Chapter 27 - Cranks and Crackpots.

Kevan was cranky.

Of course he didn’t know the WORD cranky but he knew how it felt.

It felt like one of your favorite people things had disappeared and you couldn’t find him anywhere and it had been days and weeks and months and years since he’d been there to hold you and kiss you and talk to you. And you cried for him but nobody was listening and he didn’t come back. And nobody else knew how to make your tummy warm and full like The Daddy did. But The Daddy was just gone.

It felt like when they took away the yummy wet stuff that you liked to drink - the stuff that you got from The Daddy when he wasn’t missing - and replaced it with some horrible gunk that smelled icky and tasted even worse. You tried to knock the hard plastic thing with the rubbery little sucking part on the end out of The Papa’s hands but he just kept trying to shove it in your face. And when you did suck up some of the icky gunk it tasted like doo-doo, so you spit it all out, but then it dribbled down your chin and got on your skin and then YOU smelled icky too. So you cried and screamed but nobody listened and they just kept shoving the bottle into your mouth until you were too tired to cry anymore and just went to sleep.

If felt like when that funny big green thing that was soft and cuddly was too far away from you to reach and you really needed to hold it and tell it all your baby troubles. You know, the thing that The Papa called ‘Uglyworm’. Uglyworm had become a really good friend lately and you missed him. And you could see him lying on the floor but he was all the way over there and you were a baby and that meant you couldn’t just get up and go and get Uglyworm. And you wriggled and squirmed but couldn’t figure out how to make your body move to where Uglyworm was waiting. So you cried and cried but the big people things weren’t paying any attention and the day was just getting worse and worse but nobody seemed to care.

That’s what cranky felt like.

“Hey, Baby!” Emmett’s always cheerful greeting echoed around the vast spaces of the Greatroom as he practically skipped into the house. “And hey, Baby’s baby!” Em added, chucking Kevan under the chin as he capered by. “How are two of my favorite boys doing this glorious morning?

“Oh, we’re doing just fucking great!” Justin practically growled back at the annoyingly over-enthusiastic manny. “Brian left us last night, Kevan’s not happy at all about being instantly weaned off breast milk and I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do in the meantime while Brian’s off figuring out what he wants to be when he grows up. So, yeah. We’re totally having the best fucking day of our lives. Thanks for asking!”

Right then Justin lost all patience and threw the bottle that Kevan had spit out for the tenth time across the room. It bounced off the kitchen wall, cracked and then fell to the floor where the formula inside slowly seeped out onto the tile floor. The sight of the mess on the floor served to fuel the young blond’s anger even more and he picked up the canister of powdered formula and threw it after the bottle. When the can hit the ground, it burst open and spewed a cloud of milky yellowish-white silt into the air, which then proceeded to settle all over everything in the room.

“FUCK!” Justin screamed, venting only a tiny bit of his overall frustration.

His screaming seemed to momentarily shock Kevan, who paused in his own howling long enough to give his father a disbelieving look.

“What? Brian left you? What are you talking about, Baby?” Emmett hustled over so he was standing in front of the panting, irate youth. “Now, calm down and tell me what’s going on so I can figure out how to help you.”

“He’s off to Cancun for another Armani modelling thing,” Justin explained, wiping away a smear of milky formula that had coalesced on his cheek where the powder drifting through the air had mixed with an escaped tear. “Only, I’m not sure if he’s coming back after the Cancun trip is over. He was blathering on last night about how he needed to figure things out and a bunch of other self-indulgent bullshit. And I think . . . I think . . . I think he’s going to leave for good, Em,” Justin finally couldn’t hold back the angry tears as he collapsed into the strong, caring arms of his friend.

“Oh, Sweetie!” Em consoled as he hugged the distraught young father in his arms. “Don’t say that. I don’t believe it for one second. Brian may be going through alot right now, and maybe he needed to get away for a while, but I don’t believe it that he would ever just up and leave for good. That man loves you two so much it’s crazy. You're the love of his life and he simply adores Kevan. After everything he had to go through to have that sweet little baby - no Brian wouldn’t leave him. Not forever. And not you either. He probably just needed some ‘Brian’ time - you KNOW this father thing is a huge adjustment for our confused Stud - but as soon as he’s got whatever it is that’s bothering him out of his system, he’ll be back. I can practically guarantee it, Baby.”

“I don’t know, Em. You should have heard him. He said . . . he said he’d call when he got back so we could ‘make other arrangements’! That fucking sounds to me like he’s not planning on coming back.”

“Oh, Justin!” Auntie Em moved away far enough to grab the dish towel hanging off the handle of the fridge and used it to gently wipe away his friend’s milk-powdery tears. “I still don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I’ve known Brian a long time and yes, he can be a total bitch sometimes, but he’s always been as loyal as they come. Look at the way he’s stuck by Michael all these years even when they consistently seem to get on each other’s last nerve. Brian might mock us and tease us but he would never abandon his family or friends, let alone his partner and his son. You’ll see, Sweetie. He’ll come back, his tail between his legs, once he realizes what a total ass he’s been. Of course he won’t ever ADMIT he was being a jackass, but he probably won’t stop you while you ream his ass out for acting like a total idiot, which is pretty much the same thing in Kinney-speak.”

“I don’t know, Em . . . you should have heard him,” Justin sniffled and used the dishtowel to swipe at his running nose.

“Well I DO know!” Em insisted and, as if that was the end of the discussion, he turned away from Justin and started to clean up poor Kevan who looked like he’d been liberally dusted from head to toe with the creamy yellow powder that was still filtering down over everything and everyone. “Now, you go get yourself cleaned up and ready for school. I’m going to deal with this mess here in the kitchen and then we’ll try to figure out how to get our little man reconciled to his formula instead of Daddy's Milk. And we just won’t worry about Brian and all his drama queen tendencies until later, okay?”

“Okay. I guess,” Justin sighed, gave Emmett - who was now bouncing the baby on his hip in an attempt to quell another spate of baby sobbing - a half-hearted smile and then headed off down the hall towards the bedroom to get ready for the day.

“Now, YOU, young man need to buck up and stop stressing your Papa out. You certainly are Brian Kinney’s baby - that’s the only place you could have inherited drama princess genes of THIS magnitude,” Auntie Em prattled on as he bustled around the kitchen, picking things up, putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher and then sweeping up the piles of powdered milk.

Kevan, who was now propped up on the counter-top in his bouncy chair, was distracted enough by the manny’s antics that he forgot to cry for several consecutive minutes. When the worst of the mess was tidied up, Auntie Em turned his attention back to the curiously watching baby. As soon as he was once again the center of attention, Kevan seemed to recall that he was supposed to be upset and started to whimper a bit. “Drama princess!” was Emmett’s only response, as he shook his head and went about mixing up a fresh bottle of formula for the little budding queen.

Instead of the standard baby bottle, Kevan had always prefered a bottle that had handles on each side so that he could hold onto it himself. Justin had joked from the beginning that his son was just exhibiting the same stubborn independence as his Daddy. Em was fine with it though since it made everything a lot easier for him when Kevan could hold onto the bottle better and wasn’t constantly dropping it. So, Emmett dug around in the cupboard a bit until he found the baby’s favorite two-handled bottle before starting the process of making up a fresh serving of formula. A minute later the microwave dinged, announcing that a warmed bottle was ready.

Emmett handed the bottle over to Kevan, who started to take it as he normally would if it were one of the warmed up bottles of expressed breast milk he was used to. But then the baby wrinkled up his cute little turned up nose and started to shove the unsatisfactory-smelling thing away from him with a loud wail. Emmett immediately shoved the nipple of the bottle into the baby’s wide open mouth and almost laughed when Kevan’s eyes got big with surprise and he looked up at his Auntie with a confused look. The baby only sucked for about thirty seconds though before he flung the bottle away from him and let all the formula he’d sucked up dribble out of his mouth. The gooey liquid trickled over the baby’s chin and down into the folds of his slightly chubby neck. Kevan immediately resumed his inconsolate wailing.

‘Oh well,’ thought the manny. ‘I guess Little Mr. Cranky-pants will eat when he gets hungry enough. Silly little drama princess!’

Brian looked at himself in the scratched up mirror of the airplane’s lavatory and wasn’t at all happy with what he saw. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot and there were dark bags underneath. His skin looked yellowed and dry - although that could just be the terrible lighting in the john. However, it could also be because he hadn’t slept worth shit the night before and, after he’d tossed and turned for more than two hours, he’d given up, grabbed the bottle of Beam off the liquor cart and then drank until he’d finally passed out. He hoped that the makeup people that Armani hired were good enough to hide the damage he’d done. But it was either that or not sleep at all while his mind spiraled through his problems over and over again all night.

He sighed, ran some of the lukewarm tap water into the palm of one hand and then splashed it onto his face. It didn’t seem to do much to help him wake up or refresh him. And the effort it took to pry a paper towel out of the dispenser that had become jammed with shredded paper in one corner so that it was impossible to get a towel to come out whole, wasn’t worth it. Brian ended up using the ragged third of a towel he managed to get hold of to dab away the remaining wetness. Then he unlatched the door and made his way back to his seat. At least Armani had sprung for first class so maybe he could catch a bit more sleep on the almost four hour flight.

Brian was seated by the window, so the guy on the aisle had to get up in order to let him back in. Brian had already admired the well-built, sandy-haired hunk with the icy blue eyes as soon as he’d got on the plane. They hadn’t said more than a curt ‘morning’ as they nodded to each other when they first came aboard. Which was just fine with Brian, since he really wasn’t in the mood to chat.

Now, though, it looked like Hunkalicious was feeling talkative. “You’re Brian Kinney, right?” Hunky stated in a conversational tone.

“Yeah.” Brian responded, trying to show how un-talkative he was feeling with the curt answer.

“Logan Jackson,” Hunky said, reaching across his body awkwardly and offering his hand.

“If you’re another rabid fan, I can tell you now I don’t give autographs, and no, you can’t take a picture with me to post to your facebook account,” Brian replied icily.

‘Uh . . . no. Not really a fan. Actually more of a colleague, I guess you’d say. I’m doing the Armani shoot too. I recognized you from last fall’s ads,” Hunky explained, still maintaining a jovial little smile even in the face of Brian’s taciturn scowl.

“Hmmm. So, are you the one that we all had to move our schedules around for?” Brian asked, finally looking at the guy more closely and realizing that he did look kind of familiar.

“I’m afraid so. I’m due in Los Angeles . . .”

“Whatever,” Brian interrupted Hunky before he had to listen to some lame-assed excuse followed by a complete recap of the guy’s entire acting career. “Listen, Loren, I’ve got a bitch of a hangover, so if you could keep the chatter to a minimum while I try to sleep here, I’ll be less inclined to call you nasty names behind your back once we’re on set.”

Hunky looked to be at a complete loss for words after that. Brian mentally congratulated himself on effectively shutting the guy up. Then he pulled the window shade down, turned onto his side, wadded the miniscule airline pillow into a less lumpy shape, pulled the thin blanket over his shoulder and tried to get as comfortable as was possible within the limitation of an airplane seat. It must have worked since he was asleep within about ten minutes and didn’t wake until the pilot announced that they were about to land.

And he had barely had to talk to his Hunky seatmate at all.

“Damn it!”

Justin was just entering the Greatroom with Kevan in his arms when he heard Emmett slam the front door shut, cursing loudly. The uncharacteristic expletive coming from the almost-always-cheerful manny immediately alerted Justin that there was some kind of serious trouble brewing. He quickly laid his son down in the playpen full of stuffed animals and other toys which was set up next to the couches and trotted over to see what Emmett was looking at. As Justin neared, he could tell that it was a plain, brown, craft-paper wrapped package that had apparently raised such an uproar.

“What’s up, Em?”

“There’s ANOTHER of those packages without any return address. This is the fourth one already this week! I mean, doesn’t this creep get it that we’re just going to throw whatever it is out without opening it? I’m getting a little pissed off at the guy - whoever he is.” Emmett complained as he carried the small shoebox-sized parcel through the house and right out the backdoor, depositing it in the large trash bin waiting next to the garage. “I mean, really! Get a life already!” Emmett was still grousing five minutes later as he came back inside. “Whoever this stalker guy is, he obviously needs some serious help.”

“. . . . .”

When Em didn’t get any response from Justin, he looked over at the short-statured blond, who was still standing near the front door, the stack of mail that Emmett had handed him earlier lying in a scattered pile on the floor and his face as pale as a sheet, looking at a sheet of paper in his hands.

“I think WE’RE the ones going to need some serious help, Em” Justin finally answered once the tall worried man had come up behind him, startling him back to the present with a touch on his shoulder.

Without saying more, Justin handed the letter he’d been reading over to his friend and saw an echoing look of dread settle on Emmett’s face.

“. . . How dare you just throw out the gifts that I sent you! That’s so petty, Brian. And I know you don’t mean it. We would be so perfect together. You know it as well as I do - even though you’re fighting it right now. But I KNOW we were meant for each other. We could be so happy. Just you and me and our sweet little Kevan . . .” Emmett read aloud from the body of the note, his voice dying away at the end as he quickly scanned the rest of that page as well as the three other sheets of paper that were covered, back and front, with a closely packed scrawl of disjointed writing.

“Justin . . .”

“Yeah . . . I know. It’s . . .” Justin covered his mouth with his left hand and then brought his right hand up to cover that - only just barely holding back his fear by means of that physical action.

“We need to call the police, Justin. This is more than just crazy gifts . . . This is crazy insane.” Emmett put the letter down on the side table next to the door and moved to pick up the phone. He pushed a few buttons, waited a moment and then said, “Pittsburgh . . . Pittsburgh Police Department, please . . .”

Meanwhile Justin was still simply standing there, listening to Emmett’s description of events to the police, unmoving, not sure what he was supposed to do or feel or think at this point because he was too petrified to do any of that.

And why, exactly, had Brian picked THIS week to go gadabouting around Mexico? Didn’t Justin have enough on his plate trying to deal with school, weaning Kevan, and an increased work load being dumped on him at the last minute by VanGuard - probably because the agency was caught short-handed when Brian left for his modeling gig without any advanced warning - not to mention the stress of Brian apparently leaving him alone to raise their son on his own, without adding in a crazed, angry stalker into the mix? Justin thought he was definitely due for a break.

Maybe he’d just go back to bed, hide under the covers for the rest of the day and hope it all went away. Yeah, that sounded like the best idea he’d had in a long time. If Brian was allowed to run away, Justin should be allowed to do the same.

And he would have done just that if Kevan hadn’t, thankfully, picked that moment to demand some parental attention. With a heavy stride, Justin shrugged off his incipient depression and turned to his son. He just hoped he could hold it together a little bit longer. He had to. He was all Kevan had right now. And single parents didn’t get to take mental health days to wallow in their sorrows, did they?

Brian was lying on his stomach on a beach chair partially shaded by a lime green umbrella and enjoying the ministrations of a particularly solicitous latino cabana boy who had generously offered to apply sunscreen to his back when one of the hotel staff approached them carrying a small telephone handset on a tray.

“Senor Kinney?” the staffer asked and then, when Brian lifted up his head enough to nod, he bent over and offered him the phone. “You have a telephone call from the States, Senor. The woman, she said it was muy importante.”

“Gracias, Guillermo,” Brian replied, reading the man’s name off the tag pinned to the dark green polo shirt that served as a uniform of sorts for the staff at the resort where the Armani photoshoot group was staying. “Kinney.” Brian barked into the phone.

“Finally! You have no idea how difficult it’s been to get through to you, Brian,” Cynthia’s exasperated voice easily backed up her statement. “I’ve been on the phone for almost two hours already.”

“Yeah, well, that’s good because I really don’t want to be in contact with anyone yet this morning - except for Miguel here, who I’m planning on have lots more contact with as soon as he’s done rubbing sunscreen all over me . . .” Brian snarked, winking over his shoulder at the cabana boy in question who smiled at hearing his name mentioned. ”So this better be good, Cynthia.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it good . . .” Cynthia hesitated, which wasn’t at all characteristic for the indomitable personal assistant, immediately raising Brian's hackles. “Remember that fan of yours that was following you around Liberty Avenue and sending you presents? Well, apparently he’s a little miffed at you for throwing everything out and has taken to sending threatening letters instead. Justin had to call in the police yesterday. I thought you’d want to know.”

“What the fuck?” Brian knocked the cabana boy off the edge of the chair as he sat up abruptly. “What kind of threats? Are Justin and Kevan okay? What are the police doing about this shit?”

“Both Justin and Kevan are fine so far, but it seems the police can’t do much to make sure they stay that way,” Cynthia explained, relaying all the information she’d amassed from talking to Justin and the others. “Until this guy’s broken some kind of law, they can’t arrest him. Unfortunately, sending you presents isn’t against the law. And, because you guys threw out all the stuff he’s been sending there’s really no evidence that he’s dangerous - other than the most recent letters of course - and even those are pretty vague about what exactly he’s threatening. I think Justin’s working with Mel to try and get some kind of restraining order in place, but the last I heard was that they may have to wait until you get back since you’re the primary target mentioned in the letters. In the meantime, Ted, who’s actually read the letters, was concerned enough that he asked me about the possibility of hiring some kind of security guards for Britin’s Chapel. Which is why I’m calling to let you know what’s going on, boss, and find out what you want me to do.”

“Fuck! I can’t believe that little creep! I mean, he’s been fucking annoying and all, but I didn’t think he was the type to go all ‘Bunny Boiler’ on anyone. And, of course, this shit all comes down when I’m out of the fucking country! Damn it . . .” Brian was now pacing in circles around the beach chair, kicking up sand as he continued angrily ranting at the top of his voice and drawing the attention of all the other guests and staff around. “Okay. This is what I want you to do, Cynthia - get Zavi and the rest of the Hulk Brothers and set them up as security at the house. Hire whoever else you need, but make sure that Justin and Kevan are safe. I want around the clock security in place by the end of the day. Then I want you to find out everything you can about this ‘Tab’ guy, using whatever means you need to . . .”

Emmett, who had stayed over at Britin’s Chapel the past few nights to keep a thoroughly overwhelmed and depressed Justin company, had been sent out on an early morning breakfast run. He was being allowed to drive the jeep while Brian was out of town so, as soon as he'd picked up enough food to feed everyone, he sped back to the house, pulled up to the gate at the rear of the property and hit the button on the remote control that would open both the gate as well as the garage door. It was still fairly early in the morning though, meaning that Emmett wasn't all that alert yet. In fact, while he was waiting for the gate to slide all the way clear, he was further distracted by a large yawn that he just couldn't suppress. When Em finally did close his mouth and blink, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively turned his head to follow whatever it was.

The blur of motion turned out to be a human figure that was trying to sneak in around the the Jeep just as the gate reached its widest point. “Hey!” Emmett pulled the car door open and yelled at the retreating form which had moved so quickly that it was now all but hidden by a group of evergreen bushes inside the wall on the far side of the driveway. “Hey, YOU! This is private property, buddy!” Emmett had started to jog over towards the plants that were concealing whoever it was that had infiltrated the grounds. All he could really see between the leafy branches were flashes of dark blue material - a sweatshirt with a hood that had been pulled low over the trespasser’s eyes. “Come on out of there, whoever you are! If you’re not outside that fence in the next ten seconds I’m calling the police and pressing charges!”

Emmett held up his cell phone so that the huddled figure could see that he was serious. The interloper must have taken the warning to heart, since he or she immediately stood up and trotted back through the gate again. While he was at it, Emmett had the forethought to snap a couple of quick pictures of the figure with his camera phone, although all he really got in the frame was the back of the blue hoodie.

Em stood in the open gateway and watched as whoever it was ran off down the block and around the corner. Then he strode back to the jeep, found the remote and closed the gate, still watching attentively to make sure that the intruder didn’t make another attempt. It wasn’t until the gate clanged loudly closed, its metal latch firmly making contact with the gatepost, that Emmett realized he was shaking.

This was really NOT good. Not good at all . . .