This is a result of very persistent prodding from my muse. John found love! If you don't like LGBT relationships, then go elsewhere.

This is supposed to be the original, beautiful puppet boys, but annoyingly I'm only picturing the new CG brothers as I write.

Please let me know if you like it, or not, I want to know your thoughts! ...And if I should continue with it.

On Green Dell street, Canterbury, Robert Christie was doing his weekly battle with his hair. Frustrated, he dragged a hairbrush through the black tangles, heedless of the warning pain from his scalp. The pain only added to his fury and he tossed the offending hairbrush into the corner of his flat.

"Stay," he growled. "Bad hairbrush."

He scowled into the mirror in front of him. His wiry black hair was wonderful for his dense, short beard, but the nest on his head still stood up in all directions.

He wasn't one for preening until recently, mainly because in the past he had better things to focus on. Robert had been a pitiful student, one of those ones that didn't have the bank of Mum and Dad to beg for cash from, let alone a few pennies to rub together. Now he was an equally pitiful manager at his local bank, not too bad a fate for a bloke in his late twenties. Not bad, but not enough to get him out of the tiny flat he so detested. At least he didn't look that skint anymore. His boyfriend had successfully updated his wardrobe recently from the holey jeans and faded t-shirts from his Uni days. He could now begrudgingly admit that he looked... good. The colour of his shirt brought out the icy blue sharpness of his eyes. It made him look like someone interesting, someone worth listening to. He reached down to pat his stomach self-consciously. He was six feet tall, but definitely not svelte. Somewhere between average and 'chubby'. His man never seemed to care though, so neither did Robert.

He was about to begin a valiant second attempt to flatten his hair with his hands, when a knock at the door sent him leaping to his feet, his body tingling with excitement. It was fortunate he was already showered and dressed. At this time in the morning, he was usually still in bed.

Today was different. It was a Saturday. His man always returned on a Saturday. He had hoped this would finally be the day of reunion. It had been a very long six weeks. As he rushed to answer, he heard a deep voice from behind the door that he didn't know.

"Hello?" the voice asked softly, in an American accent.

Robert froze, his hope shattering like glass.

"Just a minute," he said, unable to suppress his disappointment. Yes, it was an American, but not the one he was expecting.

Robert opened the door to see a tall, broad stranger standing before him, a small tied bundle of letters in his hands. He was well muscled and dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket. Despite his polished appearance, Robert noticed his dark eyes looked bruised from exhaustion. He had reddish brown hair and he introduced himself in a rich, deep voice.

"Good morning," he said, looking somewhat awkward, "You don't know me, but my name is Virgil Tracy."

He lifted the letters in his hands. Robert recognised the stationary instantly. The translucent lilac envelopes decorated with elegant calligraphy.

"Are you Robert?" he continued, "My brother John, his Robert?"

"Wow! I... I suppose I am, yes," Robert stammered, confused but excited in equal measure, "Please. Come in."

Virgil gave a small smile as he strode over the threshold. Robert shut the door behind him as he spoke, unable to hide his shock. His first thought was how Virgil had no resemblance to John whatsoever. Both were handsome, with enviable bone structures, but they shared no features or colouring at all.

"I'm sorry, but he couldn't be here," said Virgil, "But he asked if I could visit."

"Oh, it's fine! Don't worry. You're wrong about me not knowing you," Robert said, trying to explain his reaction, "John told me a lot about you. From what he says, it sounds like you two are kindred spirits. Please, sit down. Sorry, there's only the bed."

"Thanks" said Virgil, walking over towards the bed, "He speaks a lot about you, too. It's a shame it's taken us so long to meet."

"Well, I know what it's like with John's work."

Due to lack of space, Robert's bed doubled as the sofa during the day. Virgil seemed to hold no judgement as he settled down and looked up at him curiously.

"Your accent... Are you from Ireland?" he asked.

"Scotland," Robert confirmed, "Small village in the north east. It's not an exciting place. Let me know if I'm talking too fast. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Virgil looked unsure as he placed the letters next to him and began wringing his hands.

"Sorry, but... My friend Penny always offers tea, in a little teapot," Virgil explained, "It's always cold and... flavourless."

"John told me that, too. This 'Penny' obviously doesn't know how to make tea properly. I'll make you you're first half-decent cup, then. John likes it when I make it."

Before Virgil could object, Robert walked the short distance to the small kitchen behind the bed. The man sure looked like he needed a cup of tea, along with twelve hours sleep.

"Here we go," Robert prattled on as he flicked on the kettle and grabbed a couple of mugs, "No walls, no rooms, no privacy! Just one tiny open space where you can watch TV, answer the door and make your tea at the same time. It's a nightmare."

"It's, um... Practical," nodded Virgil, his eyes traveling around the room before settling on the window to his right. Robert could hear the smile in his voice.

"I only have soya milk, I'm afraid," Robert said over his shoulder.

"Fine by me." Virgil had picked up a small framed photograph of John and Robert, taken two years ago. The pair stood in a park side by side, arms around each other. Beside them stood a large, green pole about fifty feet high. At the top of the pole there was a silver bell. Quaint cottages lined the background. Virgil brushed his thumb next to John's smiling face, before gently replacing the photo on the desk in front of him.

There was an agreeable silence as Robert let the tea brew, adding soya milk and sugar to both cups. Once he was finished he carried both mugs over to the bed.

"Where was that picture taken? It's a good one." Virgil asked as he accepted the proffered mug. His face was still kind, even though it was probably a battle to stay awake.

"Outside my grandmother's house in Stuartfield, a tiny village in Scotland," said Robert, "We're beside the millennium bell. I remember making a time capsule to place under it when I was little. I think John liked the place. He said he would like to settle there one day."

"Sounds like him." Virgil said before peering into the steaming mug, brows knit together, "This tea looks very dark."

"That's how it's meant to look. It's what we call a builder's brew," said Robert, before putting on an awful American accent "Proper British tea."

It made Virgil chuckle slightly. "You and Gordon would get along with each other," he sipped his tea politely, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the pleasant taste.

"Not bad," he muttered approvingly, looking like some life was coming back into him.

"Cheers," thanked Robert, before taking a sip from his own mug.

Maybe I picked the wrong brother, Robert thought, he's lovely. He wondered if all John's brothers were this good looking. He glanced down at the letters Virgil had brought. There were a few more than usual, as to be expected. Robert was only separated from John for up to five weeks at a time.

"So, what brings you here? John's been busy, I see?" Robert observed, "It looks like he's been writing a lot."

Virgil took a deep breath and picked up the pile of letters.

"A few of them are yours," Virgil said, offering them to Robert. "They're unopened."

Robert's confusion increased. He took the letters from Virgil and untied the string that held then together. He was right. He had written these a couple of months ago, giving them to John before he left at the end of January. They always wrote each other letters to be opened weekly during their month of separation.

"Why didn't he read them?" Robert asked, "Some of these are his... They're new... But it's not much. It's been six weeks."

Virgil stopped looking at him. He placed his mug on the desk and clasped his hands together, eyes fixed on the floor.

Robert felt an adrenaline spike, his heart rising in his throat. "Did your Father find out?" he squeaked. "Does he know about us?"

Virgil looked at him, his eyes full of misery, but he slowly shook his head.

"No... He can't be leaving me?"

"I don't know how to say this," said Virgil truthfully, his voice low with pain, "I'm here because... I felt... You deserve to know. I wanted to tell you myself. He would want that. "

"Tell me what?" Robert whispered, "Please..."

Virgil closed his golden brown eyes tightly for a moment and took a deep breath through his nose. When he opened them again, Robert saw them glisten with tears.

"John died two weeks ago."

It wasn't long before Virgil suggested a walk outside. Robert, his mind still reeling with shock, agreed numbly. Fresh air couldn't hurt, right?

They went on a short walk into town, stopping to sit on a wooden bench in the park. Virgil took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and offered one to Robert. So much for fresh air. Robert couldn't remember the last time he smoked. It was probably at some distant University party, before he and John even met. He had never see John smoke - he considered it abhorrent.

That thought was heavy on Robert's mind as he took a cigarette with a nod of thanks and popped it between his lips. When he tried to light the thing, his hands shook so badly that Virgil kindly intervened. Robert was grateful and took a tentative drag from the cigarette.

"I think I knew," he choked, letting out a lungful of smoke. It tasted good and he felt the nicotine hit his brain instantly. The fogginess in his mind lifted but he felt a churn in his guts. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't vomit. "The minute I opened that door. I saw it in your eyes."

Virgil watched him from the other end of the bench, taking silent puffs from his cigarette and looking solemn. Robert scratched at his eyes, the skin on his cheekbones red and burning from crying.

"I appreciate you coming here," said Robert, fighting to reclaim some dignity, "I really do. But you don't have to stay."

He didn't mean it, of course. He hadn't known Virgil very long, but his company over the past couple of hours had been invaluable. For a man that was clearly in the depths of grief for his little brother, Virgil had been nothing but attentive and considerate in the face of Robert's sorrow. Robert already had a strong sense of why John and Virgil had been so close. They shared a compassionate soul. It made him feel selfish for being so pathetic.

Virgil's response didn't surprise him. "As condescending as it sounds, I feel like I have a duty of care. You no doubt will have a lot of questions," He took another deep drag from his cigarette before speaking, regarding him again with his gentle dark gaze, "John never told you much about us, did he? About what we do?"

Robert sighed and shook his head, feeling ill.

"I didn't even know what he did. He told me all your names. About your personalities, your hobbies, but never your careers. Whatever they are, he's so proud of you all. The little I knew about what he did was that it was dangerous, highly confidential. I don't even know where he was based, where he grew up, where his family lives..."

Saying it aloud made the ridiculousness of it plain. He knew nothing at all about his dead boyfriend. In the past, he sometimes wondered if it was all a joke. Once he thought John had a secret family, that he was only stringing him along, cheating on his wife as she slaved away for two kids. Or that he was some kind of James Bond-type figure. Like a spy.

Virgil looked guiltily at him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to defend his brother, but Robert interrupted.

"I admit, I doubted him," said Robert, "But trusting people has come back to bite me in the past."

Robert had spent many a sleepless night asking himself if he should stay with a man that can't even reveal his father's name, let alone introduce him. He lay wide awake wondering if he was making a mistake. He'd fallen for a man that could never be completely honest with him. They would never be able to settle in a crappy little cottage in Scotland, or build a life together. How could they? Robert had known long before his first relationship, even before he accepted his bisexuality, that he was the kind of man that would want to marry and start a family. Now, cruelly, he didn't need to ponder on any sort of future anymore.

He got an intense flash, a memory igniting. John, nestled against him, after their first night together. Fine, damp platinum hair, gently brushed off his forehead by long fingers. His slender leg moved to tuck in between Robert's, pushing their bodies closer. His eyes were deep and blue. Warm. His porcelain skin was bathed in orange light from the street lamps outside. Sweating. Alive. His lips curved into a sleepy smile. The room smelled of whiskey and sex. They had mutually discovered a new world that night, the future presenting a thousand new doors, all equally enticing and exciting. In that moment, Robert had thought there couldn't be anyone more beautiful on this earth.

"He can't be gone," Robert whispered, not necessarily meaning to say it aloud.

Virgil and Robert continued smoking in silence. After he ground the butt under his shoe, Robert noticed Virgil looking him up and down, as if assessing him. It was a somewhat invasive look and Robert squirmed uncomfortably.

"What?" he asked.

Virgil's gaze reminded intense as he asked, "I could give you the answers, if you wanted. I can't tell you, not here. It would be far easier to show you."

"You mean, show me John's work?"

"Not his work, our work," said Virgil, "The family business. It's taken a lot of discussion amongst ourselves, but we felt it was best. It's the only way to explain the truth of... Everything..."

Virgil faltered, suddenly looking doubtful. Robert recognised that expression.

"Your father doesn't know you're here, does he?" he stated.

Virgil couldn't find words for a moment, probably realising the trouble he would no doubt be in. He suddenly looked away, put his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath.

"No," he affirmed, "This visit is between me, you and Scott." He looked at Robert, eyes heavy with foreboding, "Father is going to kill us. Of that, I have no doubt. We are breaking his own policy right under his nose. If he had his way, he would have asked us to write you a kind but insistent break-up letter, as if John's death never happened."

This coloured Robert's view of Daddy Tracy instantly. He couldn't hide the anger in his voice.

"Because he was gay?"

"No, no!" Virgil's eyes went wide with dismay, "It's not like that. Father doesn't even know you exist yet. If he had... He probably would've forbidden it, whether you were male or female."

"John's a grown man." Robert snarled, hot tears stinging his eyes.

"We all are," sighed Virgil, "That's the price you pay for secrecy." He gave a tiny, sly smirk, "Not that it stops us. We still have needs."

Robert wasn't expecting that comment from Virgil. John wasn't the exception to the rule after all.

He was lost in thought for a long time, wondering why his life had suddenly taken such a horrific turn. You knew it when you met John, he thought bitterly, You knew it would all end in tears.

His thoughts were broken when he caught Virgil's face. He was still looking at him earnestly.

"I'm sorry, Robert" he said softly, "But I will need an answer sooner rather than later. I'll be needed at home."

"Home? Where is home?"

"Do you want to find out?"

"I've got nothing to lose." As he spoke the words, Robert was stunned by that realisation. Virgil could see it.

"That's not true," said Virgil, his eyes glistening with moisture again. "You were there for John. You have us."

Robert wondered how five brothers could be so close, when their father seemed so disconnected from their personal lives. A beeping sound came from Virgil's watch. His elegant fingers quickly pressed a switch to desist the noise.

"What's that?" said Robert.

"We have to go," said Virgil, his whole demeanour changing. His face went stoic and he stood up tall and straight. Suddenly Robert wasn't dealing with the grieving brother, he was dealing with a man with who seemed to exude military professionalism.

"So, Robert, how do you feel about flying?"