Chapter 9 - Rumors or Reality?

When Justin had Brian completely calm, he managed to convince the worn out man to get into bed and rest. An exhausted Brian had fallen asleep almost instantly. Justin was pretty emotionally exhausted himself, but he was too restless and worried to sleep. Instead, the younger man got up and went back to the kitchen to clean up the guava juice and sweep up the broken glass.

Justin puttered around the loft, ordered Chinese delivery, puttered some more, devoured a large carton of Orange Chicken and another of Veggie Fried Rice, thought about Brian's meltdown, sketched and thought some more. Something was definitely off with his favorite Stud. Justin was determined to finally figure out what was wrong and do what he could to fix it. The only problem was that he'd somehow have to get Brian to cooperate and talk to him - not exactly Brian's forte - if he was going to be able to solve this.

Michael had been making noises all week about how something was wrong with his Best Friend, and how they should all get together and force Brian to go to a doctor. Brian himself had repeatedly denied there was anything wrong and flat out refused the idea of a doctor. Justin had tried to stay out of it - he knew a losing battle when he saw one. But, after today, Justin wasn't so sure Michael wasn't right.

Two hours later Brian was still asleep and Justin was now getting even more concerned. Brian had seemed tired a lot lately, although Justin thought if anyone had an excuse to be tired it was him since Brian had been keeping him up till all hours almost every night. But, even so, he'd never known Brian to just take a nap in the middle of the afternoon - unless, of course, you meant the word 'nap' as a euphemism for fucking - in that case, he and Brian 'napped' quite often. Sometimes they'd even sleep for a bit after their 'nap'. But a two plus hour nap that didn't involve any fucking at all was unheard of.

Justin finally decided it was time. He was just putting off the inevitable. Time to bite the bullet and get it over with. He was going to have to wake Brian up and get him to . . . TALK.

After getting Brian out of bed, comfortably seated on the couch and served with what Justin considered a ridiculously small bowl of stir fried veggies, which was all Brian would agree to in lieu of dinner, the determined boy set to work. Getting his taciturn lover to talk to him was tortuous. It took every ounce of patience Justin had, along with a bit of light teasing, lots of empathy and tons of just plain old determination, but in the end Justin thought he had the whole story of what had caused Brian's tantrum.

Once Justin had the full story, it was clear. Ted was a jerk. The ancient Incans should be cursed for ever daring to cultivate something as delicious and fattening as potatos. Clive Christain cologn was a complete rip off. And, Brian had now decided he hated guava juice. In other words, Brian had had a bad day. What still wasn't clear was why he'd so completely overreacted.

Brian did admit that he hadn't been feeling well for the past two weeks. Ever since that night at Deb's, he'd had cramps and stomach pain off and on, although never as bad as that first night. He also admitted to being extremely fatigued - which was unusual for the man who'd always been a night owl, partying till all hours, getting a few hours of sleep and then back at it fresh as a daisy the next morning. Brian assured his inquisitor that he hadn't been drinking much - it seemed to make the cramps worse - and hadn't gone near Anita or her shit in weeks. Justin happened to know for a fact that Brian hadn't been out fucking and sucking himself into exhaustion, since Brian had kept him captive at the loft almost every night recently. So, it just didn't make sense that Brian should be so over tired all the time.

Unless there was something physically wrong.

Brian adamantly refused to even consider that possibility. He refused to even discuss it. He said he was fine and he was tired of everybody making such a stupid fuss over nothing. The two men argued about it for several minutes before Justin decided to drop it for the moment, knowing that the more he pressed the more stubborn Brian would get. Justin would get further using more subtle techniques.

The rest of that evening was much calmer. They stayed in and sat together on Brian's couch watching videos all night. Brian kept Justin snuggled up close to him the whole time, the smaller man's back leaning against his chest, arms and legs entwined, skin touching skin constantly, and Brian breathing in Justin's soothing presence. Justin's warm, clean, purely male scent alone seemed to work wonders at keeping Brian tranquil.

When they finally made their way to bed later that night, Brian was still being uncharacteristically open and affectionate. Justin thought the older man seemed even more vulnerable now than he'd been when he was lying on the floor crying in his arms. It was nice, but a little disconcerting.

He wasn't at all surprised when Brian rolled onto his stomach and shyly held up a condom with his face buried in the pillow. Brian might not be able to vocalize what he needed, but Justin understood. He took the condom, rolled it onto his already interested cock and proceeded to make love to his man, tenderly, quietly, languorously, until they both obtained the emotional release they needed to finally sleep.

Unfortunately, that had been the last Justin had seen of 'openly-affectionate-loving-Brian'. Bright and early the next morning Brian had gone into 'damage control' mode. In typical Brian Kinney fashion, he'd scared himself silly by opening up so much to Justin and was now regretting it. And, as expected, the first thing he did was push Justin away - literally - shoving the boy out the door as soon as he'd found his clothes the next morning. Justin tried not to take it personally. He'd actually kind of expected something like this. He figured he could wait it out and eventually Brian would relent and let him back in.

But it had now been three weeks since Brian's meltdown. It had been three rather difficult weeks, Justin thought. The meltdown itself could have been just the result of an extremely bad day - everybody occasionally had days like that. What was more troubling was Brian's reaction to his reaction and his seeming determination to now keep Justin at a distance - permanently.

So much for those few halcyon weeks when Brian couldn't seem to get enough of his blond obsession. These days Brian fled whenever Justin came near him. Brian had even gone so far as to start avoiding places where he knew that they would run into each other, like the Diner.  

The second hand reports Justin had been getting from the guys the entire time weren't helping. The more Justin heard about Brian's continued odd behavior, the more worried he got. Apparently, Brian's nasty moods were now standard. Nobody dared say anything to him though because of his unpredictable temper.

A beer bottle had been thrown one night after a minor disagreement at Woody's. According to Ted, who claimed to have seen the evidence, Brian had to get a new laptop computer when the old one somehow got smashed up and then tossed unceremoniously into the dumpster at the loft. It was even rumored that Kinney was the one who'd decommissioned the scales in the gym locker room by tossing the contraption out the emergency exit door into the alley.

Deb said she thought Brian wasn't eating - he'd told her he needed to lose some weight and was on some new fangled diet that sounded pretty meager. He hadn't been seen in the Diner for weeks and had failed to show at Debbie's weekly family dinners. Deb had even tried to show up at his loft with an unexpected casserole but had been flat-out refused entrance.

Michael was going on and on about how Brian hadn't been out with them to Babylon in FOREVER. Nobody had seen him at the baths in weeks and the few times he'd showed up at Woody's, Brian had turned down every single trick. Michael had been grousing about Brian's uncharacteristic behavior incessantly to everyone on Liberty Avenue who would listen. As a direct result, rumors of Brian's demise as the resident Stud were rampant. Apparently the word 'impotent' had even been whispered - which explained the beer bottle incident at Woody's. Michael couldn't figure out why Brian was mad at him when all he'd been doing was trying to figure out what was wrong with his Best Friend.

And now, the most recent scuttlebutt in the scandal: Brian had become a full-fledged alcoholic!

Or at least that was what Michael announced this morning over breakfast at the Diner. Of course he made this declaration at the height of the Saturday morning breakfast rush, in a loud and certain voice, informing everyone of his conclusion, long before he explained the tenuous evidence supporting his theory. Needless to say, once the gang had managed to get him to sit down, lower his voice and explain what he meant, it was clear that Michael was once again jumping to unfounded conclusions.

The short explanation, after weeding out all Michael's exuberant over-exaggerations and obvious errors in logic, was that he'd let himself into the loft yesterday afternoon, unannounced, and found Brian huddled over the toilet puking his guts out. Brian had immediately assured him it was nothing - probably just food poisoning or a touch of the flu. Michael, however, was sure that Brian was just trying to cover up the fact that he was drinking heavily in the middle of the day, on a weekday even, and had imbibed so much that he was puking it all up and likely to pass out directly afterward. Thus, it was clear that Brian was an alcoholic and they needed to stage an intervention.

When questioned further, Michael was unable to confirm that he had actually seen any alcohol around, smelled alcohol on Brian's person or noted any other behavior that might indicate Brian was inebriated. And, since Brian had thrown him out of the loft as soon as he'd stopped being sick, threatening to take away Michael's key if he ever again came into Brian's home unannounced when it wasn't an emergency, Michael hadn't really had a chance to check whether or not there was alcohol involved. Nonetheless, Michael was absolutely convinced he'd solved the big Brian mystery. Ted and Emmett were still trying to talk him down when Justin finished his shift at the Diner and left in disgust.

Justin had finally had enough. He had given Brian his space and time to get over himself. Now it was time to get some answers.

Justin went straight to the loft. He rang the buzzer at the front door a couple times but there wasn't any answer. Justin could see the Jeep parked at the end of the block, though, so he was pretty sure Brian was home. He figured he'd just sit on the stoop and wait, but then, fortuitously, a neighbor he knew came bustling down the sidewalk laden with several grocery bags. Justin popped up and offered to help with her bags. She gratefully handed over about half her load and keyed open the door so they could enter.

After helping to unload the groceries, and being rewarded with a soda for his efforts, Justin headed up to the top floor and Brian's door. Using the meaty side of his fist for good effect, he hammered on the door with a steady, tireless rhythm, guaranteed to annoy anyone hiding inside until they relented and opened the door. Brian caved much sooner than Justin had expected, pulling the loft door open after less than two minutes.

"Which one sent you," Brian demanded in a raspy voice, blocking the doorway with his body. "Debbie or Michael?"

"Neither," Justin replied trying out his most charming smile. "I came of my own volition in a possibly fruitless attempt to save your reputation and guard your honor. Can I come in?"

Brian huffed a little laugh and shook his head but still stepped back and gallantly waived his visitor in. With his first step inside, it was clear to Justin that something was wrong. The loft was a mess. There were half empty food containers all over the kitchen counter and the table. There were clothes strewn about on the floor. The air was heavy and smelled funky. Justin had no idea how Brian, the neat-freak bordering on OCD, could stand it.

Justin pushed an empty pizza box out of the way and set his messenger bag on the counter then turned around to survey Brian himself. The man was almost as much of a mess as his apartment. Instead of his usual dressy casual slacks and shirt, or even a less dressy pair of jeans and a wife beater tee, Brian was attired in dirty sweat pants and a rumpled, stained tee shirt that had a hole under one arm. Justin didn't even know that Brian had owned such disreputable looking clothes. And yet, the proof was standing there in front of him.

On top of everything else, Brian looked unkempt. He obviously hadn't shaved in a couple days, his hair was flat and unwashed and he had huge dark circles under his dull looking eyes. And, not to put too fine a point on it, he smelled bad, too.

"So, where to start?" Justin figured he might as well just dive right in. "Michael announced this morning at the Diner that you're an alcoholic. Deb's convinced your anorexic. The rest of the family is withholding judgement for the time being but Ted and Em are both concerned you have serious anger management issues and probably need counseling. The rest of Liberty Avenue has their own varied opinions - I've heard everything from a serious heroin addiction to something really whacked about you having to hide out from a mafia hit man."

"I like the hit man one," was Brian's only comment as he walked over and slouched down on the couch.

Justin followed and plopped down on the couch next to Brian. "Care to inform the public about what's really wrong, Mr. Kinney? Or do you enjoy being the subject of rampant, unfounded rumors?" Brian's mouth started to open but Justin just held up one hand in a 'Stop' gesture. "Can we just skip the part where you say 'I'm fine!', I tell you 'I don't believe you', we argue a bit and then you finally come clean and admit whatever's the real problem? It'll save a lot of time."

Brian sighed, rubbed both hands over his face and then slumped even deeper into the couch cushions signaling his defeat. "I feel like crap?" he offered, making the statement sound like a question. Then he shrugged and added, "it's probably just the flu . . ." Brian himself didn't sound convinced by this diagnosis.

"Have you seen a doctor?" Justin asked.

"Several," Brian said then broke into a little half smile. "In fact I saw two doctors I know last week at the baths - they both give great head!"

"Smart ass," Justin relented with a little smile of his own. "You know what I mean."

"Justin, I don't need to go to the doctor's," Brian's pissy side came back out in full force. "They'll just tell me it's the flu and send me home with instructions to get lots of rest and drink plenty of fluids. Which is what I was TRYING to do when you barged in here."

"Brian, I don't think this is just the flu," Justin responded, trying to keep the pleading note out of his voice. "It's been going on for weeks and . . ."

Justin wanted to add that he was worried. That he loved Brian. That he'd do anything to help Brian no matter what was wrong. That he'd always be there for Brian. But he didn't, because Justin knew Brian wouldn't listen to any of that type of sentimental drivel. Justin could see in his eyes that Brian was already shutting down and preparing to argue the matter. But he had to do something, say something, to get Brian to listen and get real help.

Justin quickly decided on a strategic partial retreat. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Brian shook his head but refused to look at Justin.

"Okay," Justin sighed, patted Brian's thigh and then stood up. "You sit here and rest. I'll see what I can do about some lunch."

"Justin," Brian attempted a half-hearted protest.

"Rest!" Justin interrupted, pointing at the couch and looking at his patient sternly as he moved towards the kitchen.

Ten minutes later Justin was back with a bottle of water and some lightly buttered wheat toast. He'd also managed to tidy up the kitchen a bit and had gotten rid of most of the trash. Brian was curled up in a pathetic ball at the far end of the couch, his eyes closed but clearly not asleep. He was rocking his body slightly and biting his bottom lip, clearly in distress.

Justin set the food down on the coffee table and laid a cool hand on the sick man's sweaty brow. Brian's skin felt a bit warm, a little clammy, but not really feverish. Justin didn't think this was a mere virus.

"Hey, big guy. Time for lunch," Justin said quietly, shifting so he would be able to help Brian sit up.

"I don't think I can, Justin," Brian mumbled, laying there with his eyes still scrunched tightly closed.

"It's just toast, Brian," Justin replied. "You'll feel better if you get something in your stomach. Come on, just try a bite or two."

Brian groaned and rolled over, accepting Justin's offered hand to help himself sit up. He looked down on the plate of toast and examined it from afar as if it were something he'd never seen before. There was a look of abject distaste on his face that would have been funny if Justin weren't so worried. Finally, after working up his courage, Brian picked up one toast triangle and tentatively nibbled at the point. He swallowed the small bite carefully, then waited to see what would happen.

Apparently the first bite seemed like it would stay down. Brian sighed and delicately nibbled again at the toast. He managed about four tiny bites then set the toast down and indicated to Justin that he wanted some water. Justin, who'd been following these developments with great interest, quickly cracked open the water bottle and handed it over. With almost as much care as he'd approached the toast, Brian took a minute little sip of water and then waited again.

Everything seemed to be going so well. Justin relaxed and sat down in the nearby armchair. Brian picked up the toast again and took a slightly larger bite this time.

But, before he could swallow, Brian dropped the slice of toast on the floor and his face turned a fascinating shade of celadon green. The man took two or three deep breaths through his nose, trying to keep control. Unfortunately, this didn't work. Brian clamped his hand across his mouth, jumped up from the couch and ran to the bathroom.

Justin hung his head in defeat. He picked up the toast and carried it away to the kitchen then followed the sounds of nausea towards the bathroom. When he got there, he found Brian sitting on the floor, his head resting tiredly against the toilet seat, one arm draped across the back of the toilet and the other hooked around the flush handle. justin knelt down next to the exhausted man and tried to comfort him by lightly running a hand down the sweaty back.

"Just kill me now," Brian rasped in agony.

"No way," Justin replied in a teasing tone, trying futilely to lighten the mood. "I like having you around too much . . . When you're not puking, that is."

Wrinkling up his nose at the more-than-unpleasant odors surrounding his prostrate lover, Justin stood up and started to pull off his own clothes. "How about we try a shower instead of food, hm? Maybe you'll feel better once you're cleaned up a bit."

"I don't have enough energy to bathe. I'll just sleep here on the floor by my trusty toilet," Brian tried weakly to joke back. "Go. Save yourself. Just leave me . . ."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, big guy. Your corpse would just stink up the place. So, upsy-daisy. Let's go. Shower first and then, if you're a good boy, I'll take you to bed," Justin said with an insincere leer that raised a tiny smile on Brian's sad face.

Justin reached down a hand towards a huddled Brian. Glancing once more at the toilet as if to determine if it was safe to leave, Brian grabbed ahold of Justin's hand and climbed ungracefully to his feet. He stood there, wobbling a little, while Justin tried to pull off his shirt and hold him up at the same time. After successfully dealing with the shirt, Justin pushed down the baggy sweat pants and helped Brian step out of them. Then, leaving Brian standing in place on his own, Justin briefly turned to open the shower door and start the water.

"Justin?" It was a little breathy whimper almost unheard over the noise of the shower coming on.

Turning back as quickly as he could, Justin watched in horror as Brian's eyes rolled up into his head. Then the tall man sank bonelessly to the floor in a dead faint.

Justin managed to grab the limp body just before Brian hit the floor. He laid the tall, heavy man down on the tile floor as gently as he could. He scooted around quickly so that he could raise the unconscious head up onto his thigh. Brian's eyelids started to flutter open almost immediately but it took him a minute or two to focus on the worried blond hovering over him.

Justin gently brushed the sweaty auburn locks back off Brian's damp forehead. "Well, you've got two options left, Brian," Justin announced matter-of-factly. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital now or should I call an ambulance."