Summary : Justin calls Brian after 2 months of being in New York broken and beaten in a hospital room. Justin only wants one person to come and get him and it's Brian. Brian answers the phone Hearing Justin's pleas for help. This time Justin isn't going to get away this time. No more running no more pushing away. Will they finally get their happily ever fucking after? Brian will not stop until Justin is married to him and living in that mansion Justin named Britin.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN QAF I just love it.

Chapter 1 Suffering

Justin screamed out in pain one last time as it finally ends. He looks around, slightly unable to remember where he was. He reaches for his cell; his hands are bloody, but he pays it no mind. He needs Brian…Just Brian. He presses "1" on the speed dial and then presses the phone to his ear, trying not to panic.

"Hello." He hears Brian's voice faintly on the other end.

"Brian, I need…I need you," he manages to cough out. "Please…hel...help me, I need you. Please… help, I...I need you. Please," he whispered in a mantra, tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

"Justin! JUSTIN, WHAT'S WRONG?" Brian screamed into the line.

"Help me, please, I need you," he whispered in pain and then dropped the phone as he passed out. Paramedics got there quickly due to a neighbor hearing Justin's screams. Taking him into the hospital, they carry him immediately into surgery. Justin woke before they took him in as he screamed out for Brian.

"JUSTIN! JUSTIN! "Brian screamed into the phone over and over again as soon as his partner stopped speaking. He could hear still Justin breathing, however, and then people apparently approaching him because he could hear voices in the background. Someone picked up the phone and a woman said, "Hello?"

"Hey, is he ok?" Brian asked frantically, scared as hell by the tone of Justin's voice earlier. "Is Justin ok? Is he moving? Please, please, tell me he's okay!" he shouted into the phone as he ran to his car and sped off toward his loft.

"I don't know, Sir, I'm one of the paramedics; we just got here and we're checking him out now," the woman informed him.

"WELL KEEP HIM ALIVE, DAMN IT!" he screamed at her as tears slid down his cheeks for the first time since the day he had let Justin go. "I'm heading to the airport. Which hospital is he going to?" he snapped at the women.

"JFK Memorial," was the terse reply.

Brian hung up the phone and left it in his car as he reached the loft. He grabbed the keys and ran inside the building and up the steps three at a time, not in the mood to wait for the elevator. Brian flung open the loft door and ran straight to his bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag as he threw some clothes into it. He would NOT leave Justin alone this time. He would NOT let Justin go this time. No, this time he would do anything to keep Justin alive, safe and with him.

Brian screamed out in frustration; it was like him getting hit in the head all over again. Brian sat down and cried for a moment, needing to get it out of his system before he left. Shaking his head, Brian grabbed the bag, his toiletries and his laptop. Rushing out of the loft, he pushed the door closed and locked it before running down the stairs straight to his car. Throwing everything in the narrow, back seat, he drove straight to the airport. Grabbing his cell he hurriedly called Michael.

"Hey," he said as soon as Michael answered the phone; he was angry and extremely worried about Justin and had no time for pleasantries. "I'm heading to New York; Justin's hurt and he needs me."

Michael frowned at the odd tone in his friend's voice. "What do you mean, hurt? Is he ok? What's going on?"

"Michael, shut up! Listen to me! I don't fucking know – I'm not there yet!" Brian snapped at him as he shook his head. "I need for you to go to my house in West Virginia and clean it up and get it ready for me and Justin, because I'm not letting him stay in New York! He's coming home and this time; I am NOT going to lose him," Brian vowed.

"Yeah, yeah, I understand," Michael assured him. "You got it. I'll get the others to help, too," he said before hanging up the phone to tell Ben and Hunter what had happened so that they could go over to Britin to get things rolling.

Brian rushed into the airport with his bags and cell and bought a ticket on the first plane leaving for New York. As he sat down and waited for his flight to be called, he closed his eyes and groaned. This was not supposed to happen. Justin was not supposed to get hurt. He was supposed to do well and paint and live his dream. What the fuck had occurred to change that?

Brian heard his flight soon being called for boarding; grabbing his bag, he literally ran toward the gate. Pushing his e-ticket into the woman's hand to be scanned, he waiting impatiently for her to give it back before he hurried down the access ramp to the plane, his carryon bag haphazardly slung over his shoulder. Brian sat in his seat and waited – and fidgeted. He wanted to be with Justin as fast as possible and this time he would not wait outside his hospital room, too scared to enter. No, this time he would stand by Justin's bedside, holding his hand and telling him that everything was going to be ok and nothing could touch him now. Brian closed his eyes and waited for the plane to take off.

Brian sighed when the plane finally landed thirty minutes later. Grabbing his bag from the overhead compartment, he waited with barely-concealed impatience to disembark before running out the exit doors to hail a cab. He didn't bother getting a hotel room; he just went straight to the hospital. He rushed through the doors and hurried up to the front desk as a tired-looking woman peered up at him curiously.

"Justin Taylor!" he yelled out as the words poured out of his mouth. "Where is he? Is he ok? Please tell me; my partner, is he okay?

She eyed him with slight disdain. "Are you on his next of kin list? I can't tell you unless you are," she advised him.

Brian huffed out an angry breath; did this woman only have two speeds of efficiency? Slow and super slow? "Yes, yes," he told her hurriedly. " The name's Brian Kinney."

She seemed to take an excruciatingly long period of time peering at her computer records before she finally advised, "Ah, yes, I see it," as she pulled his name up Justin's file. "You are listed."

"Well?" he snapped, looking at her like she was stupid.

"He just got out of surgery and is in recovery," she told him to his relief. "His room is on the second floor, #302."

The words were barely out of her mouth before Brian ran toward the elevator and slammed his palm impatiently against the elevator button. Finally it opened and he rushed inside. He smacked the second floor button several times as if that would make it go faster and bounced impatiently as the car began to ascend, nervous as hell as he wondered what had happened and if Justin was okay. He closed his eyes tightly as the door dinged; as soon as the doors slid open, he ran to the room that was Justin's and entered it, finally getting a look at the familiar but lifeless form lying on the bed in the private room.

"Justin," he whispered, pain burning through his chest as he stared at his love. "My God, what have you done?" He moved to his side as he set his carry on down next to him on the floor. He slid the chair over to Justin's bed side and reached for his hand.

"Don't you dare leave me, you little shit," he hissed at him before he leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I fucking need you," he whispered in his ear as he laid his head down on the one arm that wasn't in a cast and waited. Brian closed his eyes and did something then that he thought he would never do – he prayed for Justin to pull through. If Justin died, he would not know what to do with himself. He loved Justin too much, and they had come too close before to this same situation.

"Justin, please, babe, wake up," he begged in a whisper as he slowly fell asleep holding Justin's hand.