the women's loo.

Emmett hastened on, "Anywho, Kiks let slip that you were getting ready to go on a Costco run, so I came by to see if I could hitch a ride."

Debbie darted a look at Justin, who mentally crossed his fingers. This just might work out in his favour. 

"Erm-"

Batting his blue-green eyes at her, Em smiled sweetly. "Pretty please? Costco has the most darling track suit for dirt cheap in their Christmas brochure."

"You run?" Vic wanted to know, his voice conveying disbelief.

He got an impish smile in return. "Not so fast that a cute guy can't catch me."

Ignoring the byplay, Debbie looked directly at Justin and spoke sternly. "You hafta sit on the donut cushion in the car. Also, if it gets to be too much for you in the store, you're to go wait for us in the car, you hear?" 

Justin did his best imitation of a bobblehead doll, nodding again and again and inserting a polite "Yes'm."

"No heavy lifting," Debbie continued. "Those birds and hams weigh a ton."

"No worries. You've got me for that." The flamboyant man held up his left arm and made a fist, squeezing the biceps with the fingers of his right hand. "See?"

"If I didn't," Vic deadpanned, "your singlet would clue me in."

There was a surprising amount of muscle pressing against the cotton material, Justin mused, eyeing the tank top Emmett had chosen to wear over a long sleeved T-shirt, ‘Muscle Mary' written across the chest in white lettering. Remembering the size of the Thanksgiving bird, Justin decided he didn't really mind if Em handled the heavy lifting.

Over at the loft, Bethany didn't express any reservations about any of her duties - she seemed just as excited about serving as the backup receptionist and liaising with Goodwin IT - with whom Ted had just clinched a trade-off of services - as she did about helping supervise the interns. "Any good applicants for the receptionist position?" she inquired.

"It was a good idea to get a post office box until we can use the address at the new building," Cynthia observed, fishing a large packet out of the briefcase she'd set down beside her chair. "It was stuffed full when I checked it yesterday afternoon. We're gonna have our pick of receptionists - and anything else we want from what I can tell. Most were for the receptionist position, but some were for jobs we didn't advertise, some of them rather unusual." She paused for a moment before dropping three pieces of mail on the table. "If we ever have the need, we should check these folks out," she chuckled. "They're from a trapeze artist-"

Theodore interrupted his colleague before she could reveal the other oddball professions. "If we owned Babylon, the trapeze artist might come in handy," Theodore observed, "but I doubt we'll have the need for a ‘high flyer' at Kin-ney's agency." He stumbled over Brian's last name, shooting his boss a questioning look.

It wasn't like they were going to keep it a secret forever, Brian silently acknowledged. Still... "Did you have Bethany sign the NDA?" he asked. Since he knew Cynthia would be hanging out with her friend over the weekend, he'd given his secretary the basic employee contract and non-disclosure agreement Melanie had drawn up. Paperwork was a pain in his arse, so he'd made managing it part of his able assistant's bailiwick. He'd reasoned that having Cynthia take care of the new employee paperwork with the newbie over the weekend - including all the boring tax and insurance forms - would save time this morning as well.

"Yes, boss," the blonde responded in a long-suffering tone, again reaching for her briefcase.

"There's no need to get it out as long as-" Brian attempted to forestall her. 

Arching an eyebrow as she pulled out a manila envelope, Cynthia protested, "I can hardly keep carrying it around, and I don't have a safe or anything to lock it up in at home. Why don't you put it in your locking file cabinet?"

"Considering the burglars made off with your whole desk, lockable cabinet and all, maybe somewhere more secure," Ted suggested. "Like under your-"

Brian hurriedly cut the older man off. No way was he storing fucking paperwork anywhere near his toy box; it was bound to kill his creativity. He'd just put it in his desk drawer for now. "Since you're the one who almost gave it away, Theodore," the adman snarked, "why don't you finish the job?" 

"Uh... right," the older man replied, obviously flailing about for a clue.

At least he'd had the sense to shut up about the hidey-hole under his bed, Brian mused.

Cynthia snickered and drawled, "Kin," elongating the single syllable.

Theodore flushed for the umpteenth time in the last half hour. Christ, at this rate he was going to give Justin competition, Brian thought in amusement.

"Oh, right! The name of our- uh, I mean, your new agency, Bri," he hastily altered what he'd been about to say when Brian gave him a wry look.

"What is the name?" Bethany wanted to know. "Something with ‘Kin,' I take it."

"Kinnetik," Theodore breathed out almost reverently. "K-I-N-N-E-T-I-K."

There was silence for a beat or two, and then the newbie blurted, "Christ. That's fucking brilliant," unknowingly echoing Melanie's opinion when she learned the name of Brian's agency.

Before Brian could say anything, Cynthia succinctly summed up the origin of the agency's name in one word. "Justin."

"Your-" Gertrude glanced at the blonde, floundering for a moment before finishing "-freelance artist?"

The goings-on between him and Justin were prime gossip, Brian imagined. He could hardly fault Cyn for having a chinwag with her friend about him and the blond. He considered leaving it at ‘freelance artist'; that was Justin's official position after all. Additionally, despite Cynthia vouching for her, he barely knew the new girl-

Enough of overthinking it like a drama queen, he thought in disgust. "Partner," Brian stated firmly. "Justin's my partner."

A weird sound like a tea kettle coming to a boil escaped Cynthia. "Sorry," she apologised, reaching for her cup and taking a sip. "Went down the wrong pipe."

Brian rolled his eyes at the blonde woman. She might have gotten away with that fib if she'd taken a drink before that pitiful excuse but not after. He could practically see her mentally punching a fist into the air in celebration. 

Surprisingly, she restrained herself to a smile that took up half her face - rather like the one another blue-eyed blond sometimes treated him to - and a quiet, "Way to go, boss."

Cyn then turned her gaze to Ted, clearly expecting her colleague to be equally stunned and chuffed.

The accountant simply nodded in agreement, a slight smile on his lips.

Brian, who'd been braced for a wiseacre comment along the lines of Justin being ‘a prime ass-et,' exhaled in relief. 

Cynthia narrowed her eyes at Ted, more than likely assuming - correctly - that he'd been in the know while she wasn't, but then she just shrugged, acting unbothered.

Although the blonde didn't immediately push for the ‘what' and ‘how' of it, Brian had no doubt that he'd be in for a grilling at some point.

"What about the other peculiar applicants?" Bethany asked, diverting her friend's attention.

"Hmm." The blonde gave Brian a narrow-eyed look before tapping one manicured nail against another of the applications. "Professional mourner."

"What is this - a spin-off of Harold and Maude?" Theodore wisecracked.

That was a clever allusion to an old classic, Brian thought, but then it suddenly struck him that there might be another ‘allusion' hidden in there. Nah, Ted wouldn't compare the age difference between him and Justin with that between fuckin' Harold and Maude. It wasn't like Theodore had never dated a much younger man, and Brian was no septuagenarian, dammit! He arched an eyebrow at the older man, who blinked back at him with a facade of perfect innocence. Too perfect? Brian wondered.

Before Brian could come up with a retort that would put his impertinent friend in his place, Bethany mused, "You know, that mourner might come in handy at Ryder."

The adman blinked in surprise. It was great to have the new girl be so gung ho, but it was going to take time to make inroads into Ryder's client base. It wouldn't happen overnight, or even in the first year-

"Erm, you know we won't be able to steal back all of Brian's accounts right away," Cynthia voiced what Brian was thinking. "We'll eventually get them all and snag some of the other accounts too, but-"

Bethany interrupted, "Oh, I didn't mean the clients. I'm talking about the rodent infestation. Terminix apparently didn't get all of them, and they're making a comeback. The problem may even be with ‘rats' rather than mice," she added.

"Rats, huh?" Cynthia giggled. "Are we talking about the two-legged or four-legged variety?"

"Well," Bethany drawled, her green eyes glinting with amusement, "it's up to you which ones should be mourned."

Brian gave a bark of laughter. He rather liked Trudy's sense of humour.

"So we're sending the trapeze artist over to Babylon and the professional mourner to Ryder," Ted joked. "We just have to find a place for the last oddball. What do they do?"

Cynthia chuckled. "It's a bit unclear. It's from someone who either ran an escort service or was an escort."

They might as well send that one over to Ryder too, Brian thought sardonically. Marty seemed to think it was reasonable for his staff to serve as escorts if needed - whatever it took to hook the client. Christ, he'd almost fucked that sleazeball from Altoona, all to get an account for tires, for fuck's sake.

"I'll just put that one with the professional mourner's CV," his blonde assistant said decisively. She glanced over at Brian, a shark-like smile on her face. "Ryder can make good use of both."

Brian nodded in approval. He was hardly the only one Marty had tried to pimp out to gain an account. In fact, Cynthia had come in for more of Ryder's shit than he had, Marty hitting on her on his own behalf as well as for clients.

"No travelling arachnologist?" Ted inquired, his tone heavy with feigned disappointment.

"A what?" Bethany asked. "I've never heard of that."

"I wish I hadn't," Ted muttered.

Why'd he bring it up then? Brian shot an irritated glance at his CFO. He couldn't speak for the women, but he doubted either of them was interested in hearing about the care and feeding of tarantulas.

Thankfully, Theodore dropped the subject. "I've gotten some good prospects for our student interns," he informed the group. "A couple of my contacts at Carnegie Mellon emailed me the CVs for their top students. Good internships are scarce right now, so we'll have our pick of the best."

"The best and the most attractive," Brian emphasised the other quality he expected the interns to have.

Cynthia shook her head in mock despair. "Christ, you're so shallow, boss."

"No, I get it," Ted argued. "It will put off clients if the interns don't look good. They're part of the package that's being sold - everything about Kinnetik has to be appealing."

Brian was impressed that Theodore had come up with that, unprompted by him. Then again, Ted was a veteran of the club scene, where looks were everything. It went without saying that both of them also wanted to be surrounded by attractive people, especially if they were going to be around all the time. 

"I can get behind that," Bethany agreed. "I mean" - she turned to Cynthia - "I've had enough of looking at weirdos like that greaseball in HR."

The blonde groaned, "Oh, God. The guy who was always sweating?"

Bethany nodded. "Yep. Did you see him after that last dye job?"

Cynthia groaned again. "When the dye was running down the sides of his face? Ugh, don't remind me."

Brian grimaced. Where Marty had found that old fossil, he had no clue; the man had looked just as awful when Brian started working for Ryder.

"Okay, so the interns and the receptionist have to at least be passable," Ted noted. "We can figure out who makes the cut when we interview them, right?"

No one in the ‘pity fuck' category or below, Brian thought. He might not be into women, but it wasn't like he'd have any trouble weeding out the trolls.

"Could you set up Kinnetik email addresses for us?" Ted asked, looking at Bethany. "I'd rather not keep receiving business emails at my personal account."

Without mentioning the name of his firm, Brian had told the people he contacted at PIFA that he was opening a new advertising agency and had an internship available for an art student. The faculty were so enthusiastic about being able to place another student that Brian now wondered why he hadn't seen any résumés from PIFA students in his inbox - art internships had to be scarcer than business ones. After clicking on his junk folder, he stared at the new messages in dismay. He'd expected to see a handful of emails about the internship, but it looked like there were at least twenty for him to wade through. Christ.

"Same here," he grunted at the newbie. "I'm getting inundated with applications." 

"That'll be easy to set up," Bethany replied. "Maybe it would be better to use Yahoo mail accounts, though, until you're ready to reveal the name of the agency?"

"When are we going to do that anyway?" Cynthia wanted to know. "We'll need to put the name on the invitations for the gala. If we wait too long before we send those out, people may have other plans."

Although he was getting a bit antsy, Brian nevertheless replied calmly, "The invitations can go out after Christmas. Justin's still working on the logo, which needs to be included."

Ted chimed in, "I doubt many people will have plans for the day after New Year's. It's not like New Year's Day leads into the weekend or anything."

"Yeah," Bethany concurred. "It's just the opposite. Most people will be dragging themselves to the office after the long weekend, bitching about a Tuesday that's crazier than a Monday. The gala will give them something to look forward to."

"Check with Greentree," Brian recommended. "They're quick and they do a bang-up job."

Cynthia recalled, "That's right. I remember the posters they produced when the wide-format printer was down at Ryder. What date should I give them for the project?"

With so much to do before the opening, Brian knew he'd have to delegate some of the tasks - might as well start now. "Tell Greentree they'll have the layout for the invitations and the guest list on the 26th. Make sure they know we'll need one-day turnaround, including mailing out the invites. You and Bethany can look over the proof and give the go-ahead." He preferred to have the final say-so, but he knew Cynthia would ensure the invitations were done right. "If they do a good job, tell them we'll send the business cards their way too."

"Sure thing," his secretary readily agreed.

"So, would you like me to set up the email accounts now or wait?" Bethany inquired. "Also, would you like the domain name to be ‘Kinnetik' or would you prefer something shorter like ‘KT' or ‘KN' instead? If I go with the first initial - dot - last name format, your email addy, Brian, could then be b.kinney@kinnetik.com or potentially b.kinney@kt.com or kn.com."

After mulling it over for a second, Brian directed, "Go ahead and use ‘Kinnetik' as the domain. I like that better - it'll keep the agency name front and center in people's minds. Also, you can set up the accounts now, along with a general one that you and the receptionist can use for email messages that aren't directed to a specific person. In fact, the general email account can go on the invitations - might as well get people accustomed to using it."

"We shouldn't use our Kinnetik addresses until after the invites go out, though, right?" Ted questioned.

"Yeah, let's wait. I don't want the name of the agency leaked prematurely. On the invitations should be a good way to disclose it." He also wanted to share the name with the family before the invitations went out; otherwise, there'd be hurt feelings from Deb and no end of grief from Mikey.

"Theodore, go ahead and share the CVs you've received, and I'll do the same with the ones I have. I want each of us to rank them: yes, if you think they should be interviewed; maybe, if there's potential; and no, if we shouldn't waste our time. For those you consider the best, make brief notes about what makes them a good candidate."

"Erm," Bethany spoke up hesitantly, "I don't really know what you're looking for in an artist."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "You can make an educated guess as to when someone is bullshitting on an application, can't you?" 

The girl gulped. "Uh, sure, I can do that."

The adman grinned to himself. Taking an employee out of their comfort zone was always a good method for determining whether or not they could cut it. He - and Justin - would determine who would be interviewed for the art internship and make the final decision, but his team could provide valuable input. They might notice something that made a candidate leap out or sent them to the reject pile.

"Besides staffing," Brian threw out, "I want the three of you to think about different ways we can market our clients' products and services to make them stand out in the pre-holiday buying frenzy. For that reason, I'd like to introduce ‘Kinnetik Monday.'"

"Kinnetik Monday?" Ted asked skeptically. "You mean like today? A meeting where we brainstorm and troubleshoot problems? Not that that's a bad idea," he quickly tacked on when Brian scowled at him.

As if he'd give something as prosaic as a staff meeting a name, the adman thought irritably. That sounded like the kind of boring team-building shit that drove him up the wall. "The four of us sitting around my kitchen table does not make this some kind of special Monday, Theodore," he drawled sarcastically. "It's a marketing strategy not a tween gossip session. Think of it as a kind of competition for Black Friday - only instead of hyping sales and other discounts during the holiday season, we'd introduce our client's new products."

"I've never heard you mention anything like that before, boss. "Cynthia narrowed her eyes and studied Brian. "When did you come up with that idea?"

Brian shrugged. It should be obvious to the inquisitive blonde that he was always thinking about how to make his agency a success. Besides, even if the original idea did come from Justin, Brian had done a lot of polishing since then.

"Aha!" the woman exclaimed, as if he'd actually disclosed something. "It was Justin, wasn't it?"

Not about to say yea or nay, Brian simply shrugged again. "What I want from you is to brainstorm how to market and promote the products in a way that would compete with the Black Friday sales."

"Maybe some of the products could be produced kanban-style?" Bethany suggested. "That might make them seem more exclusive and increase demand."

Cynthia built off of that idea. "How about advertising products that complement each other - as long as they're from the same company - together as a package? If the items are purchased together, maybe they'd cost less than buying them separately? That might entice customers into buying the complete package." 

Brian nodded approvingly; both suggestions were worth considering. "Not the worst ideas you've ever had," he commented. "Keep at it and you might actually come up with something great we could use." 

"Uh, I guess I'm the only one who doesn't know what ‘kanban' means?" Ted interjected, looking rather abashed.

"There's no reason for you to know if you aren't in advertising or manufacturing," Cynthia told him. "Essentially, it boils down to only producing an item when it's needed."

"Yeah," Bethany agreed. "That way you don't end up with a surplus of something you have to practically give away to get rid of it."

Before his staff got into an extended discussion of the benefits of kanban-style production - they could have a chinwag about it on their own time, for fuck's sake - Brian recalled everyone's attention to what they'd been discussing. "For now, Kinnetik Monday is to be kept as just an internal concept - a deadline of sorts by which we need to launch advertising for any new products our clients have. With time, though, it's possible people may catch on that there is something special about the day - even if they don't fully realise the significance of it or that it's been done on purpose - and subconsciously wait for the new products to launch."

Everyone was quiet once he finished explaining, their brains whirring furiously in order to come up with something that would wow their boss, before Brian snapped, "Now crack on with the CVs; no time to dither."

If only Justin were here, he thought, picking up a random résumé to read through. Then his team would be complete and they could really brainstorm about the future. He shouldn't have given in to Debbie's insistence that the lad would be better off with her, Brian mused regretfully.

The missing member of Brian's team was bouncing a little on his donut cushion, excited to be allowed out of the house for the Costco run. Justin felt a bit guilty about commandeering the front passenger seat; Em's legs were way too long for the limited space in the back, but the southerner had pooh-poohed the idea that he should sit up front. He'd insisted that older cars had way more legroom than newer ones, but the teen suspected that was just a white lie to make him feel better. Weren't new cars meant to be more ergonomically designed to better accommodate passengers?

"Now, Sunshine," Debbie again issued a motherly warning, "you're to take it easy and lift nothing heavier than a fuckin' feather, you hear me?"

He'd heard her the first time, Justin thought a little resentfully. And the second time. And the third time too.

Deb chuckled. "Rein that lower lip back in, Kiddo, or it's gonna end up in Ireland."

Okay, so he'd been pouting - just a little - but how did his mum know? She hadn't taken her eyes off the road as far as he could tell.

"You shouldn't fret, Baby," came a cheery voice from the back seat. "It's not just any fellow who gets a feisty redhead and a fabulous queen to tote his packages around for him. It's like you're the belle of the ball, honey."

Put that way, it didn't sound so bad, Justin thought. Maybe he could even immortalise the shopping trip in a drawing? He'd just have to take some mental snapshots and create a rough draft or two after they got home. The teenager thought wistfully about the watercolour pencils that were at the loft but perked up when he realised he could always use them for the final product.

Maybe when it came to using the watercolour pencils, he should check with his boss first? Justin shivered in excitement as he consciously thought of Brian as his ‘boss' for the first time. Of course, he'd known that he was freelancing for Brian, but until now, it hadn't seemed like a big deal - more like he'd be on call to help with the occasional project. Based on their conversation yesterday, however, it was going to be way more than that; Brian wanted to hire him as a permanent, salaried employee. Thinking of Brian as his boss somehow made it all more real.

He doubted Brian would care about him using the watercolour pencils for personal reasons, regardless of what the adman had said about saving them for final drafts for work presentations. That was just to convince him to use the pencils, the lad reckoned. After all, the sketch he'd created on Brian's back was hardly business-related. That was more of a partner thing, he thought happily, only vaguely aware of Debbie turning into the sprawling Costco parking lot.

"Holy cow," Emmett breathed out from the back seat. "People are parked out here in the boonies. We're never going to find a space."

Jerked out of his contemplations, Justin looked around in shock. Em was right; every single slot he could see was occupied, and three cars were cruising along slowly in front of them, presumably also looking for a place to park. For the first time he felt a bit of trepidation - maybe he shouldn't have begged to come along? The boy turned his head from side to side, searching for the bright tail lights that would indicate someone was about to back out, allowing Deb to snag the spot. His shoulders slumped when the only thing he saw was a mother with a young child locking her car behind her, lifting the tot onto her hip and beginning the trek to the entrance - which Justin could barely see in the distance. Shifting restlessly on the donut cushion, the teen wondered whether he should ask Debbie to drop him off at the entrance so he wouldn't have to hike from, like, blocks away just to reach the store. He couldn't do that, though. Not only would it make him sound like a total wuss, it would also confirm that his mum was right - he shouldn't be here in the first place.

"Relax," Debbie stated calmly, "we'll find something closer in."

Justin's head swiveled around, and he shared an astonished glance with Em. How in the heck could Deb be so sure of that?

"I've been here when it was more jam-packed than this," she continued, utterly unfazed by the chock-a-block parking lot.

"What?" Emmett screeched. "Did you come here on Christmas Eve or something?"

"Thanksgiving Eve," Debbie replied. "You know all those people who travel for Thanksgiving?"

Justin and Emmett nodded.

"Most of them ended up in the Pitts," the redhead asserted. "And every Peter, Dick, and Willy of them wanted to be fed."

Only Debbie would alter ‘every Tom, Dick, and Harry' like that, the teenager thought, a tad embarrassed.

Before Justin could say anything, the back-seat passenger spoke up. "I haven't heard that variation before," Emmett commented with a chuckle.

"Then you haven't been spending enough time in the diner," Debbie retorted. "There's also Percy and John-Tho-" She stopped talking, suddenly braking and turning on the blinker. "There's our spot," she announced in satisfaction, looking over her shoulder.

Justin followed Debbie's gaze and immediately started shaking his head. No way; just no way. The spot his mum was eyeing was marked ‘compact,' which, okay, maybe she could squeeze Vincent into. On top of that, however, the person in the next spot had done a really crappy job of parking - their car was angled awkwardly and took up a good quarter of the space where Debbie intended to park.

"Uh, Deb, are you sure-" squeaked Emmett.

His friend's agitation didn't do anything to ease Justin's concern. Even if Debbie managed to squeeze the Pinto into that way-too-small space, how were they supposed to get out of the car? They'd barely be able to open the doors an inch or two.

"You boys get out now," Debbie ordered, "and I'll just back Vincent in."

Justin's eyes rounded in disbelief. She was going to back in?

Unlike the teen, Emmett hmmed in consideration. "Yeah, okay. Considering how that dimwit angled their car, backing in should leave you a smidge more room to climb out. It'll be dicey getting the groceries into the car, though; we won't be able to reach the boot."

"No biggie." Debbie shrugged. "I'll just pull out so we can load up the groceries. "Since there are so few spots, anyone who wants to park will be more than glad to wait."

"True," Em concurred. He tapped Justin on the shoulder. "Um, Baby, you're gonna have to get out first."

Justin coloured up. He'd totally forgotten that Debbie's Ford Pinto was a two-door. "Erm, right. Just give me a sec."

Justin got his door open but then fumbled with the seatbelt, blushing even more when he couldn't get it to unlatch.

"Don't fash yourself, Sunshine." Debbie reached over and pushed hard on the release button. "That damned thing's always sticking. I reckon it doesn't like the cold anymore than we do."

The seatbelt finally gave way and Justin made sure it had retracted properly - he didn't want it to hit Emmett in the face - before sliding his legs around to the side and standing up. Holding onto the car, he then moved forward slowly, not wanting to jostle his genitals more than necessary.

Afterwards, it only took Em a moment to push the seat forward and hop out. Then after closing the door, he slipped an arm around Justin's waist, instructing, "Just hold on to me till you've got your sea legs, Baby," and manoeuvred them away from the car.

Something about how the taller man handled it - like it really was no big deal that he was a bit wobbly - kept Justin from getting more self-conscious.

When Justin looked around to watch Debbie park her car, he was too late. She was already in the spot, maybe a foot between her and the crookedly parked, space-hogging vehicle next to Vincent, with less than that separating the Pinto from the van on the other side. She was definitely inside the lines that delineated the parking space, though.

Both men watched in astonishment as she somehow squeezed her bulk out of Vincent and then between the two cars until she was standing next to them. "Jesus! That was like giving birth!" she announced with a boisterous laugh. She patted her ample middle. "Gotta go on a diet - after the holidays are over." 

Emmett closed his mouth, which had been rounded in a perfect O, and clapped his mittened hands. "You go, girl! You've got skillz!"

"You learn to park when you have to cart an infant everywhere - I had to get creative. I've shoehorned Vincent" - Debbie fondly patted the hood of the orange Pinto - "into much tighter spaces than this one." Wrapping a vivid green and purple scarf more closely around her neck, she waved a hand toward Costco. "This close enough for you?"

Justin had been so fixated on watching Deb park that he had no idea where they were in relation to the warehouse store. His jaw dropped when he looked around and realised they were parked opposite the tire centre, only a short distance from the entrance. No wonder his mum had been so insistent about fitting into that space.

"It'll do." Emmett flashed a gap-toothed smile at Debbie and then, his arm still around Justin, moseyed toward the entrance.

"We'd best take two trolleys," Debbie said, looking around for the shopping carts. "If we can find any, that is."

"There's a flatbed right here." Emmett possessively placed a hand on the orange handle, rolling the trolley to and fro a little. One of the wheels made a clackety noise before emitting a high-pitched screech. "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!" the tall man exclaimed, stepping away so hurriedly that he accidentally trod on the toe of Justin's trainer.

"Fuck," Justin complained.

Em immediately apologised, "Geez, Baby, I'm sorry. I just didn't expect that ghastly noise."

"I guess we know why no one wants that flatbed." Debs eyed askance the squeaky shopping cart. "Too bad I took the can of WD-40 out of the glove compartment. I could live with the obnoxious clacking if I could just get rid of that squeal."

"Wait, wait, wait." Emmett abruptly removed his arm from around Justin and dashed away from the entrance.

Not having expected that, Justin swayed for a moment before he found his balance. Geesh, you'd think he was handicapped or something.

Debbie unobtrusively moved closer. "That boy's got good eyes," she observed approvingly, her gaze following after Em as he raced across the parking lot.

Someone else tried to claim one of the two trolleys that a young couple was about to push into a cart corral, but the southerner flashed a charming smile at him and motioned toward where Justin and Deb were waiting. The other man backed off, and Emmett immediately headed back, one hand on each of the trolleys.

"You sure can sprint, kiddo," Debbie remarked as the tall queen returned, grinning cheerfully.

"I guess all the time I've been putting in on the treadmill is worth it," Emmett replied, not even slightly out of breath.

The redhead belted out a husky laugh. "I'm sure that's why you're hanging out at the gym."

Em gave her a sly grin as he passed one of the carts over to Deb and the other to Justin. "You push that one, sweetie. As promised, I'll handle the heavy lifting."

Justin dutifully pushed his trolley along next to Debbie's, the southern man on his other side.

"Two guests?" the employee at the door asked when Deb showed her membership card. "That's not-"

"My son forgot his card," Debbie claimed, leaving it up to the woman to decide which of them was her son.

The employee shrugged. "Okay," she said agreeably, not raising a fuss about it. Happy holidays," she wished them, offering Deb a brochure.

"Merry Christmas," the redhead said in return as she took the flyer. Once they were in the store, she passed the flyer to Emmett. "See if there's anything in here we might want for Christmas dinner."

"Sorry about that. I totally forgot about the limit on guests," Em apologised.

Deb dismissed his apology. "Don't worry about it. Pretty much everyone bends the membership rule."

"Oh!" Emmett's eyes lit up as they approached the tables with stacks of clothing. "Could we stop here first?"

As they passed a table with men's Levis and Wrangler jeans, Justin looked up at the placards with the prices before sighing. He couldn't justify spending that kind of money, not when he had Christmas gifts to buy. It would be nice to get a pair of those rust-coloured denims, he thought wistfully.

"Tell you what" - Deb glanced at her wristwatch - "I'm a little short on time. While you find that tracksuit, I'll head over to the office supplies with Sunshine. We can meet up at bins with the turkeys and hams. It'll take a while for us to find just the right ones. Then we can take a look at the other foodstuffs, and I'll stock up on the essentials like toilet paper."

Long minutes later, after wading through the pre-holiday horde of shoppers in the stationery section, Justin shivered as he watched Debbie root through what looked like a whole flock of turkeys - dead, chilled ones - in one of the long bins in the meat department. The cavernous store wasn't exactly warm to start with, and he'd swear he could see puffs of cold air wafting up from the storage bins.

"This looks like a good one," the redhead observed, tugging on the handle for one of the net-covered turkeys. "I'll just set this in the basket. I reckon he'll be one of the finalists for our Christmas dinner. These gobblers are a bit on the small side; we'll need at least two."

The blond lad couldn't tell the difference between the bird his mum had just selected and the ones she discarded as not good enough for one reason or the other, except that this turkey might be a little larger. Thank fuck Debs had declined his offer to help her go through the turkeys, good-naturedly tut-tutting that he didn't have enough experience yet to choose the best tom or hen. The motherly woman knew he wasn't likely to gain experience just by watching her dig through a rafter of turkeys, so Justin figured she was taking pity on him - especially after she warned he'd be due for another ice pack to the groin when they got home.

Hugging Brian's Vince Camuto peacoat closer to his body, Justin buried his nose in the white, silky Armani scarf that was wrapped around his neck and surreptitiously inhaled. Justin couldn't really remember how it had happened - he'd been well out of it by the end of Sunday dinner last night - but the coat and scarf were hanging on the rack in the entryway when they got ready to leave for Cosco. The blond had gratefully donned Brian's coat, which was warmer than his own - not to mention, intact. 

It smelled like the older man's Guerlain body wash and the Lucky Strike cigarettes he favoured, the teen thought, inhaling again.

"You huffing Brian's scent?" Emmett teased as he came jogging up, carrying two tracksuits.

"Ehm." Justin could feel his cheeks pinkening. Catching sight of the hues of the garments in Em's hands, he arched one blond brow and queried, "Those were in with the men's clothing?"

Unfazed, the southerner shrugged a shoulder. "These may have been on one of the tables for the ladies. It's hard to find bright colours for men unless you're shopping on Liberty Avenue. What do you think?" He draped two different tracksuits over the side of the cart Justin was leaning against. "I couldn't decide on just one, so I decided to get both."

Justin blinked at the hot pink tracksuit before switching his gaze to the powder blue one. It wasn't nearly as flamboyant as the pink tracksuit. In fact, except for the sequins that also decorated this one, it was something anyone might wear.

Fortunately, he didn't have to give an opinion, Debbie popping up next to him and cooing, "You're right, Emmett. Those are darling."

"Right?" Em enthusiastically agreed.

"Did you notice if they have one that would fit me? That would be perfect for when we go bowling; it'll knock Carl's socks off."

Justin coughed, doing his best to stifle a giggle.

"I think so?" the flamboyant man replied a bit hesitantly. "I mean, they've stocked up for the bi-" He broke off, obviously worried about giving offence.

"All sizes," Justin helpfully suggested.

"Yeah, that."

"You're not gonna hurt my feelings if you say ‘big,'" Debbie laughed. "I just want one that'll accommodate my girth."

"Why don't we take a look on the way to the checkout? I'm sure they have one that'll fit. I might need to take another look at the violet one. A girl can't have too many cute tracksuits."

"Deal," Debbie verified, spitting in her hand and holding it out. "As long you help me find another turkey and at least one ham; we may need two porkers, depending on how large they are."

Ew. Justin wrinkled up his nose as Emmett also spit into his palm before shaking on it. That had to be, like, totally unhygienic, especially after handling all sorts of germy things in the store.

"C'mon, Sunshine." Having caught sight of his reaction, Debs bumped his shoulder with hers in a comradely fashion. "You've shared way worse bodily fluids."

"Mouth-to-mouth," Em chimed in, waggling his eyebrows at the teen.

Debbie chuckled, "Don't forget the mouth-to-dick action."

That was different, Justin thought, barely managing to keep from voicing the lame excuse.

"Can't counter that one, can you?" his mum asked, making both herself and Emmett fall about laughing as they searched through the remaining turkeys.

"It's a really good buy on the turkey," Emmett commented as he rejected one bird after another. "And they even have Honeysuckle!"

"I know," came the equally excited reply from Debbie. "It's way better than what the Big Q charges! Even with Michael's discount, I wouldn't do as well there."

"These birds may not be as big as some," the ebullient queen remarked as he added a turkey to the basket for further consideration, "but they're young, which means the meat will be really tender."

Amazed at and a bit bored by the extended discussion about turkeys, Justin shifted from one foot to the other, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Doing nothing but stand here was making his feet ache. He even felt kinda sleepy, although the chill in this part of Costco kept him from getting comfortable enough to actually doze off. That was a good thing, since the trolley would probably roll away from him, and he'd end up doing something embarrassing, like face-planting on the floor.

It took another nine minutes - Justin watched the minutes tick by on his cheap Timex - before Debbie and Emmett finished going through the turkeys, narrowed the seven birds in the cart down to four, and then finally agreed on the best two. Then they moved on to the hams, which were in another long bin.

Justin's eyes glazed over as they went on about which brand of ham was the best, Em lamenting about Costco not carrying Benton's Country Ham, although he allowed that Hickory Farms maintained an acceptable standard and was always tasty.

"Ouch!" gasped Debbie when she read the price tag. "My savings on the turkey are gonna go to a porker."

"They are pricey," the southerner acknowledged. "But the quality is good."

"I'd better just get one ham," the woman decided, rubbing her hand over her chin as she looked in the bin, "if I want my budget to stretch to the other things I need. Let's find a big, juicy one, sweetie."

Another twelve minutes passed by with agonising slowness before the duo made their selection. Justin was just reconsidering whether he could fall asleep despite the chill when Debbie declared, "Okay, we're set with the meat. Let's look at the fresh produce."

The blond lad pushed his trolley along behind his mum, stopping every few feet as the twosome examined what seemed like every fuckin' kind of fruit and vegetable that Costco had in stock. A couple bags of clementines went into the basket, along with Campari tomatoes, a box of apples, and a sack of sweet potatoes.

Justin baulked when the twosome entered the separate, small room with the produce that had to be kept at a cooler temperature. He just couldn't make himself go inside there; it would be too much like wandering around in a refrigerator.

"Sunshine?" Debbie looked around when she and Emmett were well into the room, the southern man examining the contents of what looked like some kind of berry. Justin wasn't sure what they were from this distance - just that they were red.

"Uh-" Justin didn't want to sound like a wimp, but even Brian's peacoat wouldn't be enough to keep the chill at bay if he followed after them. He had no idea how long they'd be in there - probably an hour at their snail's pace.

Debbie left the cart she'd been pushing and came over to Justin. "You okay, honey?"

"Yeah, I just-" The lad couldn't quite suppress a shiver as he glanced at Emmett, who didn't seem to be feeling the cold at all.

"That space is pretty cold," his mum commented. "No point making yourself miserable by following me and Em around; you're still recovering, after all. Is there something you'd like to look at while we shop some more? Maybe the CDs or books?"

"I wouldn't mind checking out the books," Justin admitted. Costco usually had some good art books, and it would be fun to see what kind of new fiction had recently been released. The warehouse store only had the bestsellers they knew would sell well, but there was bound to be something interesting.

"You have fun, and we'll meet you there in a bit," Debbie told him. "I'll just take the trolley. Unless you need it to hold onto," she amended a moment later, when Justin hadn't uncurled his fingers from around the handle.

"No, I don't need it," Justin denied, fibbing a little as he removed his hands and stepped back from the cart. He wasn't entirely certain he'd be okay - his balls were starting to throb - but he could always lean against the table with the books. And all the tables between here and there, if need be.

"Okay." His mum smiled at him. "We'll just be a tick or two." 

A tick, huh? Justin shrugged in resignation and turned away. That meant he should have half an hour or longer, he reckoned. 

The lad wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed when someone tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump. It had taken him a good five minutes to make it to the front of the store, where the tables with the music and books were located, tempting shoppers into making a last-minute purchase or two. He hadn't bothered to look at the music - it wasn't like he had a CD player - instead browsing the bestselling books before becoming immersed in a book on post-impressionist art, which included an interesting comparison of cubism and surrealism. 

The slight jump made Justin grimace. Damn, his balls really ached now. Icing them again was starting to sound good.

"Sorry, Sunshine, didn't mean to startle you," Debbie apologised as he turned around. "We're all done shopping, and I figured you'd be ready to get out of here." She gave him a knowing look, conveying that they both knew he'd tried to do too much too soon.

Justin stared in disbelief at the towering amount of stuff in the shopping carts. Both of them were chock full, with packages of toilet paper and paper towels stowed in the space under the baskets - an undetermined number of colourful tracksuits balanced on the top of one basket. "Did you leave anything for anyone else?" he blurted. He knew, of course, that the warehouse store serviced all of Pittsburgh, but still...

Debbie just laughed. "There's plenty left," she assured him. "Now let's go check out."

The lad cast one more glance at the art book - he wished he could have finished the chapter he'd been reading - before walking along next to Deb, one hand resting lightly on the side of the trolley just in case he needed the support. As they walked away from the books, he cast a longing look at A Storm of Swords, the third novel in the Game of Thrones series, which was prominently displayed on the end cap. He'd been really tempted to buy it after reading the flyleaf, and had had to sternly remind himself not to fritter away his money.

As they joined one of the queues to check out - the lines were long at all of the cash registers - Justin was incredibly grateful that they were almost done with this marathon shopping trip. He'd been flagging badly before Deb sent him off to look at the books, enough that he considered crashing in the car, but then he'd remembered that it would be nearly impossible to get into Vincent. Even if he'd been in the pink of health, the lad doubted he could've handled this kind of ‘endurance shopping.' He was certain he'd never spent so long in Costco before; heck, Justin hadn't known it was possible to spend this much time in the warehouse store. His feet hurt, and he was utterly exhausted from trudging up and down aisles in the wake of his two indefatigable companions. Regardless of what his wristwatch had said about how much time actually elapsed, he'd swear that Deb and Em had spent at least an hour selecting just the right turkey and ham. You'd think they were gonna be feeding Christmas dinner to the Queen of England, the way they'd made such a huge production out of checking practically every fucking bird and pig's leg in the giant bins.

The blond had never been so glad to get out of a store as he was when they finally exited Costco a quarter of an hour later. Thank fuck the Costco employess were experienced at moving a large number of shoppers through the checkout lines quickly, even those that had bought out half the store.

A few feet from the door, they were greeted by a merry jingling.

Debbie broke into a broad smile. "I was wondering where in the heck the Red Kettle folks were."

The teen was a little surprised by her enthusiasm. When he was little, if Jennifer took him shopping with her during the holidays, she'd avoided the Salvation Army bell ringers like they had the plague. Justin had never been sure exactly why, her answers along the lines of ‘they'll take my hard-earned money' or ‘I don't want them preaching at me' always striking him as rather vague. He hadn't heard anything more churchy from a bell ringer than ‘God bless you,' which didn't seem all that awful and usually put a smile on people's faces. He'd never even seen one of them thrust their kettle in anyone's face; they weren't nearly as pushy as some of the Bible-thumpers that canvassed his family's neighbourhood every so often.

Justin had wanted to get closer to some of the bell ringers, especially when they had a fun song or skit going, but he'd given up when Jennifer shushed him and hustled him toward whatever store they were visiting. Over the years, without really thinking about it, he'd adopted her attitude and gave the Red Kettle folk a wide berth.

He might have to rethink his antipathy, though - this guy was definitely a ‘cool' bell ringer. The dude had a lively dance going as he jingled his bell and sang,

     Oh the weather outside is frightful
     But the fire is so delightful
     And since we've no place to go
     Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

He kept dancing as he announced, "It's gonna snow whether we want it or not, folks, so we might as well enjoy it. Christmas will be whiter than white. We may even be in for a polar vortex, so batten up the hatches and roast some marshmallows over a fire." 

As the bloke resumed singing, Emmett danced over to join him, flinging his arms up in the air and prancing along to the lively tune.

     It doesn't show signs of stopping
     And I've bought some corn for popping
     The lights are turned way down low
     Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Any other time, Justin would've been right there with Em and the bell ringer, but all he could do right now was watch in envy. Even if it wouldn't make his balls throb, he barely had the energy to move along next to Debbie, holding on more tightly to the side of the trolley than he had earlier.

Debbie added a raspy mezzo-contralto when they got to the fourth verse, singing along,

     The fire is slowly dying
     And, my dear, we're still goodbying
     But as long as you love me so
     Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

As they finished, Emmett twirled around and gave a theatrical bow to the shoppers that had gathered around to watch them.

"Make sure you've got your winter tires on," the man in the red Salvation Army apron advised as people pushed forward to place donations in his red can. "We're in for a right nor'easter."

"You want to work this crowd with me?" he asked Emmett as the crowd thinned. "We'd have this kettle filled in no time."

A moue of disappointment on his face, Em theatrically placed a hand over his heart. "I'm afraid it's ‘goobying' time for me. I have to get to work." He then reached into his trousers, came out with a crumpled bill, and inserted it into the slot in the Red Kettle.

"I'll be doing my shtick in front of Kaufmann's on Friday afternoon," the guy informed him. "Drop by if you have the chance."

"Ooh!" Emmett clapped his hands. "I should be able to do that. I'll see you then."

While Em was making arrangements for a ‘dance date,' Debbie had fished a fiver out of her wallet. Stepping forward, she stuffed it into the kettle.

"You have a fine voice, Miss," the bell ringer complimented Deb as he turned to her. "You want to join us on Friday?"

"Can't. I'll be slinging hash," the redhead answered. "You get hungry, you come by the Liberty Diner. We'll feed you up good."

With an easy smile, the Red Kettle man said, "I'd like that. I'll swing by if I can. Merry Christmas, folks. Stay safe and warm." Shifting his gaze to the shoppers who were streaming in and out of Costco, he vigorously rang his bell and began crooning, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know..."

"He's such a sweetie," Emmett murmured dreamily as he and Deb pushed the carts toward Vincent, Justin sandwiched in between them, one hand on each basket. "And it's so nice of him to volunteer. It's monkeys today - I bet a lot of people back out when the weather's like this."

No wonder the Red Kettle guy had been dancing; he was trying to keep warm, Justin reckoned. After his short stint as a go-go boy, the lad was certain it wasn't a volunteer job he'd want, even if it was just for a few hours at a time. Standing around ringing a bell would be worse than shaking his arse at Babylon - at least it was warm inside the club.

"You know who he is?" Debbie asked as they stopped next to her orange Pinto. "He looked familiar to me."

"Of course I do! That's the weatherman for the Channel 5 news."

"Christ, I can't believe I didn't recognise him." Debbie shook her head at herself. "I love his quirky forecasts."

"I know, right?"

"You got yourself a crush, Emmylou?" the motherly woman gently teased.

Justin grinned. He'd been wondering that himself.

"Huh?" Em's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, no, no, honey. That man's straight as an arrow. He's been married to the same woman for years and has a whole passel of kids. He's just easy on the eyes is all."

"That's good." Deb patted the southerner on the arm. "I wouldn't want to see you get your heart broken."

One of Emmett's gap-toothed smiles lit up his face. "No worries. I'm waiting for Dijon to get out of the service." His smile turned a bit mischievous. "And having a bit of fun in the meantime. Besides" - he shrugged, the shrewdness and practicality that was usually hidden under a veneer of southern charm peeking through - "getting to know the Channel 5 weatherman could only benefit my fledgling party planning business."

Justin experienced a weird surge of secondhand pride. Emmett was a lot more hard-headed and savvy than people normally gave him credit for.

Feeling totally done in, the teen dozed off on the way home, only coming awake when Vincent jounced over the curb - the pavement wasn't flush with the street - and into the driveway at home. He squinted, eyelids fluttering, confused for a moment as to where he was.

Emmett playfully teased, "You look like a barn owl forced to open its eyes in the daytime, Baby."

Justin tilted his head to the side and then jerked it back, not expecting to come nose-to-nose with his friend. He blinked a couple more times - probably resembling a barn owl even more. Em must've stuck his head between the seats to better chat with Debbie, he realised. 

He barely remembered getting in the car at Costco. He'd leaned heavily against the taller man while Deb again wedged herself between the Pinto and the crookedly parked car next to her - apparently the person with the abysmal parking skills was still inside Costco - and then eased Vincent out of the tight spot. Emmett had helped him into the car and settled him on the donut cushion. He'd even gone so far as to secure the seat belt for Justin. After that, it must've been lights out for him despite the increasing pain in his genitals.

"If you can get Sunshine, I'll grab one of the birds and open the front door," Debbie addressed Emmett as she turned off the engine. "We'll unload the rest before I put Vincent back in the garage." 

"No problemo." While Debbie opened her door then and trotted around to the boot, Emmett scooted out of the back seat. "We'll have you out of there in a jiffy," he assured Justin. "Let's just get you unhooked."

A quick press of his thumb and the seat belt unfastened with a snick. Justin frowned down at the latch, wondering if it was only him who had trouble with it.

"Okay, easy does it, Baby. Just swing your legs my way."

The teen couldn't help feeling like a real baby; he was almost as helpless as one right now.

"That's right." Em crouched down. "Now put your arms around my neck."

When Justin complied, the southerner warned, "Watch your head," before wrapping his arms around the blond's waist and hauling him to his feet.

"See? That was easy," Emmett cheerfully opined.

Maybe for his friend. Justin was breathing hard, like he'd just run a marathon, even though he'd barely exerted himself.

"Let's get you inside where it's nice and warm. You'll feel loads better once you get a bit more rest."

"I'll get the donut cushion and shut the car door," a puffing Debbie advised as she trotted back over to them, the front door to the house wide open behind her.

Emmett kept an arm securely around Justin as he helped him up the steps to the front porch and then through the door. "Kitchen table or-" he started to ask when Vic interrupted them.

"In here," he shouted from the living room.

"Couch it is," Em declared, guiding Justin to where Vic was waiting by the sofa.

"Nooo," Justin whined in complaint when he saw the ice pack Vic was holding.

"Fresh from the freezer," Vic overrode his complaint, a teasing glint in his eyes. 

"C'mon, Baby, it'll help," Emmett encouraged, helping him sit down on the couch. He then took the ice pack from Vic and carefully nestled it under Justin's throbbing scrotum.

"Jushun! Bad Boy!" Harley chirped from his cage on top of the coffee table.

The blond lad could feel his lower lip jutting out. It felt like he hadn't made any progress at all, he thought dolefully. He needed help just to stand up, and he was back on the couch, just like yesterday.

"Buck up, Kiddo," Vic told him. "Once your balls are good and numb, you can take a break from the ice treatment."

"Here." Debbie sounded winded as she handed him a glass of water and a couple of the extra-strength aspirin. "These'll help too."

Justin eagerly gulped down the pills, not even caring for the moment that he had nothing but more water to wash them down with.

"I'll go bring the groceries in, and then I'd better get a move on," Emmett observed. "I can't give up the job at Torso just yet, and I need to nip by my flat before I head there."

Debbie warned, "Don't strain your back. Those boxes are heavy. Take some of the stuff out before you heft them up."

"Pish. It's no big deal." Emmett waved off her concern. "Getting those half-boxes Costco uses out of the trolley was a bit of a pain, but taking them from the boot is nothing."

Recalling what one of those boxes looked like - the ‘bagger' had crammed in the ham and one of the turkeys as well as some canned goods - Justin shook his head in amazement. ‘Heavy' didn't begin to describe it.

"How about some cookies?" Deb suggested as Emmett tromped back out to the car. "I'd make you boys some lunch, but I don't have enough time before my shift starts."

Vic noted a little tartly, "I'm not entirely helpless, Sis."

Now Vic knew how he felt, Justin thought. His moment of schadenfreude didn't last long, though, concern about how tired Vic looked rising to replace it.

He drew Debbie's attention back to him. "Yes, please. I'd like some of those biscuits." With as pitiful a look as he could manage, he asked, "Could I maybe have some milk with them, though? I mean," he hurried on as his mum's gaze turned stern, "it's been almost three hours since I had the antibiotic. It's okay to have dairy products if you wait that long."

"Hmm." Debbie's stern visage relaxed slightly as she bargained, "Go one more day on water, no milk and as little other dairy as possible and we'll follow the three-hour rule tomorrow. You almost didn't get any of the pasta last night, you know, what with the cheese!"

Justin carefully maintained his woeful look.

His mum continued, "In the meantime, how about some of that nice herbal tea Vic and you like?"

The blond teen smiled sweetly. That was exactly what he'd been aiming for; he'd figured Debs wouldn't cave about the milk just yet. He didn't want anything cold, not with the cold pack currently glued to his testicles. Hot tea would be a welcome antidote.

"I can make the tea, Sis, and get us some of the biscuits."

Debbie laughed. "I'm on to you, Victor Grassi. You just want all the molasses crinkles."

Vic gave an unrepentant grin. "I'll take any gingerbread wands too."

"Did someone say gingerbread wands?" Emmett bounced back into the living room, still breathing easily.

"If you can pry them out of Vic's fingers." Debbie let out another hearty laugh. "As I recall, you favour the zeppole. I've got some of those too."

"How about a dead bone?" Justin piped up with a bloodthirsty relish. Maybe Em wouldn't know about those?

"Sure." Emmett dashed his hopes. "I'm all for biscotti, malformed or not."

"You need a fresh victim," joked Vic. "The family have all been exposed to ossa dei morti. What about that little girl friend of yours?"

Justin's crestfallen expression vanished as he started plotting how to spring the dead bones on Daphne.

"Thanks for taking me along today." Emmett extracted some money from his wallet and handed it to Deb. "I'm afraid I'm a bit short. I hadn't planned on getting three of the tracksuits. I'll get you the other ten later today if that's okay."

"Could you fit a turkey in your freezer?" Debbie asked in an apparent non sequitur.

"Um, yeah? Now that Michael's staying with Dr Dave most of the time, it's not full of frozen pizza."

"That boy." Debbie looked up at the ceiling. "The cooking gene must've skipped a generation."

"Nah," Vic countered. "It landed on Justin."

Justin beamed. Fuck, he loved being part of this family.

"You take one of the birds and put it in your freezer, and we'll call it even," Debbie stated. "Heck, I should be paying you for all the fetching and carrying you did today."

Emmett shook his head from side to side. "I couldn't. You work hard for-" He stuttered to a stop when Deb arched an eyebrow at him, her expression turning dangerous.

"Uh," Em amended what he'd been going to say, "no problem. I can take a gobbler with me. I just" - he looked utterly embarrassed - "need money for taxi fare. I was planning to walk back to my flat, but-"

"You don't wanna slip and send the bird through a plate-glass window?" Vic guessed as his sister bustled out of the room.

"Or bowl pedestrians down like ninepins," Emmett concurred. "I'm used to snow and ice - I've got good balance - but the sidewalks are a mite treacherous right now."

Deb returned carrying a sturdy, reusable bag. "The turkey's in here," she announced, "along with some of the biscuits you like. I threw in some dead bones for good measure." She winked at Justin. "The taxi should be here any minute; one of the yellow cab drivers was just doing a drop-off down the block." Reaching into her pocket, she handed back one of the tenners Em had given her a few minutes ago.

"That's too much," the southerner immediately protested. "I'm just a short jaunt from here."

A short jaunt? Justin thought, muffling a laugh. He might not have been to Em and Michael's place, but he knew where it was and that wasn't how he'd describe the distance from here to there.

"You give that cabbie a good tip," Debbie ordered, folding Emmett's fingers around the ten-dollar bill. "It's getting worse outside."

Justin glanced out the window to see big, fat snowflakes drifting down. It made him glad to be inside with no need to go out again today.

Right then, someone loudly honked their horn outside the house.

"That'll be my ride then," Emmett said. "Toodles, everyone."

A chorus of "Bye, Em" came from the rest of them as he left.

Justin wriggled around for a moment, trying to get to his wallet. He finally got his fingers on his billfold, but his efforts shifted the ice pack around, so that it ended up resting against his shaft. He yelped as his manhood withered - even more so than its recent, pitiable state.

"What happened? Let me fix that for you." Debbie rushed over and attempted to put the ice pack to rights.

The blond boy flushed a deep red. It was embarrassing to have his mum resituate the ice.

"Um, here." He thrust the money he'd just removed from his wallet at Debbie. He just hoped it was enough to cover the Post-it flags as well as the notebooks, pens, and pencils. He'd reluctantly put the colourful flags back on the shelf at first - they'd come in handy; he could even print notes on them and mark relevant places in his textbooks - but he didn't want to spend the money for something he didn't really need. Debs, however, had scowled and asked whether they were too ‘gay' for him and was he just gonna let the bullies win?

Justin had been confused until he realised that she thought he didn't want them because they were so colourful - they looked like a rainbow. He'd responded to his mum's challenge with an emphatic ‘fuck, no' and placed the Post-it flags in his basket.

Debbie interrupted his reminiscence with a loud guffaw. "What's that for?" she demanded. "You don't need to pay me to fondle your balls, Sunshine."

"You can pay me!" Vic eagerly offered, giving Justin a wicked leer. "Or better yet, I'll pay you." 

Geez. His face now a fiery red, Justin wanted to sink through the couch cushions. "It's for the notebooks and the pens," the embarrassed lad just managed to eke out.

"You put that right back!" Debbie shook an admonishing finger at him. "No son of mine is gonna pay for school supplies!"

Justin had to blink back tears, the bills crumpling in his suddenly trembling fist. How could his mum so quickly go from embarrassing the heck out of him to showing just how much she loved him?

"I'm going to put Vincent back in the garage, and then I've got to hoof it over to the diner. Don't forget Lindsay will be coming over with Gus, Sunshine," Debbie refreshed his memory before hotfooting it out of the room.

Thank fuck she'd reminded him, Justin thought sheepishly. He'd totally forgotten about the arrangements he'd made with Linds.

The early afternoon found Brian and his staff on Mulberry Way, standing in front of a shabby-looking building which would soon be turned into the headquarters of a first-class advertising agency. The placard at the door still proclaimed the premises to be ‘The Everhard Spa,' much to Cynthia's amusement, but Brian could already imagine a shiny new sign spelling out ‘Kinnetik' above the door.

"With a name like that," Cynthia observed, "I would've expected the bathhouse to look a bit more impressive."

Theodore, who was climbing out of his Benz after having parked it right in front of the door, as per usual, chuckled. "It is a bit underwhelming," he agreed. "It used to be a popular place, though, before the new sanitary regulations for spas were introduced at the end of last year and it had to close down."

Bethany ran a gloved finger across the plastic sign advertising the ‘most relaxing experience,' suggestive italics and all. "And you used to come here?" she asked in disbelief.

Brian sighed. If this was any indication of how the rest of their afternoon was going to go, he wished he had ordered that portion of fries with his spicy chicken salad at lunch. On the way to the future Kinnetik building, the group had stopped at a barbecue place on Grant Street to satiate their appetites, the pastries from the morning tiding them over until then. While Theodore and the girls had ordered a specialty burger each, Brian decided to stick to his usual order of healthy greens and grilled chicken. Brian had almost caved when an enthusiastic waitress suggested he order a side of chilli fries to go with his salad, but he had restrained himself in the end - a decision he was slowly starting to regret. The energy from those forgone carbs would really come in handy right about now.

"It used to look better than this," Ted said, though he didn't sound overly sure of himself. "At least from what I remember," he added quietly.

Cynthia snorted. "Men. You don't care where you are or what diseases you catch as long as you can get your rocks off."

She was right to a certain extent, Brian thought to himself as he pulled on a pair of light brown soft leather gloves, but there were definitely limits to his carelessness. Some diseases weren't to be trifled with.

"Let's go inside," he suggested instead of continuing the conversation. "I can hear DC and his crew clamouring in there; we'd better make sure they don't bring the house down."

Gertrude paused, looking up and down the street. "You sure it's safe to leave my bike here?" she asked, eyeing the derelict-looking buildings around them.

Brian glanced at the impressive machine, shiny metal gleaming under the leaden skies. "This is a better neighbourhood than where my loft is," he deadpanned with a shrug of his shoulders. "Should be fine."

The young woman huffed, resting her hands on her hips with attitude. "That's not something a bike owner wants to hear, boss," she snarked, her light brown hair twisting around her face as she shook her head in agitation. "What if someone scratches her?"

"I'll pay for the repair," Brian replied, waving off her concern. "Now get inside; not all of us are wearing weatherproof, heavy-duty trousers."

Once they'd all filed in, it didn't take them long to find DC - the tall construction worker's boisterous voice leading them to their target like a beacon. 

"Brian, boyo!" DC loudly greeted Brian from the far end of what used to be the orgy room. The Irishman motioned him over, gesturing at a colourful cut-out that hung from an exposed support beam. "Have a pull."

Brian wouldn't normally mind accepting that kind of an invitation, at least not when there was a fappable trick involved. The cardboard cut-out of a plumber, however, was not in the least appealing. The plumber was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and work boots, a tool belt slung around his waist, working on the pipes next to a toilet. The man's back was to the audience, his jeans riding way too low - not that Brian would usually object to that, but the model had definitely consumed way too much fatty food, and it showed. 

"Go on," DC urged, slapping him on the back and nearly sending Brian face first into the plumber's rear.

Brian glared at the contractor. He didn't want to come that close to a hairy arse - not even a cardboard one.

As he warily eyed the cut-out, You crack me up printed in large lettering where the plumber's head should be, he considered declining DC's invitation. He couldn't do that, though, not with his minions snickering away behind him, or he'd look like a total spoilsport. 

With a sigh - might as well get it over with - Brian reached out and pulled the tab which dangled from the middle belt loop.

Immediately, a head in a yellow hard hat popped out of the low-riding jeans, his bushy eyebrows and moustache waggling at everyone.

Brian had to smile. Sure, it was juvenile but also rather funny. It was just too bad the bloke didn't have a backside - or a face - worth viewing.

DC laughed uproariously.

"Jesus, DC, you're such a child," a petite woman with a muscular physique complained as she came up to them, holding a wrench in one hand. She punctuated the comment with a roll of her eyes and a fist to DC's biceps. "If you're gonna insist on putting that thing up at every construction site, couldn't you at least have chosen a good-looking one?"

Brian took a half step back, not wanting to be so close to DC's bulldyke foreman; the woman was a terror.

His foot landed on what he at first took for some kind of tool that he'd not noticed when he crossed the room, but then he heard a pained grunt.

Brian craned his head around, only to find Theodore grimacing as he flexed the toe of his right boot. Why in the heck was Ted standing so close to him? he wondered.

The older man sidestepped so that Brian's body again blocked his from view. Brian was about to ask him point-blank what was going on, when Ted hissed, "DC dragged me through every inch of this place before. He practically had me in a headlock the whole time; I don't want it to happen again."

The adman choked back a laugh - he could've told Theodore his efforts to avoid DC were futile - but he just turned back around so he could keep a weather eye on Norma.

"What do you care?" DC scowled at the jacked woman, whose six-pack was visible under her long-sleeved, blue T-shirt. "You're a lesbian."

"I'd still rather see a shapely butt than a big old hairy one."

Ted stuck his head out from behind Brian's shoulder and echoed, "Me too," before retracting his head just like a turtle would.

"I have to agree," Cynthia threw in as she made her way over to DC. She gave the Irishman a peck on the cheek.

"Ah, lass, it's good to see you," DC greeted her with a broad smile. "You keeping this lad in line?" he asked, tilting his head at Brian.

"I've got help now," Cynthia replied. She beckoned her friend over and introduced her. "This is Bethany Byrnes."

DC's grin widened. "With a name like that and those green eyes, you're clearly of a fine Gaelic heritage."

"I'm a mixture of Scottish and Irish," the girl confirmed. "With a bit of French and Shawnee thrown in."

"I'll forgive you for the Scottish part," DC proclaimed, winking at Bethany before engulfing her hand in a meaty paw and giving it a gentle shake.

Brian rolled his eyes at the way Trudy practically melted. What was it with DC and women? Like Brian, he was a total fag; no woman stood a chance with him. You wouldn't know it, though, given how females went all fluttery around the Irishman.

"Is the cut-out's, erm, well-rounded posterior supposed to support the everhard ambience in this joint?" Cynthia quipped. "I'd think it would have the opposite effect."

"Depends who you ask. I like a good, juicy handful."

The way DC elongated ‘juicy,' pronouncing the word with obvious relish, made Brian recall the ridiculous word game the gang had played not too long ago. If he hadn't hoped to finally get Justin to himself, with the boy's SAT done with, he wouldn't have stayed around for a game that sounded like it was designed for giggly pre-teens. He'd been disappointed in Justin's blonde classmate for coming up with such a juvenile game. What was the point of using only one word - a word that had to start with the first letter of your first name - to describe someone else? It wasn't like it was going to be any kind of accurate assessment of their character.

Something he'd expected to be a waste of time, however, ended up being anything but. They'd started with Justin, and when it was his turn, Brian hadn't cared that they were in the diner and that everyone was listening in. "Breathtaking," he'd said in all seriousness, his gaze locked on Justin. 

A bit later, when everyone was coming up with words to describe Brian, he'd thought maybe the boy was joking with ‘juicy' or that maybe he was just stuck for words that started with J. But then Justin had elaborated on all the different meanings for juicy, leaving Brian stunned. 

He could only hope that his own ‘breathtaking' had conveyed half as much. Justin was just as fucking ‘juicy' - in every sense of the word - as Brian could ever hope to be. The kiss that had everyone else oohing and aahing should've gotten at least some of that across.

As he recalled that steamy kiss, which had seemed endless but didn't last nearly long enough, Brian experienced an entirely predictable reaction. The stirring in his groin made him grateful that he hadn't taken off his Armani overcoat; he sure as heck didn't want anyone to think that he was reacting to the fugly model on the placard. He wouldn't usually wear Armani to a construction site, but he'd left his peacoat for the blond and still needed to work on replenishing his wardrobe. That had made the Armani his only option if he didn't want to freeze.

"It reminds me of Martin," DC continued. "He's a bit broad in the beam, just the way I like it. He does wax, though."

"Martin?" Cynthia queried. "Is that your partner's name?"

"God, don't get him started," Norma pleaded.

Ignoring his foreman, DC boasted, "He surely is. Best looking bloke - and drag queen - ever. You've gotta come see his act, lass. Marvella'll knock you dead."

"Literally," grunted Brian.

DC guffawed, "She does like to fling up those spiked heels. Marvella's yet to do any permanent damage with them, though. That was just a close shave when she-"

Brian felt his balls trying to crawl up into his body as he recalled the incident. "Show us around and tell us where things stand," he cut the chatty Irishman off. "You going to have this place ready on time?"

"We'll be collecting that bonus you've promised us on the twenty-first. You gonna have the cheque ready?" Norma challenged. She took a step closer to Brian, the wrench in her hand swinging back and forth. "At noon," she specified.

It took all Brian's fortitude not to step back, although he told himself it was just because he didn't want to trample Ted's foot again.

"Now, now, lass, there's no reason to get all accusatory," DC commented in a deep rumble. "Hasn't Kinney always come through with our payment?"

"He was late after that last bit of work we did on his loft."

By two hours, Brian thought, and only because of a stupid miscommunication about where DC would pick up the check. Norma loved to razz him about it though, like he was some kind of delinquent payer. If only he could be certain that the formidable woman was only teasing him, he'd be a lot more comfortable around her.

Disregarding Norma's complaint, DC boomed, "Get out from behind Brian, Ted. You'll want to see the changes since you last inspected the place with me."

"Not really," Brian heard Theodore mutter before he gave into the inevitable and sidled out into view.

DC clomped over in his hobnail boots, threw one brawny arm around Ted's shoulders and the other around Brian's, and led them deeper into the erstwhile bathhouse.

He certainly couldn't fault the work DC and his crew had done, Brian thought as they moved from one space to the next, thoroughly examining every inch of his new agency's premises. After going upstairs to inspect the offices that would eventually house additional personnel - once Kinnetik had the revenue to support more hires - they returned downstairs.

"Show me what you've done with those sun tunnels," Brian requested.

"Your artists are gonna love this, boyo," DC claimed as he led the way to an area at the back of the building, in front of a bank of north-facing windows.

Brian had to agree as he walked around the space. Given the greyness of the day - more snow was threatening - he was impressed with the quality of the light. Initially, he'd planned to put the artists upstairs, with skylights to bring in plenty of light, but then DC had suggested this spot since there were no tall buildings that would block the natural light. He'd also suggested putting in strategically placed sun tunnels which would bring even more daylight to the downstairs area. He'd assured Brian the solar tubes could be placed in mechanical chases - alongside pipes and ductwork - or inside supply closets to filter light down to the first floor.

"Was I right or what?" DC boasted. "You've got good light from the north that's not harsh as well as solar tubes bringing in more light from above. 

"It'll do," Brian said, not wanting to give the construction worker even more of a swelled head.

"That's pretty much everything, boyo," DC announced not long thereafter, when they were again in the main area, the drain beneath their feet providing a bit of ‘character,' along with pipes and faucets that had intentionally been left exposed here and there throughout the building.

Norma sauntered over from where she'd been installing a fixture and whipped out a tape measure. "Last chance to count inches," she deadpanned.

"Nah, I know how many I've got," Brian riposted.

As if they'd rehearsed, Ted, Cynthia, and DC chorused together, "Nine and a half."

Brian merely smiled proudly. His inches were worth bragging about.

"How about all of you come over on the twenty-first, when we're all done?" DC asked. "The sun'll be over the yardarm, and we can have a few drinks to celebrate."

"I'll pass," Cynthia replied, making Brian lift an interrogative eyebrow.

DC instantly tried to persuade her to change her mind. "It's my shout. No rotgut, I promise."

"My last experience was so traumatic that I'm on the wagon for the foreseeable future - the next five years or so." 

"C'mon, lass, you can't stop there. What happened?" the Irishman pressed.

"It was Brian's fault," the blonde woman glibly blamed it on her boss. "Well, that and the power outage. We couldn't get any work done on Friday, so Brian plied us with Beam Black label and weed to help ward off the cold. I was supposed to go on a blind date the next day, but I had to cancel because I positively reeked of alcohol and pot. In fact, it took till Sunday afternoon before the stench was no longer emanating from my pores."

While DC, Norma, and Bethany laughed - the new girl exhibiting little sympathy for her friend's plight - Brian noticed that Ted looked a little green. 

"You've got a weak constitution," he snarked. Privately, he was glad he wasn't the only one who had trouble weathering the effects of Friday's drinking and doping. This was just another reminder, he decided, to never get that wasted again. He was determined to be there if Justin or Gus needed him.

"We'll all take a rain check," he told DC. "We've got a shedload to get done before we'll be ready to open."

The Irishman shrugged indifferently before essaying a tepid smile, but Brian could tell he was disappointed. "You snooze, you lose."

"Uh, Cynthia's not the only one who needs to recover from Friday," Ted admitted. "Maybe we can meet up at Woody's another time?"

DC's smile grew more genuine. "Sure, lad. I'd like that."

"DC? Norma? Can you come give me a hand?" called someone who was out of sight.

"Righto. We're coming," the Irishman shouted back. "See you Thursday," he addressed Brian. "Don't forget to bring the check."

"Did you want to go back to the loft?" Cynthia asked, consulting her watch.

It wasn't worth it, Brian determined with a glance at his Bvlgari wristwatch. It was going on four o'clock; by the time they all got back to the loft, the day would be almost over. Besides, there was nothing pressing that needed doing. "Go ahead and take off," he said. "We'll reconvene tomorrow."

With a quick flurry of farewells, the girls were on their way out the door, and Brian was about to follow after them when Theodore asked, a hesitant lilt to his voice, "Bri, can I talk to you for a bit?"

Brian paused, oddly apprehensive. "Sure," he agreed, watching Cynthia and Bethany vanish. "What's up?"

Ted bit his lower lip, eyes shifty. "About yesterday," he began vaguely. "I hope you don't think... I would never..." Ted trailed off with a frustrated huff, hands clenching nervously. 

Eyebrows furrowed, Brian snapped at his friend, "Just spit it out, Theodore!" He was getting more agitated, thinking about what Ted could possibly have to say. He hadn't seen him this distraught for weeks, the accountant having become more self-assured recently.

Ted snorted. "Sorry, I'm making this worse," he remarked self-deprecatingly. "I just wanted to talk about what I said yesterday, you know, about your high school nickname. I wanted to make sure you knew that I would never actually tell anyone; I shouldn't know about it in the first place."

Brian nodded, a little disturbed to find a small weight lifting off his shoulders. "How did you find out anyway?" he wondered.

"Michael," Ted divulged with a guilty expression, and really, Brian realised he'd known. He'd guessed it correctly the day before at Debbie's. No one else who knew him back then would ever talk about it to anyone. 

"He didn't mean to tell me," Ted went on to explain, defending Michael. "He was drunk at the time and didn't know what he was saying."

Brian sighed. "I'm not sure that makes me feel better," he admitted. "That just means he's a fucking, ticking time bomb that can go off any time he drinks too many gin and tonics."

"I don't think so," Ted disagreed. "He doesn't normally get that drunk - I was kind of purposefully plying him with drinks at the time." 

Upon seeing Brian's questioningly raised eyebrow, Ted went on to explain, "This was back when I was still sweet on Michael. I guess I was hoping if he was drunk enough, he might reveal something... I don't know... some feelings he might have for me or something. Instead, all I heard about was how this evil little blond twink stole his best friend from him," he finished bitterly, clearly still feeling some resentment despite the fact he had moved on since then.

Brian hmmed. "You're forgiven," he told his friend, disinterested in toying with the man and prolonging the uncomfortable conversation. "Everyone does stupid things from time to time."

"Even you?" Theodore teased.

Brian suppressed the urge to give a flippant, cocksure answer. "Even me," he admitted quietly, suddenly finding it hard to meet Ted's eyes, choosing instead to fixate on the conveniently placed electrical socket above Ted's shoulder. "Or did you think I've been congratulating myself on the imbecilic decision to throw Justin out on his ear?"

Ted stared at him in what looked like wonder. Then, giving Brian a soft half-smile, he said, "You've changed, Kinney."

"Shut up, Theodore," he snapped, resolutely not blushing at the implied compliment. "Remember that I can fire you."

"Sure," the older man drawled skeptically. 

Brian tried to form his expression into one of natural authority. "You think I can't?"

Ted shook his head, still smiling like an idiot. "I think you won't," he corrected. "You need me too much; in fact, you might even like having me around."

Brian snorted. "Right. I wouldn't rely on that too heavily if I were you," he warned the other man. "I don't have a problem cutting people off if necessary."

"I noticed," Ted remarked meaningfully, though Brian wasn't sure what exactly he was getting at. "But I'm not too worried for now - after all, you like me," the older man teased.

Brian snorted.

"In fact, you might even looove me," Ted went on, his voice acquiring a bit of a whine to it. "I might even be your new best friend!"

"Jesus, Theodore," Brian sniped, unimpressed at the Michael impersonation. "Why don't you find someone else to bother? Like Benji, for example," he suggested.

Ted grinned, an evil spark in his eye. "Sure, I'll get right on that, B-"

"Don't say it!" Brian cried in outrage, pointing a warning finger at his friend. "I swear I'll fire you."

Ted laughed, his hands going up in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I couldn't help myself," he apologised. "I promise I won't mention it anymore. I shouldn't have in the first place - I was just feeling super touchy about the whole ‘Benji' thing, since I was meant to keep that private. I was being an arsehole."

"Well, you've learned from the best." Brian shrugged it off. He hated that Ted knew about the dreaded childhood nickname, but he could imagine worse people finding out. He was reasonably certain Ted wasn't going to use it against him at the first opportunity he got, certainly not now that they'd talked it out.

Ted grinned at him, small dimples showing in his stubble, and Brian was startled to feel an answering smile tugging at his lips. Jesus, he was getting soft.

About half a mile south of the future Kinnetik, while Brian and company were traipsing through the former bathhouse, Justin was sitting on the comfortable sofa in Debbie's living room. His testicles were supported by a dry, warm towel, with little Gus wiggling happily on a cushion next to him.

"Thank you again for offering to babysit, Justin," Lindsay was saying, looking a little harried as she rifled through her enormous purse for Gus' current favourite stuffed toy. "You're a lifesaver."

Justin gave the blonde a kind smile. "No worries; it's no hardship looking after this little fella," he assured her, poking the small boy gently in the side of his distended tummy. "Right, junior partner?"

Gus giggled happily, swaying in an effort to avoid the tickling finger and waving his chubby arms in the air. "Jushun!" he cried out. "Bah!"

The blond teenager grinned, nodding in agreement. "You're right, Gussy, that was completely unwarranted. I apologise," he said teasingly.

Gus blew a spit bubble before chiding Justin with an enthusiastic "Bom!" his lips and chin turning shiny with saliva.

"Here it is," Lindsay interrupted their conversation, shoving a stuffed octopus plushie at Justin's chest. "Now I really need to be going; I'm already running late. You sure you'll be fine?" 

"Bad Jushun," Harley chirped from his perch atop the credenza.

"Ha-ee," Gus cooed at his feathered friend, excitedly waving his arms.

The blonde's brow creased as she looked around at the budgie and then back at Gus.

Bloody bird had terrible timing, the teenager thought in exasperation. He could tell Linds was waffling - again - about whether she should leave Gus with him. Wiping the tot's face off with a damp cloth, he made his voice extra soothing, insisting, "I'm sure, Linds. Gus is no trouble. Besides, Vic is here if I need help."

The woman sighed. "Sorry, I know I'm a bit overbearing," she admitted. "Thank you again for doing this. Mel will pick him up no later than five thirty, I promise."

Justin didn't roll his eyes at her but it was a close call. "I know, Linds; you've told me three times already. Stop fussing and go," he prompted her gently.

The woman gave him an understanding smile. "Right, sorry. I'll be off then," she said, slipping into her light beige winter coat before cooing at her son, "Bye-bye, Lambskin. Be good for Justin, yeah?"

Gus waved what Justin imagined to be a dismissive fist at his mother. "Ma, bah," the little tyke replied, bidding Lindsay a stern goodbye. "Jushun," he added after a second, clearly reassuring his mother that she shouldn't worry since he was in good hands.

"Yes, Gussy, be good for your Justin." The blonde smiled, apparently completely misunderstanding the small nipper's words, and tousled his sparse hair.

"Ma, bah," Gus repeated, a gummy smile spreading across his chubby face as he urged Lindsay to finally leave.

"I know, baby," the woman soothed softly with a final wave of her hand. "I will miss you too. Bye-bye."

"Bye, Linds!" Justin called out, trying to keep his voice free of any snappishness.

"Bah!" Gus joined in, bouncing in his seat giddily.

As soon as the door closed behind the fretting lesbian, the woman having departed with one last enthusiastic "Bye!" to Justin's amusement, the teenager turned to his small companion with a conspiratorial smirk.

"So what now, partner?" he asked the kid. "What shall we do now that the cat is away?"

"Jushun, ungh," was the enthusiastic reply he received.

Keeping in mind the limited input Gus could give him, Justin cast around for something to do. He didn't imagine the boy was overly interested in building a block tower; neither did it seem as if he'd like to play with the creepy-looking telephone toy on wheels Debbie had found in the attic five weeks ago. 

Eyes flitting around the living room in search of an appropriate activity, Justin's gaze fell on a glossy celebrity magazine that had been abandoned on the coffee table. It was one of Debbie's guilty pleasures - she liked to read a couple articles in the morning with her first cup of coffee and then chat about the newest celebrity gossip with whomever had the morning shift at the diner.

"How about we read about some spicy scandal?" he suggested to Gus, leaning over to pick up the magazine. "Look, it says here, Brad and Jen's secret honeymoon location revealed!" he read off the shiny cover, voice full of fake excitement.

Gus rewarded his efforts with a pleased giggle. "Bam, Jushun," he prompted.

Justin went to open the November issue, to check out whether there was anything more noteworthy inside, but paused, eyeing the photo of Brad more closely. Huh, he kinda looked like the actor, didn't he? Strangely, no one had ever commented on the resemblance before, but it seemed so obvious.

"What do you think, Gus-meister?" Justin folded the publication in half and held it up so that his face was right next to Brad's.

"Jushun!" the nipper burbled.

"Yep, that's what I thought." The blond teen nodded in agreement. Maybe he'd ask Emmett what famous actor he thought Justin looked like, just to confirm it. 

Shrugging it off for now, he opened the magazine, flicked to a random page, and read the tagline at the start of the article, "Mae Phillips' risqué dress shocks at Broadway after-party. Huh, that's something, isn't it Gus?" The teenager cringed internally at the affected voice he'd adopted, but he reasoned it was just to keep the little boy interested and was therefore excusable. 

"Bah guh."

"Let's try something else, Gussy." The teenager flipped to a different article. "Bella Stubbs and Cornelius Collins tie the knot. Seven years overdue." Can you believe that? They even apparently already have a child together."

The little kid blew a spit bubble as a reaction to the shocking news and Justin grinned. This was fun. He wasn't sure if Mel and Linds ever spoke to Gus like this, but just in case they didn't, Justin was willing to read to the tyke to broaden his vocabulary.

Skipping the article about 10 ways to bring him pleasure - there was no need for Gus to know about that, not yet anyway - Justin continued reading, "Most fashionable baby names of 2000. Huh, do you think Gus is on the list?"

The boy pumped his arms excitedly. "Gush," he lisped, the word barely understandable.

Justin skimmed the article quickly before scowling. "Okay, how did Gus not make it into the top twenty, but Zachary is on the list?" he wondered aloud, outraged. "Zachary is such a pompous name. Did you know our twelfth president was a Zachary?"

Gus gurgled.

With a despondent sigh, the teenager flipped to a different page. "Madonna shares tips on how to stay fit while pregnant," he read. "Oh, look - says here that the father of her baby is unknown. How scandalous!"

A muffled burst of laughter from somewhere behind him interrupted Justin's best impression of a judgmental upper-class lady whose delicate sensibilities had been offended by news of a child born out of wedlock. Craning his neck, he saw Vic standing at the foot of the stairs with a grin as wide as his face. He hadn't even heard the older man walk down the creaky steps with how engrossed he was in the women's periodical.

"What?" the blond teenager harrumphed, feeling slightly defensive. "Gus wanted to learn all the celebrity gossip."

Vic's eyes twinkled in amusement as he shuffled over to the couch and ruffled Gus' hair before pulling a wet, slimy, plush tentacle out of the tyke's mouth. "Is that right, ragazzo?" he asked the boy kindly.

Justin sighed. "Okay," he conceded, "I might have also been afraid to get up and move around in case it hurt my, uh, stuff, and the magazine was in reach."

Vic hmmed in understanding.

"Also, that phone over there is creepy," the blond finished, pointing at the offending object. "I don't think it's safe for kids to play with it - it might even bring me nightmares."

Glancing at the old Fisher-Price toy, Vic tilted his head in consideration. "It doesn't seem that bad," he observed. "If I remember correctly, it was one of Michael's favourite toys when he was a toddler."

Justin snorted. "That explains so much," he muttered to the little boy sitting next to him.

Vic pretended not to have heard him - well, either that or his hearing was worse than Justin had thought - and smiled at Gus again. "What do you say, kiddo?" he asked. "You ready to have some lunch?"

The little boy waved an enthusiastic fist at Vic. "Nam!" he exclaimed, a bit of saliva sliding down his chin.

"I think that means he's hungry," Justin translated, his stomach growling in sympathy.

"Does it?" the older man wondered, giving him a teasing wink. "In that case we better look into the pantry and see what we can do. I think I saw a can of some authentic Italian SpaghettiOs," he joked.

"SpaghettiOs?" the blond repeated in surprise.

Vic rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I know, but I don't really have enough energy to cook today, and you're certainly in no shape to stand at the stove. Also, I figure there's a reason Sis bought the shit," he explained.

Justin couldn't find a fault with the older man's reasoning - since Debbie bought the can, she had to have expected it to be used at some point - so he turned to Gus. "Did you hear that, bit? We're gonna have us some authentic Italian cooking today!"

There was a definite upside to canned food, Justin thought a couple minutes later as he shovelled a spoonful of pasta loops into his mouth; it was very quick to prepare. It hadn't taken Vic more than ten minutes to have three steaming bowls on the table, along with some warmed up leftover garlic bread for Vic and Justin.

"Mmm," Gus hummed, expressing his happiness at finally receiving lunch. "Mmm."

Justin smiled. "Good, huh? Uncle Vic made it tasty, did he?"

Gus wiggled in his seat, mouth full of pasta and lips orange from the sauce. "Mmm," he repeated.

His vocabulary was a little limited, Justin assessed as he spooned another mouthful into his gob, but the message was sound. The SpaghettiOs were ambrosia to his empty stomach, and Debbie's garlic bread made the perfect addition to their ‘authentic' Italian meal.

Glancing up at Gus again, Justin almost choked in surprise. "Gus, buddy, how did you manage to get a spaghetti loop stuck on your cheek? Did you miss?" he questioned in a soft but amused tone.

Gus ignored the inquisition in favour of chewing on another spoonful, so Justin turned to Vic to get his reaction. 

"Look at that, Vic," he began before cutting himself off upon seeing the older man's face. He looked haggard, eyes red with exhaustion and skin pale. Poor guy probably hadn't slept too well, Justin deduced; he could definitely relate to that. Last night had been the first time in what seemed like forever that he'd gotten a decent night's sleep.

"Hmm?" Vic looked up with a sound of vague interest.

"Nothing," Justin answered quietly with a sheepish smile. "Food's good."

The older man smiled back.

When their bellies were comfortably full, hunger satisfied and moods uplifted, Justin and company moved back to the living room so they could relax and digest. Vic made his way slowly to his favourite armchair, gait a little unsteady from exhaustion but wearing a content smile on his face.

"I'm going to nap for a bit," he told Justin, settling in with a warm-looking throw. "So try not to cause any trouble with young Mr Kinney over there."

Justin chuckled, patting the little boy in question on his padded butt. "Don't worry, Vic. Gus is looking pretty knackered; I think he's going to have a little kip as well."

The toddler, who was perched on Justin's hip for his trek from the kitchen to the sofa, looked anything but sleepy but Justin had a plan to change that. He wanted to work on some designs for the flyers to advertise the Liberty Diner's checkers tournament, and a chatty toddler wasn't exactly his idea of help. Besides, little kids needed their naptime.

Settling down on the couch cushion, careful not to jostle his tender testicles, he snuggled Gus up in his baby blanket and tucked him into his side.

"Jushun," the boy whined, unhappy about being immobilised in such a way.

The teenager shushed him gently. "You need a nap, kiddo," he explained. "You'll be a very moody boy in the evening if you don't sleep now."

"No!" Gus disagreed, trying to wiggle his pudgy arms out of the constricting blanket cocoon.

Justin sighed. "Look at Uncle Vic," he told the nipper, pointing at the already snoozing man. "See how he's sleeping like a good boy?"

Gus whined again, his cheeks reddening in agitation, but his accusing blue eyes were already at half mast. He very obviously needed the rest but was too pigheaded to admit it.

"Do you want me to sing something to you?" the blond offered in desperation. "I don't know any lullabies, but I could do a Christmas song?"

"Jushun," the tot whimpered, his stance clearly weakening but remaining determined.

He recalled his idea from a couple weeks ago about altering the words to Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer by substituting Brian for Rudolph and decided to give it a shot. There wasn't anyone around to make fun of his subpar singing - Vic was asleep and Gus won't be any wiser - so he began crooning quietly,

          Brian the red-nosed Daddy
          Had a very shiny nose
          And if you ever saw it
          You would even say it glows

Justin eyed Gus warily. The boy had stopped wiggling in his blanket prison and instead was listening to him intently. His little head was resting against Justin's arm heavily, and his eyes were starting to glaze over with sleep. Feeling victory was near, the blond teen continued singing, 

          All of the other daddies
          Used to laugh and call him names
          They never let poor Brian
          Join in any daddy games

Justin snorted to himself quietly. The lyrics were going south real fast - daddy games sounded like something you'd hear of in the backroom at Babylon rather than in a kindergarten setting. He should probably start thinking about the words a bit more instead of just blindly substituting one for another.

Giving the third verse a bit of consideration, Justin was about to start singing again when his gaze fell on Gus' face. His eyes were closed, his lips apart, and his breathing was deep and regular. Allowing himself to get a bit sentimental, he mused that the boy looked like an angel when asleep. He wondered if toddler Brian had looked like this, if he ever was this innocent and unburdened. He must've been, the blond supposed, but it was hard to imagine with what he knew of the man's childhood.

Shaking off the dark thoughts that had entered his mind, Justin carefully shifted Gus so he was no longer leaning against his side. Now that the kid was successfully asleep, it was time to do some work. Justin scooted forwards in his seat a little, wary of his aching groin, and leaned over the coffee table to reach his sketchbook.

Opening it at a blank page, the blond started sketching a small rectangular thumbnail to figure out the layout of the checkers tournament flyer. He started with a small checkerboard design in the bottom right corner, a few checker pieces scattered around at the edge of it, leaving a good amount of space for text at the top.

Justin eyed the thumbnail once he was finished, frowning at his sketch, before deciding he didn't like it. He wanted to make it obvious at first glance that the flyer was advertising a checkers competition, and his first draft just didn't pass muster. So with a more refined idea in his mind, the teenage artist began drawing a new thumbnail. This time, the checkerboard took up about two thirds of the rectangle, and the game pieces weren't scattered around nonsensically anymore, instead placed purposefully on the board. This left a much smaller area for the text of the flyer, but it looked much more interesting aesthetically.

His next idea was to do something interesting with the checker pieces, so their placement had some purpose. Perhaps he could set them up in such a way that one of the theoretical players would win in a single move? Justin quickly sketched an eight-by-eight grid and tried to place a handful of game pieces on the board in a manner that would allow the opponent to jump all of them in one swoop.

Glaring at the messy sketch, he realised it wasn't the most visually pleasing setup. Perhaps a different idea then? He could use the checkers to form some sort of shape, he supposed, though he couldn't think of anything that would be relevant to a checkers tournament at the Liberty Diner. For a wild moment, he tried to figure out how to draw a dick out of checkers, but with the constriction of only the black tiles being usable, he found it impossible. 

Heaving a loud sigh of abject frustration, Justin quickly sketched a small cock and balls in the corner of his page, spitefully shading one of the testicles dark with his pencil. Fucking Hobbs and his weird obsession with gay people - maybe if his groin didn't throb all the time, he could concentrate and come up with something decent.

Taking a fortifying breath, the blond decided to take a break from shifting around virtual checker pieces and instead set out to figure out an eye-catching colour palette for the flyer. Looking around the living room in search of inspiration, a vividly orange flower pot caught his eye. Justin found himself liking the bold colour and immediately wrote it down, figuring it would do well as a background. Then, visualising a colour wheel in his mind, he decided to use some kind of blue or turquoise and a bit of yellow ochre to create a split complementary colour scheme.

The choice of colours gave Justin a bit of a retro feel, which immediately made him feel better about his design as a whole - the Liberty Diner definitely had a bit of a sixties' vibe. 

Justin bit his lip, tapping his pencil against his chin in thought as he tried to recall the rules of retro poster design. Stylised illustration and an appropriate typeface were a must, he remembered as he turned a page in his sketchbook and started sketching a proper mockup based on his second thumbnail. He used simple, clean lines and avoided adding any unnecessary details in an effort to keep the drawing light and easily identifiable. He faked his way through imitating a retro-looking typeface as he wrote ‘The 2001 Checkers Tournament' across the top, and finally, he drew a slim border around the whole piece to give it a more finished feel.

He didn't have any coloured pencils in reach, but he'd made notes around his drawing to mark which colours went where so he didn't really mind too much. He'd have to use a computer to make the final design anyway, so the paper sketch didn't have to be completely finished in order for him to present it to Debbie. 

A bit at loose ends - he'd done as much as he could for now - Justin cast a glance toward Vic's recliner, where the older man was fast asleep. He wanted to consult with Vic about what the prizes for the finalists might be and which businesses in the Liberty Avenue neighbourhood could be convinced to participate, but there was no way the teen was going to interrupt his rest. The man's colour was much better now, but he still had faint smudges under his eyes and could doubtless use some more sleep. He'd get his opinion of the flyer and talk with him about the tournament later on.

He could always take a nap himself, the lad supposed - even Harley was dozing on his perch, head tucked under his wing - but he hated to waste the bit of energy he had at the moment. It was the most alert he'd been since his injury, and he wanted to take advantage of it.

As he cast about for something to do - he didn't want to chance awakening either Vic or Gus - his eyes lit on the school supplies that Deb had left on the coffee table. That reminded him of the drawing he'd thought of creating, of the feisty redhead and fabulous queen shopping at Costco, Debs smiling as she sang along to Let It Snow! 

He began roughing in the feisty redhead with his pencil, Debbie gesticulating emphatically at one of the turkeys in her shopping trolley. The gesture didn't look as natural as Justin wanted, so he flung out his arm, trying to remember how Debbie had looked when she was arguing the merits of each turkey with Emmett. He figured that might help him get it right in the sketch.

Unfortunately, his effort to imitate Deb's gesture was a bit too strong. He tilted to one side, causing the fabric of his jeans to draw taut across his crotch. "Ow!" he cried out.

Shit, he thought, holding his breath when Gus stirred next to him. He didn't want to wake the tyke; the boy would be well cranky if he didn't get a long enough nap. All Gus did, though, was open and close his mouth a couple times, a bit of drool escaping, before settling back down. Good. He didn't want to hand a crotchety toddler over to Mel. Only part of the rooster clock was visible from where he was sitting, but since neither the hour nor minute hand was in sight, he guessed it was past time for Gus' mama to arrive. She'd be here any moment, Justin reckoned.

As he cast a glance toward Vic's recliner, a soft snore reassured the teen that he hadn't awakened the older man either. Releasing his pent-up breath, Justin tried to return to his sketch. Fucking Hobbs, he thought resentfully for the second time in the past hour as he stared uselessly at the sketch pad, unable to focus. If it wasn't for Chris, Justin wouldn't have been injured, taken illegal drugs, and ended up in the hospital - almost losing a ball.

The lad shuddered. If he'd needed surgery, he would've been hospitalised. What would've happened then? Would the hospital administration have insisted on getting permission from his parents because he was underage? Brian's willingness to pay for his care would probably only go so far, Justin mused, his head dropping back against the top of the couch.

The thought of his parents becoming involved made a wave of nausea roll through Justin. His dad probably wouldn't even care, and he'd for certain say he deserved it if he found out how his son had been injured. His mother would care - at least Justin hoped she would - but if she managed to sneak away to visit him, she'd just flutter about uselessly.

Staring up at the ceiling, the youngster absently followed a long crack that meandered alongside the moulding. He wondered what he'd do if something else happened before he turned eighteen. Even after he turned eighteen, he'd doubtless need some kind of legal-

"Bah! Bah guh!" Gus cried, interrupting his thoughts. 

The tyke was squirming when Justin looked down, kicking at the restrictive baby blanket and shaking his fists in agitation. Gus' reddening face made the teen suspect a full diaper, although there was no telltale odour. Maybe a wet diaper was chafing the boy's tender skin?

Gus hadn't yet got so loud that he awakened Vic, so while peeling back the blanket, Justin quietly reprised a couple of the verses from Brian, the red-nosed Daddy. He sang,

          Then one foggy Christmas Eve,
          Santa came to say,
          Brian with your nose so bright,
          Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?

The nipper settled down, staring at Justin in fascination. This might not have been the best plan, the blond lad realised as he finished unwrapping the blanket, pulled down the elasticised, fire-engine red trousers, and released the diaper tabs. If Gus' nappy was wet, Justin would have to do it back up until he could snag the diaper bag, which had somehow migrated just out of easy reach. Carefully placing a hand over the tot's equipment - he did not want to get sprayed - Justin felt around beneath Gus as he crooned another verse.

          Then all the daddies loved him,
          As they shouted out with glee,
          Brian the red-nosed Daddy
          You'll go down in history!

"Dada!" Gus excitedly waved his arms, clenching his chubby hands into fists.

"That's right, junior partner." Justin smiled at the tyke. "Your Dada is the red-nosed Daddy." Gus probably wasn't making the connection between the two, but it wouldn't hurt to encourage him.

There was no dampness in the diaper - he checked again just to be sure - so the teen reclosed the tabs and tugged the red pants back into place. Gus was starting to look unhappy again, so Justin hastily resumed singing, going through the song from the beginning as he tried to puzzle out what was making Gus fretful.

Something about the little boy's expression seemed familiar. Wait... maybe he was hungry? Brian got a similar look when he was hungry, Justin thought with a giggle, although the ‘red-nosed Daddy' almost always came up with some sardonic quip to disguise his crankiness.

It had been a while since the SpaghettiOs Justin allowed. He leaned to the side in an effort to get a better look at the kitchen clock, wincing when the motion pulled at the skin around his genitals. 

"Jushun!" Gus redirected the teen's attention to where he wanted it. "Bah!"

Vic made a snuffling noise but still didn't otherwise stir.

"Baaah!"

Worried that the wee lad was working up to a full-throated wail, Justin cast about for a snack he could make that wouldn't ruin Gus' dinner. There were some ripe bananas on the kitchen counter, he recalled. Maybe he could mash up part of one of those, and that would tide the boy over.

How to get up was the blond's main problem. It felt like he was lodged in a dip in the sofa cushion. If he managed that, he'd then have to secure Gus somehow, or the youngest Kinney might roll off the couch and hurt himself. As long as he could get up, he could probably pick the tyke up and carry him over to his high chair which, conveniently, was already at the kitchen ta-

Just then someone leaned on the doorbell, making Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer chime merrily.

Thank fuck; that must be Mel at last.

Vic harrumphed and shot up in his chair. "Bloody reindeer," he grumbled as he lowered the footrest and stood. He then threw a sheepish look Justin's way before shrugging and grinning roguishly. "I don't really mind the doorbell; they certainly go with the rooftop theme."

Justin felt bad that Vic's rest had been interrupted, but he was grateful that he didn't have to figure out the logistics of getting up with a toddler in tow. Returning the older man's grin, he conjectured, "I bet Mel was just admiring the reindeer's schmeckles."

Vic barked out a laugh. "She does remark on them every year," he observed. "Just as well the reindeer woke me up," he added as he shuffled to the door. "I'd never get to sleep tonight if I napped any longer."

In an attempt to cajole Gus into a good mood, Justin tickled the soles of the boy's sock-covered feet as he waited for Vic to return, hopefully with Mel right behind him. He noted in amusement that Gus was again wearing the spider socks that had been so maligned over dinner last night. The large black spiders really did look more like tarantulas than common, household spiders, he noted in amusement. "Spiders are fun, right, Gussy?" Justin ran a couple of his fingernails along the bottom of the tot's right foot and elicited a squeal of delight. "But tarantulas" - the teenager leaned closer as if imparting an important secret - "are way cooler."

Gus blew a spit bubble. "Jushun. Trah luh coo."

Justin beamed down at his young friend.

"Cool, huh?" Melanie cleared her throat. "We may not be able to use your services as a babysitter any longer, Justin, if you're going to promote the love of arachnids."

The blond whipped his head around. He was so concentrated on Gus that he hadn't heard the petite lawyer approach. Was she serious about the babysitting? "But-" 

"Relax," Mel ordered, a smile breaking out on her face. "I'm just yanking your chain. Um, as long as they're imitation spiders," she amended. "I'm not fond of the real thing."

Justin sighed in relief that Melanie wasn't upset and sagged back down into the sofa. He'd just have to work on her, he decided - get her to see how amazing spiders were. The slight tug on his nether regions as he slumped, however, reminded him of his injury and jogged his memory. There was something he wanted to discuss with Mel before anything else. "Um, do you have a sec?" he asked tentatively.

Before she could respond, Gus cried, "Bah! Bah mama!" insistently flailing his fists in the air.

Geesh. He'd momentarily forgotten about the hungry tyke. He really was a bad babysitter.

"Bad Jushun!" Harley helpfully corroborated his thought.

"Jushun," Gus echoed, his attention temporarily diverted from the demands of his stomach. He waved his fists some more and added a scissor kick with his feet.

Melanie laughed and stuck a finger into the birdcage. "You're a cheeky budgie, aren't you?" she asked as she stroked Harley's head.

"Bad Jushun!" Harley repeated. The blue bird preened, butting his head against Mel's finger in a request for more petting.

Reminded of Brian, Justin shook his head. His lover might not call him ‘Bad Jushun' but ‘Twat' had pretty much the same meaning.

Evidently feeling neglected - either that or his hunger was taking precedence - Gus' voice rose in volume. "Jushun! Bah! Mama!" he yelled.

Vic came to the rescue, scooping Gus up. "Come here, young Kinney. You let your mama and Sunshine talk while you eat the dinner I heated up for you."

"Thanks, Vic," Melanie and Justin expressed their gratitude in near-perfect unison.

"Snap," Justin joked.

"Seriously, Vic, thanks," the brunette reiterated. "It's already past dinner time for Gus; now I won't have to fix something when I get home."

Vic shrugged. "It's just a simple casserole that I'd forgotten was in the freezer. It's no hardship to reheat it in the microwave and mash some up for this little guy."

Mel gave him a grateful smile. "It's still a big help. My firm's got an important court case coming up, so I need to do some work from home tonight. Not having to wrestle with Gus in cranky Kinney mode will make it much easier."

The blond lad grinned to himself. He evidently wasn't the only one who noticed a resemblance between the father and son in queen-out mode.

"No worries, then. I'll feed Gus. You'll have to deal with the results, though." Vic winked at the dyke. "I've no doubt this pollywog will be filling his diaper soon."

"Ugh." Mel's nose wrinkled up. "Potty training can't come soon enough."

Vic chuckled. "I remember Deb saying the same thing. Sis was totally put out when the doctor told her most kids aren't ready for potty training until they're between eighteen and twenty-four months old."

"I think my sister started at, like, sixteen or seventeen months," Justin recalled. "So maybe you won't have to wait that long."

Melanie instantly asserted, "Girls are easier."

Justin shrugged. That could be true; his mother had made the same claim. According to Jennifer, it had taken him until he was twenty-one months old to begin getting the hang of using the potty. The blond hadn't been best pleased when Jennifer told him that, but then he'd decided he could concede to Molly in that one area - he could pee standing up, which his sister would never be able to do, not unless she wanted it to trickle down her leg. 

"Maybe," Vic allowed, gently bouncing Gus when the boy started fretting again. "The paediatrician said girls tend to develop faster than boys at that age. Michael probably skewed the statistics, though," he added with another laugh. "Some kids aren't ready till they're three years old. Michael was one of the outliers; he didn't begin potty training till he was around three-and-a-half years old."

Aghast, Mel just stared at Vic. "Fuck me."

Gus aped his mama. "Fuh. Fuh gah."

"Yeah," Mel sighed, outstretching a hand to brush a few wispy strands of hair away from her son's forehead. "You've got that right, Gussy."

Vic hastened to reassure her. "It probably won't take nearly that long with Gus. But," he cautioned, "you won't want to rush it, or it might take even longer to train him. That's what Michael's doctor said anyroad."

An evil glint entered Melanie's eyes. "Linds has been dropping hints about staying home for another year 'cause she's enjoying motherhood so much. I wouldn't want her to miss out on the potty training."

Good thing the girls had Brian, Justin couldn't help thinking. With only one of the girls working, their finances must be getting strained. He doubted they'd be able to make ends meet without Brian's help.

Vic arched an interrogative eyebrow and asked, "Your nest egg gonna hold out that long?"

That explained things, Justin thought. The girls must've had some kind of savings to tide them over for a year.

It turned out it wasn't savings precisely, when Mel heaved a sigh and elaborated, "Probably not. The inheritance from my dad is going fast, and family law isn't the most lucrative practice - unless you've got clients with deep pockets, which JKL doesn't. I'm not sure what I can do. I could take on a heavier case load, but it wouldn't supplement my salary by much. Besides, it would cut into the time I have to spend with Linds and Gus."

"You still dead set against letting Brian help?" Vic inquired. "You were pretty adamant about not taking his ‘goddamn money' as I recall."

Justin knew Melanie and Brian didn't always get on all that well; it was hardly a secret and had been evident the night Gus was born. He hadn't realised Mel harboured that much animosity toward Brian, though, figuring the two of them mostly got a kick out of their verbal sparring. The situation with Gus must've come to a head when he wasn't around, back in the spring or summer, the teenager reckoned. If he'd been there when Mel spouted off, Justin would have said something; Brian was Gus' father, for fuck's sake. Of course he wanted to help support his son.

Another heavy sigh escaped the brunette. "Brian's already helping. I'm not stupid; we couldn't afford some of the ‘extras' that have turned up if he wasn't giving Lindsay money. I've just turned a blind eye to it."

"That doesn't exactly seem fair."

How Vic kept his tone so nonjudgemental, Justin wasn't sure. It was pretty hypocritical to take Brian's money on the one hand and disparage him on the other.

Regret laced Melanie's voice. "I know. I know better and I've run Brian down anyway. I'll have to swallow my pride, apologise, and hope he's willing to help us even more. If Linds didn't so badly want this time with Gus..." The brunette trailed off, her frustration plain. "If Brian agrees to keep helping us, I'm going to draw up a contract. We'll pay him back with interest, including what he's already given us. Linds and I aren't gonna sponge off him," she stated firmly. 

Justin was relieved to hear that. Mel now sounded like the can-do woman he'd come to know and admire, instead of some kind of spiteful virago.

"Good," Vic encouraged her. "You should let Brian know you're glad he's Gus' dad-" He paused, waiting for a nod from Melanie before continuing, "That ragazzo doesn't get nearly enough credit for all the good things he does."

When the brunette nodded again, Justin smiled, pleased that she seemed to be listening to Vic's advice.

Gus chose that moment to let out a prolonged, "Baaah!" whapping Vic on the cheek with his fist.

"Okay, okay," Vic chuckled. "I can take a hint. It's time to follow through with the promised food. Come on, young'un."

"Fuh. Fuh gah!" Gus babbled happily as Vic carted him from the room.

Harley obligingly chriped, "Fuck. Blowjob. Jushun."

"Erm-" Justin stuttered, colouring up.

Mel deadpanned, "I draw the line at Gus quoting ‘Bah juh.'"

The blond lad giggled, forgetting about his embarrassment. Blowjobs wouldn't be of much interest to the lesbians, he imagined.

Her expression turning serious - she even looked a little worried - Mel perched on the arm of the sofa next to him. "What did you want to talk to me about? You gonna lay into me about Brian too?"

That must be the reason for the furrow between her brows. "No. Yeah. I mean, um, I might-" Geesh, that wasn't even intelligible. Grinding to a halt, Justin took a deep breath and started over. "I already would have, if I'd known that Brian was supporting you and Linds financially, without so much as a thank you."

His blunt reply got the butch woman's back up. "Brian supports you too," she immediately rebuked him.

There were so many responses Justin could have made to that. It was on the tip of his tongue to enlarge on how he was planning to reimburse Brian for his burgled goods. He also wanted to retort that partners were supposed to help each other, but Mel wasn't going to be the first person he told about that. He could have said that Brian helped out everyone in the family...

Instead, Justin manfully ignored the slight and explained, "I was wondering what my options are if something happens to me and I end up in the hospital. Or worse," he faltered. He hadn't really thought about the ‘worse' before now...

Mel surmised, "You mean who could speak for you legally?"

"Yeah," Justin mumbled. He wasn't quite able to shake off the vision that had just sprung into his mind. He could see himself sprawled out on the St James cafeteria floor - unmoving.

"Without emancipation or legal guardianship, you're in a bit of a bind until you turn eighteen. Considering there's less than two months before your birthday, I'm even less inclined to recommend you pursue either of those than when we last spoke about it. Unless you're in danger. Then we could move a petition through the court quickly."

She paused, placing a hand over his. "Justin, baby, do you think Hobbs might hurt you? More than he's already done?"

Justin wanted to just laugh it off, but he couldn't quite. "Erm, I don't think so," he said tentatively. "Chris didn't plan what happened in the canteen; he just wanted to humiliate me by sticking my face in my food."

"Promise me you'll be careful not to be alone with-"

Wanting to erase the dire look in her normally warm brown eyes, Justin interrupted Melanie. "I'm already doing that."

"Even if you've got a couple of friends with you, that may not be enough to keep you safe," the legal beagle stressed. "Hobbs didn't have any compunction about bullying you in the middle of a roomful of students."

"He wouldn't have done it if Daphne or Sydney had been with me."

"Maybe not in that situation. But it might be different if he caught you - even with your girl friends - alone somewhere on campus. I don't want you to freak out-"

The blond lad swallowed hard, that warning already making him nervous.

"-but bullies often escalate in behaviour. I see it all the time with domestic violence cases. If this Hobbs' character has any of his cronies with him, egging him on, it could well be even worse."

"Uh-" Justin stopped to swallow again, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat. He'd never really thought about what might impact the cases Melanie handled; family law sounded so innocuous, but he supposed divorce could get ugly.

"What I want you to promise me is that you'll always be with a group of other students. Not just the two girls. That's not enough," Mel emphasised for the second time.

"I, uh, don't know if I can swing that," Justin croaked. "I take the bus to school really early in the morning. It's the only way I can be sure I won't be late for calculus. Dickhead, uh, Dixon will mark me down as absent if I'm even, like, one second late."

"No other students are there that early?"

"Uh, the jocks." Justin paled as he realised what he'd just revealed. He hurried on, "But um, they're not around 'cause they're either outside or in the gym doing drills. Besides, I go straight to the library, and it's not like I'm gonna run into Chris or any of his buddies in there."

Giving Justin's fingers a squeeze, Mel probed, "So you've never seen any of them in the halls at that hour of the morning?"

"Almost never?" the teen answered weakly, turning it into a question.

"It only takes one time." 

Justin threw his hands up, dislodging Mel's hand. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked a little belligerently. "With the crappy winter weather" - he gestured at the window, where more snowflakes could be seen in the dim glare of the porch light - "I've got to take an early bus or risk being late for class. I'll probably end up failing maths!" he finished with a dramatic sweep of his hand.

Her lips pressed tightly together, Mel didn't respond right away. She could be holding in a retort about how his life was more valuable than his grade in maths, but Justin suspected it was something else. Given the gleam in her eyes, the bulldyke was probably restraining a laugh. He squirmed, a little embarrassed by his dramatics. He genuinely wasn't sure what she expected him to do, though.

Several beats later, Melanie remarked, "You ask for help."

Justin looked at her in bewilderment.

The lawyer rolled her eyes. "Ask Brian to give you a ride to school. He might bitch about it-"

The blond lifted his eyebrows in a ‘you think?' expression.

Melanie chuckled but continued determinedly, "-but he'll jump at the chance. I'm pretty sure he'd do anything to keep you safe."

Justin was pretty sure too. But- "It'd be a huge inconvenience," he spluttered. "He'd have to get up way earlier than usual, and St James is, like, totally out of his way."

Mel shrugged. "Give him one of those blowjobs Har-"

"Blowjob, Jushun," Harley chirped before she could get his name out. "Briaaan," the budgie amplified his suggestion, cocking his head as if to make sure Justin understood.

"One of those in the morning, and you'll have a ride to school," the lesbian clarified. "If you promise him another one in the afternoon, I bet he'll pick you up too."

The teen was sorely tempted. It would be nice to have a ride to school again and not have to take the bus. Unlike Brian, he'd actually be able to get up later than he had been doing. He wouldn't ask for a ride home, though - not in the middle of Brian's workday. Besides, he didn't have to worry about being alone at the end of the school day while he waited for the bus. There were usually lots of other kids hanging around waiting for their parents to pick them up or participating in after-school activities and clubs.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed after mulling it over for a bit. "I'll ask Brian to give me a ride."

"Good. Because if you weren't willing, I'd ask him myself," the woman said with a wry smile. 

Justin was a little annoyed, but mostly he was warmed that Melanie cared so much about him.

"Now" - Melanie rubbed her hands together briskly - "I'm going to go ahead and draw up powers of attorney for you. One for financial decisions and another for health care."

"I thought I had to wait with everything till I turned eighteen." Justin looked at her questioningly.

The attorney shook her head. "I doubt anyone will contest your right to designate powers of attorney. You're too close to your eighteenth birthday; you're all but emancipated as it is; and Hobbs is a clear and present danger to you. I can demonstrate that in court if need be."

"It's really that simple?"

Melanie hedged, "Let's not push it further than the POAs, okay? Those don't have to go before a judge; they just need to be notarised. One of the clerks at JKL is a notary public; I'll ask her to validate the documents. She won't raise a fuss about your age as long as I'm with you." 

"Could we do it soon?" Justin couldn't really explain his urgency. He didn't expect anything to happen to him - anything more, anyhow. "I just... I'd feel better if it was taken care of."

"This week good enough?"

Justin beamed at Mel. "Yeah, absolutely. Yeah."

Melanie smiled back at him. "Who do you want as your POA?"

Like there was any question. "Brian."

Mel laughed. "It could be Debbie. I didn't want to assume."

He worried for a moment that Deb would be upset that he hadn't chosen her, but then he thought of how supportive she was of his and Brian's relationship, and he knew it would be okay - especially if he let slip that they were partners. "Brian," he reiterated.

"In that case, I've got everything I need to draw up the powers of attorney." Mel started to rise from the couch. "I'd better-"

"Wait!" Justin blurted, abruptly remembering something else related to POAs that had been bugging him.

The brunette arched an eyebrow as she sank back down. "What is it?"

"Um, when this whole thing happened" - the lad gestured vaguely towards his groin - "and I was stupid enough to take drugs-"

Melanie nodded.

"Ted, uh, told me how he ended up in the hospital. He wanted to drive home how dumb I'd been and how dangerous it was to take illegal drugs."

Mel nodded again. "What Ted went through was tough on everyone."

Justin grabbed the opening. "Yeah, especially Brian."

"Wha-"

The teen couldn't be bothered to mince words. "It was shitty the way you dumped Ted's power of attorney on Brian," he told the open-mouthed lawyer. "I mean, Ted now gets how awful it was, but I don't think he did before."

"I- I wasn't in a good place," Melanie defended herself. "Teddy's my best friend."

Justin didn't want to sound too accusatory, not if he wanted Melanie to listen to him, so he softened what he was inclined to say. "Um, did you advise Ted that he should tell Brian about it before proceeding?" 

After a moment, Mel admitted, "I didn't. I should have, but I didn't. I figured it didn't matter because nothing would happen to Ted." A red hue suffused her face. "And because it was Brian. I was ticked off at him - I pretty much always was - so I figured that gave me the right."

Shit, he was doing the same thing, Justin suddenly realised - despite Brian expressly stating he never again wanted to put in a position where he had to make that kind of life-or-death decision for someone he cared about. Christ, he'd been looking at Justin when he said it.

"Fuck," he muttered tiredly. "I can't make Brian my POA. Hold off until I ask Debbie, okay?"

Melanie again placed her hand over his. "Talk to Brian first, baby. This is a totally different situation. Let him decide what he wants to do."

Justin grimaced. It would be way easier to ask about a ride to school than to talk about this with Brian. 

Mel chuckled darkly. "Not so easy is it?"

With a doleful shake of his head, Justin muttered, "No."

"At least you don't have to eat a couple large helpings of crow." The butch woman sighed. "Christ, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd need to apologise to Brian Kinney. I'd better get out of here" - she stood up quickly - "before I find out about something else I need to say ‘I'm sorry' for."

A pressing need to empty his bladder had Justin struggling to his feet right after Melanie left the room. As he relieved himself, he smiled a little smugly as he thought again about his little sister not being able to pee from a standing position. His smile vanished, though, as he carefully pulled his briefs back up and nestled his junk in the soft cotton. No matter how careful he was, his balls still throbbed. This wasn't a problem Molly would ever have.

His hands rinsed, Justin gingerly made his way to the kitchen, where Gus was stubbornly insisting on eating a couple more mouthfuls of the casserole. The tyke then volubly protested against having his face and hands washed off, making it close to fifteen minutes before Mel and Gus were actually on the way out the door.

"Soften Kinney up for me, would'ya?" she half joked as Justin followed her to the door. "Then maybe he won't take the piss out of me quite so much when I eat that crow."

Justin hmmed non-comittally as he waved goodbye, watching to make sure that they got underway okay. He really wished Brian were here with him. Even though it had been less than a day, it felt like forever since he'd seen his lover.

Brian pulled up to the side of the road, nestling his jeep snugly between two large snow piles - the remnants of that morning's attempts to clear the pavement of the worst of the snow. He fumbled for his ringing phone for a few clumsy seconds before he finally managed to securely grip it in his cold hand and pry it open.

Glaring through his windscreen at the heavily falling snow - he had to drive like a rheumatic grandma as it was; he was in no need for the difficult conditions to get any worse - he accepted the phone call with a sternly barked, "Kinney." 

"Brian?" came the muffled voice from the other end of the line. "This is Carl Horvath."

"Detective," the brunet said, "what can I do for you this miserable evening?"

There was a beat of silence and then came Carl's amused reply, "Cheese and rice, someone's in a mood - did you run out of hair gel?"

"Haha. Don't give up your day job, detective," Brian snarked. "I'm stuck in traffic in the middle of a fucking snowstorm-"

"It's hardly a snow-"

"A straight up fucking snowstorm," Brian repeated forcefully, then continued on with his list of things that pissed him off. "I'm tired and caffeine-deprived; the heater in my jeep is on its last leg for whatever fucking reason; I'm late to pick up Justin from Debbie's; and to top it all off, a beluga whale in a smelly mink coat stepped on my nine-hundred-dollar shoe at Kaufmann's and almost crushed my foot. So would you please get to the point?"

"Jesus," Carl snorted, sounding way too amused for Brian's current mood. "You want to press charges?" the detective asked with badly-concealed laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up," Brian griped, glaring at the large snowflakes settling on his windscreen. "You wouldn't be laughing had you just spent the last hour and a half battling last-minute Christmas shoppers in an overheated mall. I can still hear Jingle Bell Rock playing in my ears - I think I have PTSD."

Carl chuckled again, though this time it sounded a bit more sympathetic. "Yeah, I feel you. I still have to buy something for my kid," he divulged, "but I won't see her till sometime in February, so I'll just buy it after the holidays."

Brian's eyebrows climbed up at the casual mention of the detective having a kid. For some reason, he had thought the man to be an old bachelor with no wife and no kids - perhaps it had something to do with how readily the older man had adopted Justin.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"Yeah, she's off somewhere in Africa, vaccinating kids ‘without borders,'" the detective explained, tone a little snarky but undeniably proud. "Anyway, speaking of kids, how's Justin doing?"

Brian's brain short-circuited for a second. "Um, he's, uh... I don't know. I didn't have a chance to speak to him today," he finally admitted apologetically.

Carl didn't sound put out, though. "Yeah, I get that. Wen and I have been pretty busy as well, and I didn't have the opportunity to check up on him either. Even now, calling you, it's technically work."

"Is it? Why are you calling, detective?" the brunet asked, genuinely curious now. There were only two things that the detective would consider ‘work' that he might talk to Brian about - the loft robbery and Justin's bullying incident.

Horvath paused before answering, his voice suddenly sounding deeper and more professional. "I have some news for you concerning the break-in at your loft," he said. "You have time to come downtown in the near future to talk about it?"

Brian had to think about his schedule for a minute before answering. "Uh, yeah, sure," he stuttered out. "Day after tomorrow - Wednesday? How's that grab you?"

"That works," Carl accepted the suggested day, a clacking of computer keys accompanying his words. "Nine o'clock?"

"I'll make the time," the ad exec promised.

They ended the phone call a short while after with a couple of simple goodbyes, and Brian slid his cell back into his coat pocket. He rubbed his hands together in order to bring some more circulation into his cold fingers and glared at his malfunctioning car heater - it was puffing barely warm bursts of air at him in a pitiful attempt at warming him up. He was going to have to get the bloody car to the shop sooner rather than later.

With a disgusted huff, Brian used his blinker to indicate his intention of joining the slow-moving traffic to his left, and once he could merge safely, continued on his way.

It was almost twenty-five minutes later, having escaped the snarled downtown traffic, that Brian finally cruised down Debbie's street. Per usual since the nicking of his parking karma, there was no curbside space he could fit his jeep into. Fuck this, he thought, lifting one gloved hand from the steering wheel and flipping the otherwise empty street the bird. He'd just park in Debbie's driveway - now and any other time he couldn't find parking. 

"Eat that, Theodore," he snickered as he turned into the driveway, his tires crunching over freshly fallen snow. Even though his jeep shouldn't be going anywhere - Deb's driveway had the barest of slants - he engaged the parking brake after turning off the engine. Otherwise, with the way his luck was going, a couple of hooligans would think it great fun to push his vehicle out into the street, where a snowplough would bury it under a mountain of the white stuff. That might've been fun when he and Mikey were kids, but Brian saw it rather differently now.

Horvath, he mused with a certain relish as he looked out at the heavily falling snow, which was coming down sideways, was going to be in for a surprise when he left the precinct. This storm had all the hallmarks of a nor'easter.

Flinging open the door, Brian set one Prada-shod foot down on the fresh snow before twisting around to check that the bag in the back seat was tightly closed. Unfortunately, the slick sole of his boot didn't allow him to find good purchase, and he ended up sprawling across the front seat in an undignified pose, the gear shift poking him in the neck. "Fucking Prada," he grumbled. You'd think the Italian designer could make a boot that both looked good and functioned in wintry weather.

He carefully righted himself, making sure his boots had traction - as much as they were capable of anyway - on the snow. Then he glanced into the back once more, satisfied that the Kaufmann's bag was well closed. The sales clerk had looked at him strangely when he'd insisted the item be put in a plain, brown bag instead of one with the store's trademark, but Brian didn't want it to arouse Justin's curiosity.

Satisfied that at least one thing had gone right, he made his way around the bonnet of the jeep, clicking the lock button on his key fob as he went. "Shit," he muttered when he reached the other side of the hood. How the fuck could he have forgotten that there was no paved pathway between the driveway and the house? He could always walk down the driveway, along the sidewalk, and then up the path leading to the front door. That would spare his Prada boots from the snow-encrusted grass, on which half the neighbourhood dogs had probably urinated.

Fuck this, Brian thought for the second time since he'd got here. He'd take the damned boots to the cobbler's, and they could restore them to a pristine condition. After tromping across the grass, a black scowl on his face, he bypassed the doorbell - he wasn't in the right frame of mind for ‘cheery' Christmas noise - and pounded on the door.

"Jesus fucking Christ," came the less than merry acknowledgement from inside the house. "Fuckin' hold on; I'm coming."

Brian grinned, his own mood improving at hearing the testiness in Vic's voice. When the door swung open a couple beats later, Brian was leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. "I would've waited if I'd know you were that close," he commented with a leer.

Vic chuckled. "I wish, ragazzo."

"Where's the brat?" Brian asked, trying to appear indifferent, although showing up on the doorstep doubtlessly put paid to his efforts.

"In the kitchen. Deb grabbed some ladylocks from the bakery on the way home. We were about to sample them."

Brian groaned. He had a weakness for those darned spit-cakes that were a specialty in this area.

"Sis must've known you were coming," Vic remarked, chuckling again.

He'd just have to pretend that it hadn't already gone seven o'clock, Brian decided. No way was he forgoing one of his favourite cream-filled sweets.

The adman feigned disappointment as he strolled into the kitchen behind Vic. "Not homemade?" He motioned with his chin at the plate piled high with ladylocks. 

"They are," Debbie countered. "Just not by me."

"Brian!" Justin's smile stretched from ear-to-ear as he bounced on the donut cushion. "I didn't know you were coming over."

The brunet shrugged as he bent over and brushed a kiss across Justin's lips. "I told Carl I'd check on how you were doing."

The lad's smile dimmed and Brian wanted to kick himself. How hard could it be to let your partner know you missed him? "I also wanted to see for myself," he quickly tacked on.

The wattage dialled back up. "I missed you too." 

He really must have been expected since there was an extra chair at the table. Sitting down, Brian lifted one of the gooey treats off the platter and bit into it. "So, how's it hanging?" he asked through a mouthful of creamy pastry. 

"Black and blue," Justin replied morosely, his smile vanishing. "Well, more like a really splotchy, ugly shade of indigo."

"Only you would try and describe the exact shade of your bruised balls, Kiddo," Vic observed as he sat back down. "Speaking of colours, what was that on your back yesterday, Brian? The glimpse I got when your sweatshirt rode up was intriguing."

Plunking the carafe of coffee that had just finished dripping onto the table, Deb trotted into the pantry.

Brian downplayed the importance of the drawing, "It's just a little something Sunshine sketched."

A pained look flitted across Justin's countenance. "I bet it's gone now, huh?"

"Twat," Brian chided affectionately. "Did you forget about the photos?"

"Photos?" Vic arched an eyebrow. "That sounds like more than ‘a little something.'"

Brian discovered that he was reluctant to talk about the drawing. He'd rather keep it private - and special - between him and Justin for now. "You can see it when the painting is finished."

"Painting?" Debbie's eyebrows shot up as she returned, a folded black garment in her hands.

"Yeah." Brian shrugged. "Maybe I'll have an unveiling."

Justin squeaked, "Like... a party?"

The adman smirked. "It won't be like a party. It will be a party. All arty-farty, with champagne and hors d'oeuvres." The more he thought about it, the more Brian liked the idea. He might even require fancy dress; the thought of Justin in a proper suit made him salivate. If the kid was hot in his untailored St James uniform, he'd be scorching in a fitted suit.

"You can wear this." Debbie passed the item across the table to Brian.

Belatedly realising it was his Pride sweatshirt, Brian hurriedly rescued it before the sleeve that was coming loose ended up in the plate of ladylocks. "Be careful," he snapped.

The redhead rolled her eyes. "It can be laundered, you know. I put it through the wash this morning - that rigatoni sauce came right out."

Brian had to resist the urge to open up the sweatshirt and inspect it, concerned that it might have shrunk or disintegrated.

"I washed it on a delicate cycle," Debbie assured him, her gaze softening. "It's as good as new."

Since it was too late to act like he didn't care about the threadbare garment, Brian swivelled around and draped his sweatshirt over the back of the chair. Satisfied that it would stay in place and not fall to the floor, he faced front again.

He could now pour some of the dark liquid into the mug that had appeared in front of him and inhale some much-needed caffeine without worrying about any droplets splattering his sweatshirt. "What's that?" he asked suspiciously when he realised Justin was drinking something that wasn't water. Hadn't Deb restricted the boy to H20 last night? Brian would've done that earlier yesterday if he'd stopped to think about it, although the guava juice didn't seem to have done the lad any harm.

Justin had just opened his mouth to respond when Debbie beat him to it. "It's the herbal tea Sunshine and Vic like. I decided that would be okay-"

Since he was sitting right next to the brat, Brian noticed the sly way Justin smiled into his mug. He must've outmanoeuvred Deb, Brian reckoned, hiding a smile of his own as he scooped up a scant teaspoonful of sugar and stirred it into his coffee.

"-and that he could follow the three-hour rule starting tomorrow."

Brian couldn't immediately recall what the three-hour rule was, so he simply gave the tea an assessing look.

As he'd expected, Debbie elaborated. "Sunshine can drink milk and eat dairy as long as it's been three hours since he took his antibiotic. As long as it's in moderation," she added with a warning look at the blond.

Justin nodded his enthusiastic agreement. "I'll be careful," he promised around a mouthful of ladylock.

Adding a bit more sugar to his coffee - he didn't want it to taste bitter - Brian noted, "It's a good thing, then, that I stocked up on whole milk." Thank fuck the label was a different colour, or he might end up with the extra carbs in his cereal - instead of the skim milk he preferred.

Debbie frowned at him, a dangerous glint in her eye, either not noticing or ignoring the blinding smile on Justin's face. "What does that matter?"

"It's what the brat drinks, and since I'm taking him back to the loft-"

The redhead didn't let him get any further than that. "No way, buster!" she yelled, her voice rising. "Surely you're not saying what I think you're saying!"

Shit. "What's the big deal?" he asked more belligerently than he meant to. If Debbie dug her heels in, she'd be a royal pain in his arse. 

"The ‘big deal'" - the redhead made sarcastic air quotes with her fingers - "is that Sunshine is better off here with me!" Her fists returned to her hips and she stared at Brian with a stubborn expression on her face.

It was clear, Brian thought, reluctantly amused, where Mikey had acquired that mulish look.  

Mild-voiced, Vic suggested, "Maybe we should let Sunshine decide where he wants to be?"

Debbie's head whipped around and she snapped, "You gonna teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Victor Grassi?"

The three men stared blankly at the feisty redhead. "What does that even mean?" Justin asked plaintively.

Brian could visibly see Debbie rewinding what she'd just said before reluctantly laughing. "That's what Nonna used to say," she half-heartedly protested.

"Yeah, to us," her brother verified. "But she was our grandmother."

Deb wasn't quite ready to give up the fight. "I still know better than some snot-nosed kid-"

That was a bit much, thought Brian. "I'm twenty-eight."

"Twenty-nine," Justin corrected, just as he had once before.

Little shit. Didn't he know he should keep quiet if he wanted to go home with Brian? At least the adman could spin this in his favour, as he also had back then. "All the more reason," he said. "I know how to take care of myself - and of the twat. Heck, I've done it before."

It looked like Debbie was weakening, but then Vic had to go and say, "Until you kicked him out."

Justin, who'd been about to help himself to another ladylock, only to notice his plate had been polished off and not even crumbs remained, looked up at Brian with a betrayed expression on his face.

Fuck. "I shouldn't have," Brian confessed, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Even if he'd left the loft unlocked, I shouldn't have kicked him out."

"If?" Debbie queried sharply.

"If," Brian confirmed. "The twat's pretty responsible. I should've at least listened when he said he'd set the alarm and locked the door. I don't have an excuse for what I did." Excuses were bullshit anyway, and Brian wasn't going to resort to them.

The blond boy looked at him from watery blue eyes. "Possession withdrawal," he croaked.

Brian blinked, trying to wash away whatever was pricking at his eyes. "A friend told me once there was something more valuable than my possessions - something that couldn't be replaced." With his index finger, he mindlessly wrote Justin on the surface of the table. "She was right. So, if it's okay with you, I'll be taking my partner home with me.

"Partner!" Debbie squealed, her voice almost as piercing as when Justin had called her mum yesterday. "Partner," she enunciated the word more slowly as she bustled around the table and enveloped Brian in a massive hug. "I'm so proud of you, honey," she gushed.

Christ. Considering how long he'd known Deb, you'd think he would've been prepared for that kind of overreaction. Even with his ears smushed between her tits, he could hear Vic chuckling at his predicament.

Fortunately, she let go of him before he ran out of air and turned her smothering attention on Justin. "Partner!" she crowed again, hugging the bejesus out of the kid.

Vic interceded when, a minute later, Justin's feet thumped against his chair legs in what could've been distress. "You'd better let Sunshine go, Sis, or Brian's gonna have a dead partner."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Kiddo," Debbie apologised as she released the blond, whose face was splotched red. "I'm just so excited for you!"

"Um... thanks," the blond rasped out a diplomatic reply, his oxygen-deprived brain probably unable to come up with a better answer.

"You should spend more time with that..." Brian cast about for what to call Carl without sounding like a starry-eyed tween "...cop friend of yours. When he heard, he didn't get all-"

It was just as well that Debbie interrupted him because he'd been to say ‘overwrought,' which would've gone over like a lead balloon. She was already displeased anyway and let him know in no uncertain terms. "Carl knows Justin's your partner?" she screeched. "He knew before me?"

"Theodore blabbed when Horvath came to the hospital." Brian wasn't above throwing his friend under the bus. Besides, this whole partner thing was Ted's fault.

The blond brat grinned but didn't correct him this time, thankfully.

"What? Ted knows too? Did you tell all of Pittsburgh before you told me?"

Well, shit. Brian hadn't exactly handled that smoothly. In an effort to calm Debbie down, he admitted, "It was Theodore who came up with that word." He wasn't keen on revealing that bit of information; he'd rather the woman who'd mothered him for years assumed he'd had the balls to say it first himself.

Unsurprisingly, Debbie pretty much read his mind. "You're still the one freely throwing around the P-word, kid. I'm proud of you."

Jesus. Embarrassed by how much her approval meant, Brian gave her a half smile, before quickly turning his attention to his coffee. It must need a bit more sugar; it didn't taste quite right.

"Be that as it may," Debbie continued, "the next time you have big news, you'd better tell me first."

Brian snorted in a fond sort of way. Only Deb would think he could control a situation like that - he couldn't have exactly gagged Theodore before he spilled the beans to Carl. 

His appetite apparently restored, Justin reached for another ladylock and did a pretty good job of basically inhaling it in one go.

Brian, not to be outdone, picked up another of the cream-filled goodies and slid it into his mouth, swallowing it down all at once.

"I can't decide which of you is better at that." Vic leered at Brian and then at Justin. "Wanna demonstrate again?"

"Jesus." Debbie fanned herself with a paper napkin. "That was hot. I want you to promise me, Sunshine," she addressed the flushed blond, "that you'll stick to handjobs and oral sex if you want to fool around. I don't want you attempting anal sex until you're completely well."

"Mmph," came Justin's strangled reply, his entire face now a fiery red.

Brian tilted his chair up on the back legs. "I can work with that." He had no intention of having any kind of sex with the boy until the urologist gave Justin the all-clear, but the twat didn't need to know that. He had to get his kicks somehow; it might as well come from teasing his boy if Brian couldn't have sex.

Justin's shoulders slumped and he shot a dejected glance at his crotch.

Fuck, he'd neglected to take into account how downcast the boy must be. Brian wouldn't like to be teased either if his manhood was out of commission. He'd just have to show Justin that Brian wanted him for more than sex, even if he didn't say so.

"C'mon, Twat, let's get your stuff and go home," Brian suggested, not really aware that he'd just referred to the loft as both their home.

A little of Justin's natural enthusiasm returned, and he smiled at his lover.

While the lad put his trainers back on, Brian jogged up the stairs to collect some of Justin's clothes from his room. "Fuck," he grunted when he glanced around and realised that the only thing to put the clothes in was the disreputable duffel bag. This was the last time the shoddy thing would assault his eyes, Brian determined as he stuffed the clothes into it; he'd replace it when he went Christmas shopping.

A few minutes later, he made his way down the stairs two at a time, the duffel bag in one hand and Justin's backpack slung over his shoulder. The teenager, looking like a blond cherub inside Brian's too large peacoat, the white scarf wrapped around his neck, was standing in the entryway next to Debbie.

The brunet's heart gave a weird lurch, making him regret eating more than one of the ladylocks. The damned things must've given him indigestion.

Deb shoved a large plastic bag at him. "This has your sweatshirt, Sunshine's medications, the herbal tea he likes, and some cookies to tide both of you over."

Like he'd eat cookies, Brian thought with a roll of his eyes. The ladylocks had been an aberration.

"It's just for a day or two, right?" Debbie implored, looking up at Brian.

You'd think the kid was moving to Alaska or something. 

"Yeah, yeah," Brian tried to brush her off, but his surrogate mother's pleading blue eyes got to him - just like they always did. With a twist of his lips, he joked, "You're not getting rid of him that easily, Ma."

"You either, ragazzo. I like having you around just as much as Sunshine," the woman told him. She then gave Justin a hug before ordering, "Get on with you. Vic and I are gonna watch the telly."

Well, she didn't have to tell Brian twice.

Later that night, after Justin kicked him in the shin for the third time since they had lain down, Brain asked in a weary voice, "What's wrong?"

"Soz," Justin mumbled. He'd been glad that his lover wanted to call it a night early on - the trauma of the last couple of days hadn't affected just him, and he could tell Brian was worn out - but no matter how hard Justin tried, he just couldn't settle.

"You need a cold pack?" Brian assumed, pulling away a little so that he could get up.

Justin immediately missed the close contact, Brian having been curled up behind him, the brunet's skin warm against his.

"No!" He reached behind him, grabbing hold of the older man's thigh. "My balls are okay; I mean, they hurt, but not like before. I'll ice them in the morning if I need to."

"What's the problem then, brat?" the exasperated older man asked. "You're usually a regular chatterbox - unless your mouth is full that is," Brian observed, a teasing note entering his voice. "Or unless you're sleeping. You were so quiet on the ride over here that I was sure you'd fallen asleep."

That was because he'd been agonising about the whole thing with the POAs ever since then - ever since he'd talked to Melanie, really. Justin had thought he would have more time to figure out how to ask about it, but then Brian unexpectedly showed up at Deb's before he'd got anywhere with how to phrase the all-important question. He knew he was driving Brian nuts, but he couldn't stop thinking about the powers of attorney. Unfortunately, he couldn't nerve himself up properly so that he could talk about the situation either.

"Um, I just-" he got out before grinding to a halt.

"Christ, Justin, just spit it out," Brian demanded, his irritation obvious.

Crap. His lover wasn't going to want him to stay if Justin wouldn't talk, wouldn't let him sleep... couldn't have sex with him. Brian would probably bundle him up back into the jeep and dump him back at Debbie's, he worried. He knew he was being irrational, but it wasn't like he had no foundation for that. Even though Brian now believed Justin was blameless in regard to the burglary, he'd thought differently at one time. He'd acted like Justin - at best - was nothing but trouble.

This whole thing with the POAs was just a different kind of trouble, the teenager thought, squirming around some more. He wished it wasn't so difficult to ask Brian to be his POA. He didn't want Brian to reject him out of hand, but he was glumly certain that was what would happen.

Stroking a hand along Justin's flank, his tone gentler, Brian pressed, "You can tell me anything, okay? Even if you've gotten bad news from Allegheny about the MRI. We'll figure it out together. That's what partners do." 

Shit. Brian must suspect something horrible had happened - like that the doctors had found something on the MRI after Justin left the ER. "It's, uh, it's nothing bad," he hastened to reassure his lover. "It has nothing to do with, you know. Well, it does and it doesn't," he then contradicted himself.

The brunet made a sound as if to speak but Justin rambled on, the dam now broken by the P-word. "I talked to Melanie today and she said I should talk to you about it before I ask Debbie. And Harley kept talking about blowjobs and I just, uh, I don't want to trick you into it."

"The bulldyke's in cahoots with your budgie?" Brian drawled. "What's Debbie's role? I haven't quite figured that out," he added sardonically.

"Huh? No, there's no collusion," Justin babbled, completely failing to explain what he wanted. "I don't want to be an inconvenience to you, but I'd be really grateful if you'd do it for me, you know? I'd ask Debbie, and she would be great too, but I'd rather it be you, Bri."

"What?" Brian got in edgewise.

The question didn't even register with the distraught teen. "I'm so sorry for springing it on you like this, and I don't want to remind you of that thing with Ted. Nothing's going to happen to me, though, so don't worry, but just in case, you know?"

"I still have no idea what Melanie, that bird, Debbie - and now Theodore - have to do with anything. Maybe you'd care to clue me in?" Brian suggested.

Geesh, if his lover hadn't wanted to boot him back to Debbie's before, he surely must now, after that incoherent word vomit. This was a lot to burden someone with, so he'd just have to accept it if Brian refused. Gathering his courage, he eked out, "I, uh, want you to be my POA."

"I can do that," Brian said slowly, his puzzlement manifest in his voice.

"Um... really?" Justin couldn't believe Brian had agreed so easily. "If I were ever hurt, even though I'm not going to be, you'd have to make medical decisions for me, you know?" he started babbling again. "I- forget I asked, okay? I saw the look on your face when you told Ted you never wanted to be put in that position again."

Brian was silent for the longest time, which really unnerved Justin. Even though he'd known this was what would happen, he couldn't help feeling deflated. It was too much for anyone to consider really, never mind Brian. He should never have brought it-

"I want to do it," Brian stated resolutely.

Justin, who wasn't really listening and therefore heard ‘no way' instead of what Brian had actually said, did his best not to sound upset. "I completely understand. It would be awful to have to make a life and death-"

"Justin," his lover cut in firmly.

"Huh?"

"I said, I want to do it. I'll be your POA."

"You will?" Justin was astonished. Why would Brian agree to do this when he hated the whole idea? "You can change your mind, you know," he hastened to assure his partner. It was really hard to keep giving Brian an out, but Justin had to be fair about it. He still couldn't believe the older man was willing to do this for him.

"I won't change my mind," Brian insisted, his hand rhythmically stroking across Justin's skin. "Now go to sleep. We can talk about it more in the morning."

God, but that felt good, the lad thought, all the activity and the stress of the day catching up with him now that he'd managed to ask Brian - in a totally backassward fashion - about the POA. The tension that had locked up his muscles fled all at once, and he could feel himself drifting off as Brian continued to run a soothing hand over his body. 

"'kay," Justin got out with the last bit of his energy.

Brian looked down at the sleeping boy in his arms, the sleep he'd so desired now eluding him. It was true; he had been determined not to have to make life or death decisions for anyone else ever again. If something that serious did happen to Justin, it would be fucking awful. But when the boy asked, he'd realised that he wanted to be the one when it came to Justin. He didn't want it to be Debbie. She wasn't Justin's partner; he was.

Justin's request had him mulling things over even more. It had been a while since he realised that he wanted the boy around for more than a convenient fuck - Operation Twat Retrieval had grown beyond that in scope - but it just now slotted into place in his mind that he wanted Justin here permanently. The loft was where his partner belonged. 

It wasn't only Justin who needed to have a POA drawn up. He wanted Justin - not Mikey - to be the one who made decisions about him. After the thing with Ted, it had made sense for him and Michael to choose each other. Now, however, they both had partners. If he talked directly to Mikey, his childhood friend would probably kick up a fuss, so maybe he'd mention it to Dr Dave. If they worked it right, Michael could come to him about switching his POA from Brian, and he could matter-of-factly tell his friend that he was doing the same. There'd still be a hullabaloo, but not to the same extent - he hoped - as if he were the one to approach Michael.

Setting aside that less-important matter, Brian began plotting when the best time would be to ask Justin to move in with him. He needed to ensure the answer would be an emphatic ‘Yes!' when he popped the question. It would probably be best to let the boy stay with Debbie some of the time, especially over the holidays. If need be, he could even squeeze into that torturously uncomfortable twin bed with the twat...

Before he knew it, his arms securely around the blond, Brian had joined his partner in dreamland.