Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to CowLip Productions, Showtime, and all other creative entities affiliated with the show. No infringement intended; I'm merely "borrowing" the boys.

Author's Notes: This takes place during season 5 when Michael and Brian are at odds over their lifestyle choices, primarily the custody of Jenny Rebecca. I have taken certain liberties with the story.

Dedication: To all the fabulous posters at The Dynamic Duo Haven—your support is amazing, thank you!

Chapter 1

"Hi Daddy!" five-year-old Gus Marcus-Peterson exclaimed, running over to his father who had arrived to watch him for the evening. His mother Lindsay had an important meeting to attend for work and Mel wasn't an option.

"Hi Sonny Boy," greeted Brian as he opened his arms and gave his son a hug.

"There's pizza for dinner. You'll just have to nuke it." Lindsay told Brian as she put on a shawl.

"Pizza? Not granola?" Brian was surprised. Wasn't Lindsay supposed to be the health nut?

"You try having time to buy organic and make healthy things…or the money," she added with a bit of a bitter, exasperated sound in her voice.

Brian rolled his eyes at his friend. Was he supposed to feel sorry for her? She wasn't the only woman who had ever done this on her own. And he always gave her plenty of money for Gus.

"There's milk to drink," she added on second thought.

"No beer?" Brian whined.

Lindsay narrowed her eyes at him. "The milk is for our son. I'm not sure what else is in there, you'll have to check in the fridge."

"Fine, whatever."

"He'll need a bath before bedtime."

"Yeah, yeah I've got it down by now, Linds."

Brian may not be the best, most hands-on, 24-7 father, but he wasn't completely incompetent when it came to his son.

"Great. I shouldn't be later than 11. I'll check my cell every now and again so if there's an emergency," she rambled.

"Call Smelly Melly?"

She gave him a sigh. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"Do what? Call her 'Smelly Melly' or call her period?"

Rolling her eyes, the blonde told him, "Either. It's unnecessary."

"You'd think that since you two are on the outs you'd be fine with me calling your ex names."

"Just because she's my ex, it doesn't mean I've stopped caring about her. She's still Gus's mother and Jenny Rebecca's."

Brian clammed up because thinking about Jenny Rebecca meant thinking about her father and things were strained between him and Michael, due to the custody issue, amongst other things.

After checking her purse to make sure she had everything, Lindsay gave her son a hug and kiss. "Mommy will see you in the morning, sweetheart."

"Bye Mommy!" he chirped happily and then ran back to the kid's table in the living room where he had been seated, drawing.

"Bye Mommy," Brian sang as he kissed Lindsay on the cheek and she glared at him before exiting.

"Okay, Sonny Boy, it's just me and your old Pop," Brian said, slumping onto the uncomfortable couch. This is a piece of crap, he thought. Why is it that Mel got the good couch? It didn't dawn on him that that was technically Mel's couch and her house.

He pulled out his vibrating cell phone from his back pocket and saw that there was a message from Justin. One that he had no intention of responding. Justin knew that Brian was watching Gus tonight. In fact, he'd asked Brian if he could "tag along" to help watch him, but Brian didn't want or need him there. He was capable of watching Gus on his own.

A few minutes later, Brian peered over his shoulder at his son whose little face was scrunched up in concentration. Before making a comment on the picture, Brian decided to ask what it was because sometimes kids could draw really weird things and he didn't want to get it wrong. Hell, sometimes adults could too—he didn't always 'get' Justin's art.

"What are you drawing there, Sonny Boy?"

"Jenny."

"Jenny you mean, Jenny Rebecca?" he asked to be certain.

Gus's brown head nodded as he continued his drawing. "Yup."

"Is that for you to hang in your room?"

The little head shook no. "Are you giving it to someone?" A nod and Brian asked who.

"Unca Mikey," was his son's innocent reply.

"This is for Uncle Michael? How come?" he wondered with genuine curiosity. It's not as if Michael didn't have a hundred photos of his daughter lying all over the house—not that he'd been there recently but he didn't have to, to know that—why would he need a drawing?

"Because he's sad," was the innocent explanation.

Michael's sad? "How do you know that?"

"Mommy and I saw him in the park. He was crying."

Brian tensed up at the thought of his best friend crying in the park.

"Was Un..," began Brian who then changed his mind because Benjamin Bruckner was not Gus's uncle. "Was anyone with him?"

Another shake of his head. "He was all alone. He was holding her bunny."

"Oh?"

Gus nodded as he colored in his sister's hair. "He misses Jenny," was Gus's next astute observation.

"Poor Unca Mikey." Gus frowned as he looked up at his daddy. "Why can't he see Jenny?"

Oh shit. What was Brian going to say? That he was partly to blame because he gave Linds the name of a bulldog lawyer who smeared Michael's name in court? And the money to finance it? Not exactly something that a five-year-old could understand. Sometimes he wasn't sure that he understood.

"That's up to Jenny Rebecca's mother," he finally said.

Hazel eyes gazed into hazel eyes. "Mommy Mel. I miss her. I miss Jenny. I miss Unca Mikey. He used to come over a lot."

"To see your …Jenny Rebecca?" Sometimes it amazed Brian that his son and Michael's daughter were siblings…not through blood but in all other ways that mattered.

"He always came to see me and play. He would read me stories and make some up and be silly. And we played with Jenny. I love him," Gus told his father so simply.

It touched him how much Gus seemed to adore Michael. And how could he blame his son when he felt the same way? Michael was great with kids, always had been. They flocked to his kind, caring, generous nature and his spirit which could be child-like at times.

"He loves you too." That was the truth. Although Michael initially had many hesitations over Brian having a child with Lindsay, he was still excited for his friend. He bought all these presents for Gus and quite frankly spent more time with him than Brian himself had.

"He doesn't visit me. Mommy Mel doesn't like him.. And Mommy won't let him come. She says it's not right what he's doing."

Brian's eyes narrowed at that. "How do you know?"

"I heard them. They were on the phone."

Fighting, Brian assumed but did not say so to his son.

"Mel and your Mom are upset. With each other and with Michael."

Gus finished his drawing of his sister and then decided to add a bunny to it, in honor of her favorite stuffed toy, a yellow bunny named Alex. The same bunny that Michael had been holding at the park. Gus remembered that his uncle gave that to Jenny the day she came home from the hospital.

"Is Jenny's bunny named Alex?" Brian asked suddenly, looking at the bubble over the bunny's head which read "Alex."

Shaking his head, Gus said, "His name is Alex Anda. I can't spell that."

Grinning, Brian asked his son, "You mean Alexander?"

Gus nodded. "Yep!"

"Did you name him for your sister?"

"No. Unca Mikey did. He gave Alex to Jenny."

He did? For some reason, it touched Brian to know that Michael gave his daughter a bunny that he named Alexander—after Brian's own middle name. At least that's who he supposed the bunny was named after.

"Mommy's mad at Unca Mikey."

"Gus," began Brian who hedged, wondering how he could explain this to his young son. "I didn't say mad, I said upset." Ugh, he felt like an idiot; as if a five-year-old can differentiate between mad and upset.

"Why? Unca Mikey is so nice, why could is Mommy mad at him?" This did not make sense to Gus' young mind.

Brian swallowed. "It's…complicated." What a shit answer.

Gus stopped his drawing and stood next to his dad. "It's because of Jenny," he whispered.

"What?" Brian croaked.

"Mommy Mel and Mommy don't want him around Jenny. But he's her daddy."

"Yeah, Sonny Boy, he is."

"Can't they just get along?"

Brian didn't have an answer for his son. He simply ruffled Gus' hair and then went into the kitchen to put the pizza in the microwave before bringing it over to Gus to eat. The little artist had finished his drawing—which wasn't bad for a five-year-old—and he ate contentedly in his father's lap.

After dinner was finished, Gus played with his toys while Brian watched him and then he gave his son a bath and put him to bed. Clutching his stuffed dinosaur (a gift from Uncle Michael), Gus looked up at his father and said, "Tell Unca Mikey I love him. And Jenny loves him too."

Chest constricting, Brian nodded and promised his son that he would do just that. "Good night, Sonny Boy."

"Good night Daddy," Gus said with a smile, reaching up for a hug which his father returned and then to Brian's surprise, Gus kissed him on the cheek before snuggling into bed.

Brian turned on Gus's night light and then shut off the light switch before exiting the room. Sighing, he plopped onto the uncomfortable couch and ran his fingers through his hair before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

"Go- damn it," he yelled in frustration. "No fucking cable? What the fuck, Linds?" There was decidedly nothing on television at that time and it was too early for Letterman or Conan. He contemplated getting on Lindsay's PC and going to his favorite sites but nixed that idea in favor of calling Michael. Thanks to his son, Brian couldn't stop thinking about his best friend who seemed, in the estimation of the five-year-old, sad because of the situation with Jenny Rebecca.

Grabbing his cell, he flipped it open and pressed "1" on Speed Dial—yes, Michael was his number one contact. He couldn't think of anyone else that deserved the spot.

Michael's cell rang and rang and no answer. Answer the g-dammed phone, Brian yelled to no one. Finally, he reached voicemail and left a terse message. "Mikey, pick up your fucking phone. We need to talk. Call me back."

He closed his phone and sat on the couch with nothing but his thoughts to occupy his time. He could really go for a joint about now to calm him down.

Every 15 minutes he called Michael's cell and hung up when there was no answer. Finally he called Cynthia and asked her for the number to Michael's new house. The blonde assistant was surprised that he didn't have that one memorized yet, it was Michael, after all, but Brian hadn't bothered to use it in the month since his best friend had moved onto Stepford Avenue.

The professor's voice filled the answering machine, much to Brian's chagrin. Annoyed by that and by his friend not returning his calls, Brian grunted, "Pick up your fucking phone, Novotny and CALL ME." Before he hung up, he decided to change tactics. "Mikey, Gus told me to tell you…"

And just like that, his cell buzzed, the screen revealing Michael's name and cell number. With a satisfied smirk, Brian hung up on Michael's landline and then answered his cell. "Took you fucking long enough," he growled.

"What do you want, Brian?" came Michael's annoyed response.

"Who says I want anything?"

"It's you, you almost always want something."

This wasn't untrue. Still, he didn't appreciate it pointed out to him. "That's not a nice way to greet your best friend."

He could hear Michael sighing on the other end. "I'm not in the mood, Brian."

"Are you ever, anymore, Mikey?" Brian couldn't stop himself from asking.

Michael hesitated before responding. "I haven't had much to be…never mind," he corrected. "Why did you bring Gus into this? Whatever it is that could have waited, by the way, you didn't need to invoke your son's name."

Stretching his legs out, Brian said, "I'm not using Gus. He made me promise to tell you something."

"Oh?" Michael asked, now believing Brian.

"Yeah. I'm watching him tonight for Linds—" he started but his friend cut him off.

"You?"

"She had some work thing, I don't know or frankly care and she couldn't get anyone else…" his voice trailed off.

Anyone else meaning she wasn't going to ask Mel and anyone else meaning she wouldn't ask Michael, of all people. "I would have," he began but then changed his mind. "It doesn't. Yeah."

His voice sounded odd, which Brian picked up on.

"What's wrong, Mikey?"

"Nothing. So what did Gus want?"

"To tell you that he loves you and that Jenny does too." Brian's voice was soft and gentle as he said this, thinking of how serious his son had been.

Michael gave a barely audible gasp and Brian was certain that tears were pooling inside his friend's chocolate orbs. "He, he did?" Michael stuttered softly.

Nodding, Brian said that he did.

"Tell him that I love him too, both of them," he added quietly.

"I did."

"Oh." Michael was quiet and Brian was trying to get a feel on his friend's mood, but he found it difficult.

"What brought this about?"

Was Brian going to admit that Gus and Linds saw a depressed Michael crying in the park? Or share the observations of a five-year-old that Michael missed Jenny Rebecca and that his moms were fighting about it?

"He drew a picture for you—of Jenny Rebecca. Because he thinks you miss her."

Michael didn't know what to say. He held his breath for a moment before releasing it and whispering, "He's right. I do miss her. And him."

What about me, Mikey? Do you miss me? Brian wouldn't voice that question.

Crossing one foot over the other, Brian instead told him, "You know you can see him, whenever you want, Mikey."

"I can't. His mother won't let me. Don't you know that I'm a bad influence on children?"

Snorting, Brian asked what that made him. Michael didn't say anything. "Come on, that's bullshit."

"Is it, Brian? Because that's not what the lesbians think. It's not what a judge thinks and told me in a court of law."

Brian hadn't attended the court appearance, so he wasn't sure whether Michael was exaggerating or if that's what the judge really said. How could anyone think that Michael was a bad influence on kids? Kids loved him. Jenny Rebecca, Gus, Hunter, hell even Brian's own prick nephew Jon had liked Mikey.

Knowing that his friend might doubt him, Michael reminded, "I only get to 'visit' my daughter once a month and it's for five hours under supervision! If that doesn't say it all, I don't know what does."

"Mikey," Brian began but then he didn't know what to say. What could he possibly say that would ease the pain his best friend was in, over the loss of contact with his daughter? It was one fucked up situation. It shouldn't have come down to this.

"Of course, why am I even saying this to you?" Michael's voice was bitter. "I mean, you got what you wanted. You paid for the lawyer after all. Lindsay gets to see her more than I do, without supervision, I might add, and I'm her father!"

"Mikey."

"Don't "Mikey" me, Brian! I'm not in the mood. Don't you get that?"

"Yeah. Loud and clear." Brian sat up on the couch and glared at the phone. Of course Michael couldn't actually see his glare but maybe he could feel it.

"I get it. You're not in the mood to talk to me, to see me, to go to Babylon or Woody's or hell even the diner anymore with the boys. You're all about being a happy homo homemaker, little wifey to the "good professor," living the yuppie life in your quaint new house on Stepford Avenue with your new BFFs Monty and Eli. What the fuck kind of name is Monty anyway? All you care about is your house, your husband, and your kids. You don't have any time left over for anyo—anything—else," he ranted.

Michael was left stunned at Brian's outburst.

On a roll, Brian went on. "For the past eight months, since you wed the not-so Zen-Ben and Jenny Rebecca was born, you've been focused on them, oh, and Hunter too."

"They're my family, Brian."

"Funny, I thought that's what I was. What Theodore and Emmett were."

"You know that you are, that they are."

"Do we, Michael? Cuz it's not like you've shown it."

Having enough of Brian's little (melo)dramatic diatribe, Michael interrupted. "Cut the crap, Brian. I've been there for people. I've been there for Teddy as he's struggled with putting his life back together after rehab; I've been there for Em as he struggled to put the pieces of his heart back together after it was crushed; I've been there for Ma, dealing with the grief of losing her brother. I've been there for you through the Cancer ordeal. I could go on and on, you know. I'm always there for people."

Michael didn't say it, but he did wonder when people were going to be there for him. He needed support too, but it always seemed like he was giving, giving, giving.

Cracking his knuckles, Brian retorted, "Yeah, except when you've run away."

"Not like you didn't give me the keys to the Stingray or anything," was his friend's reminder.

"Or when you go to Wisconsin to play wifey to Dr. Feel Good."

His eyes widening, Michael was growing more and more irritated with his "best" friend. "So now you're bringing David into this? Even though that was years ago."

"Three."

"Three, two, one, I don't care. That's over and done with. And let me remind you, since it seems your memory is failing, YOU were the one who pushed me to go with him to Portland, OREGON. Portland is in Oregon. You told me there was nothing here for me. 'We're not fifteen anymore. Go with David. Get the hell out of here.' That was the plan. And then I stayed behind—for you—when Justin was bashed and I was willing to stay however long you needed me, but once you knew he was going to recover you practically pushed me out of that hospital chair so I could be on my way. So if you're pissed that I left, you only have yourself to blame." His breath was ragged after getting that off his chest.

"Yes, because Mikey is so innocent, isn't he?"

"Fuck you," Michael said.

"No, fuck you."

They were at an impasse. Neither of them mentioned the whole "Mikey's the only one Brian hasn't fucked in Pittsburgh" shtick as they were not in the mood.

"What do you want from me, Brian? You're the one who kept calling me like some stalker. First on my cell then the landline which frankly I'm surprised you even knew that one, since it's not like you've bothered to call me here," he added bitterly.

Brian answered the implied question with one word. "Cynthia."

Shaking his head, Michael said, "Of course. She better receive a hefty holiday bonus this year."

"I treat her quite well."

"I'm sure you do. You know, Brian, I understand that you're pissed. I can even accept it. But you know, it's a two-way street."

Narrowing his eyes, Brian asked what the hell that was supposed to mean.

"It means that I could have used a little support these past eight months. I was going through my own shit too. I lost Uncle Vic and I had to keep it together. I got married. I became a father. I moved into a house that I own—well, with a mortgage—there's been crap to deal with, with Rage. I've done all that without asking for anything in return but sometimes…"

"What?"

"Sometimes I wish that I didn't have to be the strong, together one. It may not be Cancer, it may not be HIV, or even drug abuse, but I'm going through things too. I'm flying off the seat of my pants here. Marriage is not…it's…never mind. And fatherhood is amazing but it's also scary and the one person I thought I could count on to guide me through it died before he even got to hold her."

Brian closed his eyes, thinking of Vic. He would have loved that little girl, who would be the closest thing to a granddaughter he'd ever have.

"And okay so yeah, I haven't been going to Woody's or Babylon lately. Or even the diner, but can you blame me? After what my mother did, I don't want to see her right now. And priorities do change when you get married. I can't just go out anytime I want with "the boys." Sue me for wanting to be with my husband, that's what people do when they get married."

"When they're Stepford fags."

"Fuck that. I love how it is oh-so easy for you to mock me and the choices I've made in life. Sorry to be such a disappointment to you, Brian."

Brian had told Michael on more than one occasion that he was disappointed in him. And yeah, he was constantly mocking him for his choices of marriage and happy homo home life with the kids and the picket fence in the yard.

"And as far as Jenny Rebecca is concerned, well I told you from the beginning that I'm sorry but I don't want to be like you, forking over money and making cameo appearances in my child's life at birthday parties and the like. It's important for me to be a father. You of all people should know why. I know you love Gus, more than you'll ever admit to, and you are a good dad to him, but you're not even an every-other-weekend dad. But hell, I don't even get that."

What was Brian supposed to say to that? It was all true. He knew how much Michael wanted his kid, before she was even born.

"You had that. And then you fucked it up," Brian told him. "You fucked it up because you wanted more. You always want more and you expect more of things and people."

This conversation was sounding awfully familiar. It was Michael's cue to say "So what's the alternative? To want and expect nothing like you?" as he said after Ben's surprise birthday party disaster.

However, Michael wasn't playing that game tonight.

"Well there you go," he huffed. "We're at an impasse."

Sighing, Brian tapped his fingertips on the edge of the couch. Defeated, he said, "I guess so."

Michael felt as tired as Brian sounded. "Well…I don't know what to…I…good night, Brian."

"Night, Mikey," Brian told him and then lingered until finally ending the call and shutting his cell. He contemplated throwing the object across the room but the noise might wake Gus so he just placed it on the coffee table.

Brian was going stir-crazy in Lindsay's tiny, cluttered apartment. He looked at his watch and was disappointed when he saw it was only 9:30 and he had at least another hour and a half 'til he could jet. Standing up, he paced around the living room, desperately needing a joint, an E, something, anything to calm his frazzled nerves. There wasn't even any beer in the fridge, for fuck's sake!

This was all Michael's fault. Never mind that it was Brian who called him and not the other way around.

Muttering a string of profanity, he once again flopped onto the couch, picked up the remote and turned on the TV, not caring what was on but anything was better than this deafening silence.

"Oh fuck me, "Gay as fucking Blazes." Figures," he snorted.

~~&~~&~~&~~... TBC...~~&~~&~~&~~