CHAPTER TEN

"Now you sit there, honey, and don't move." Debbie placed a tray on Justin's lap with a bowl of soup and a plate of crackers set on it. "That's my Grandma's special recipe and it'll do you a world of good, so you just finish up every drop." She beamed at him.

Justin dutifully began to eat; he knew better than to refuse the steely determination he saw beneath her smile, although he wouldn't have taken much persuading anyway. It was very good soup.

"Now," Debbie went on, sitting on the sofa beside him and clasping her hands in her lap, "Brian tells me you can't go home."

"No," Justin replied honestly. "I can't."

"How long ago did you leave?"

"A year or so." Justin kept his eyes on his soup.

"Well, now that's a long time. Long enough, maybe, for your father to have changed his mind about things ... maybe to regret what he did. Don't you think you at least ought to find out?"

"No!" Justin's voice was far more strident than he meant it to be. "I'm sorry ... I know you're only trying to be kind, but you don't know him. He'll never change." That, at least, was the truth.

"Oh honey ..." The woman's voice was warm and compassionate. "Are you so afraid of him?"

"Yes. Because I know what he's capable of. And you don't." And that also was the truth, so he could meet her eyes unflinchingly, even though it wasn't his father he was referring to.

"Surely you must have relations you could go to. Your mother's dead, Brian says, but what about grandparents? Uncles? Aunts?"

Justin shook his head. "Mom was an only child. Dad was always telling me how her parents thought he wasn't good enough for her ... how they disowned her for marrying him. I've never met them ... I don't think they even came from Pittsburgh. And my Dad's people are just like him. They all think gays are perversions of nature."

Debbie pursed her lips. "What about your friends? Couldn't they help?"

"Yeah, I had one who tried," Justin replied, improvising wildly. "My best friend at school, Daphne. I stayed at her place for a few nights after I left home. But he guessed where I was, and he came after me. I had to climb out her bedroom window while her Dad tried to keep him occupied. After that, I didn't dare go back."

Debbie was watching him closely, and Justin wasn't sure if she believed him or not. On one level he hoped she didn't, because she seemed like a nice lady and he was sick of lying to people, or at least massaging the truth. More than anything he wanted to just spill everything, to lay it all on somebody else's lap and let them deal with it. But that wasn't an option, because even if he did nobody would believe him. So he stuck as close to the truth as he could, and suppressed his guilt, and hoped one day this fucking nightmare would end.

"I don't know what you want," he said, pushing away the soup bowl in frustration. "I never asked for anybody to help me. I never asked Brian to bring me back here. And I'm certainly not asking you to take me in. I'm getting better, and the doctor said as long as I keep taking the meds I should be fine. So I think the best thing is if I just leave, then I won't be a problem to anyone."

"You're not a problem, honey; we just want to do what's best for you."

"You can't decide that! You don't know, any of you ... so you can't judge. You think I want to live like this? I'm not stupid ... don't you think if I had any other choice I wouldn't take it?" He started coughing as his voice rose, and Debbie leaned forward to rub his back soothingly.

"Okay, Sweetie, don't get yourself upset. You're still sick ... my brother Vic, he had pneumonia too, so I know what you're going through. And I also know that just because you're feeling a little better doesn't mean you're out of the woods yet. So don't give me any crap about how you'll be okay going back on the streets in this weather, because that's not gonna happen."

"And neither is my going back home," Justin declared.

"Well." Deb sighed. "I'm not sure that you're telling me everything, and I guess I don't blame you for that, because you don't know me from fucking Adam, right? But I can see you're scared of something, that's obvious. So I tell you what ... you can have my son Michael's old room for a while, and we'll see how we get on. I live with my brother – who's gay, by the way, so that's not a problem – but I have to be a little careful because he's HIV positive ..."

Justin's eyes widened. "Oh my God! That's terrible ... I didn't realise ..."

"No reason you should, Sweetie," Deb replied, patting his hand. "But it's not the death sentence it used to be ... we had some rough times until they worked out the right combination of meds for him, but he's been fine for a while now. We just have to be careful about exposing him to any infections, otherwise you could come back with me right now. So we'll have to wait until the doc gives you the all clear, then you can move in until you decide what you want to do."

Justin stared at her. "But I don't have any money," he protested. "How would I pay you?"

"When you're fit, if you want, I'll find you some work at the Diner. You work for free, but you get to keep whatever tips you make ... and a cute little thing like you should make plenty. How does that sound?"

Justin wasn't sure. He was worried that being in the same place for any length of time was a very bad idea, especially if he was working in a highly visible situation like a diner. On the other hand, Liberty Diner was almost exclusively gay, and the patrons all knew each other ... it wasn't the kind of place cops, or strangers for that matter, would frequent. It might be pretty safe, actually. And if he could get enough money together then he could simply blow the Pitts altogether, and try to start his life again somewhere else. Some place where nobody knew him.

"I don't understand why you're being so nice to me. I mean, I could be anyone ... why would you trust me in your home?"

"Sweetie ... Jay ... in this shitty world, we have to help out where we can." She laughed. "And as to trusting ... if Brian fucking Kinney trusts you, then who am I to judge?"

"I don't understand that, either." Justin sighed. "He obviously doesn't like company, and he's made it quite clear he wants me gone as soon as possible ... and it's not as if he owes me anything ..."

"Maybe he thinks he does." Debbie took a deep breath. "Listen, kiddo. Nobody understands why Brian does the things he does; he's like a force of nature, always has been. And nobody talks about Brian's history because he doesn't. But I'll tell you this much; he had as hard a time with his father as you did with yours ... if not worse. Maybe he feels some sympathy. But you're right, Brian doesn't do relationships, not of any kind ... he'll let you as close as he feels comfortable with, and no more. Which makes it all the more surprising that he's been willing to put himself out for you ... because he doesn't do that even for his fucking friends."

Justin hung his head. Brian had come home yesterday, not only with more groceries but with a selection of films for Justin to watch, one of which just happened to be a copy of Yellow Submarine, and a new sketchpad and some pencils. He'd cut off Justin's surprised thanks with a fierce glare and the curt observation that he didn't want Justin downloading porn and jerking off over his sofa all day, but Justin had still been absurdly touched.

"Alright," he said, meeting her eyes firmly. "Thank you. But I'm not going to be a burden, to you or your brother ... I'll pull my own weight, Mrs. ..." he tailed off. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

"It's Mrs. Novotny, but you call me Debbie, like everyone else," she answered, chuckling. "And Vic is going to be like a dog with two fucking tails having a cute little hottie like you around, so don't worry your head about that. The only person likely to have his nose put out is my son, Michael ... he's been left home for years, but he still calls it 'his' room. Now I've got an excuse have him to finally clear all his shit out." She stood up, winding her multi-coloured scarf around her neck. "So we have a deal."

"Um ... Debbie?" Justin placed the tray on the coffee table and rose to his feet. "Is there a food store nearby?"

Debbie planted her fists on her hips. "Don't tell me that asshole hasn't been feeding you!"

"No ... I mean, yes. But I wanted to cook something ... you know, just to say thanks for putting me up ... I was going to do a jambalaya ... there's some chicken in the fridge, but he doesn't have rice or tomatoes or even an onion. And I'd need some peppers, and chorizo, and garlic ..."

Debbie beamed. "Not just a pretty face, are you, Sweetie? The guy who ends up with you is going to be one lucky bastard, that's for sure. I think that's a fine idea. I'll pop out and get what you need."

"No, I didn't mean that!" Justin protested. "Brian left me the code to the door, I can go ..."

Debbie held up her hand. "Oh no you can't," she said with finality. "You don't know the area, you stay right there. I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Wait ..." He hurried up to the bedroom, and pulled his pack out of the closet where Brian had stowed it. He remembered stuffing his money in there that first night, but he couldn't find it; panicked, he emptied the pack on the floor, scrabbling through his things and frantically searching pockets. He closed his eyes with relief as he finally found the precious notes in his jacket. He must have been more out of it than he'd realised.

He trotted back and held the cash out to Debbie. "Will that be enough?" he asked worriedly.

She counted it, pressed her lips together and smiled at him. "I'm sure it will, Sweetie. I'll bring you back your change." To Justin's surprise she placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Oh," he said, remembering. "And could you get a bottle of Tabasco? To give it that extra kick."

Brian took the elevator feeling more than a little pleased with himself. He knew he could come up with a winning campaign for Stockwell – not that he had any liking for the man himself: on the contrary, he thought Jim Stockwell was a wretch. In fact he represented everything Brian detested: he was arrogant, narrow minded and bigoted, and his policies reflected his personality accordingly. However, there was no doubt the guy could be a winner; he new exactly how to focus the fears and insecurities of middle America on easy targets; immigrants, ethnic minorities, and most of all the gay community, blaming them for the loss of morals in society as a whole and as being an insidious influence upon the Youth of America. Brian actually had his own theories about Stockwell's homophobia; he had seen too many 'straight' men who covered their true inclinations by a veneer of macho maleness, and he had a feeling Stockwell might be a case in point; he had noticed the surreptitious glances Stockwell occasionally gave him, and if his gaydar wasn't exactly pinging it was certainly buzzing.

However, Brian's dislike of the man had no bearing on his willingness to help the guy in his campaign to become Mayor. Stockwell represented Brian's big chance; if he could deliver the election, then Stockwell would be grateful, and Brian would reap the benefits. Since his friendship with Mikey was irreparably damaged, and his relationship with the rest of his 'family' badly deteriorated, Brian had begun to think that Pittsburgh was over for him ... he wanted to get out, to maybe start his own agency somewhere else, to find a new place with new clubs and new men, where he could feel young and vital again. And he was beginning to think that Jim Stockwell might just be the man to take him there.

When he opened the Loft door he was feeling more upbeat and hopeful than he had for a long time. He had dropped off at the Baths on his way home for a sauna and a therapeutic fuck, and he was ready to order a take out, crack open a few beers, and relax. With any luck, Deb would have called and made arrangements to take the kid ... yeah, things were definitely looking up.

So when he walked in to the smell of cooking and the sight of his table laid ready for a meal, he was a little taken aback. Jay was in the kitchen, humming to himself as he worked, and Brian paused, bemused. He dropped his briefcase on the sofa, took off his overcoat and hung it up, and went to find out what the fuck was going on.

"What are you doing?"

Jay turned, and his face lit up. "Hi. I'm cooking you dinner."

Brian looked into the pan the kid was stirring; he registered rice, tomato, peppers, and what he assumed was the chicken he'd bought. "Have you been out?" he demanded.

"No, Deb picked it all up for me." Jay paused, spatula in hand. "Don't worry, I paid for it," he added hurriedly.

Brian remembered the tiny stash of dollars he'd found in the kid's pack and frowned. "You shouldn't be wasting your money on this shit."

Jay's face fell a little. "I'm sorry. I just ... I just wanted to say thanks, you know? For putting me up, and everything ... and for speaking to Debbie. She's going to let me stay with her for a while, so I'll be out of your way soon. And I know you didn't want me here ... so I just wanted to say thank you."

The kid looked at him with earnest blue eyes, and Brian felt something twist inside him. Not a pleasant feeling ... and not one he could ever exactly remember experiencing before. He dropped his gaze with an effort and cleared his throat. "Um ... what is it?" Whatever the concoction was, it actually smelt pretty good. He reached for a spoon to sample it.

Jay batted his hand away. "Hey, no tasting till it's done!" He lifted some on the spatula, blew on it, tasted and shook his head a little. He picked up a bottle of Tabasco and added a few drops.

Brian watched in amusement. "I thought you said no tasting."

"Cook's prerogative." He put down the spatula and turned to Brian. "I hope you like jambalaya."

Brian poked his tongue in his cheek. "I guess we're about to find out."

Jay laughed. "There's time for you to take a shower and change."

When Brian came back ten minutes later pulling on his wife beater, Jay was carrying two steaming plates of food to the table. Brian took the nearest chair and Jay sat opposite him. Brian loaded his fork, aware of the kid's surreptitious scrutiny; he found himself hoping that if the food were really terrible he'd be able to control his expression. But to his surprise the jambalaya was excellent, and he raised an eyebrow. "Not bad," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the kid lit up like a candle, and immediately started on his own meal enthusiastically.

Brian suppressed a smile: he found himself wondering if the boy were always so easy to please. He was pleased with himself for having done it, for having made Jay smile like that. "Where did you learn to cook?"

Jay swallowed, and wiped his lips with his napkin before answering. "My Mom taught me. She liked to cook, and she always let me help ... even though it used to piss off Dad. He thought only women belonged in the kitchen. And then, after she died ... well, I'd have lived on TV dinners if I hadn't cooked up the odd meal for myself. But I really enjoy it ... only I haven't had the opportunity for a while."

Brian listened, watching Jay as he chatted. He seemed a completely different person to the silent, wary kid Brian had first met; he sat straight, his head up, talking with poise and confidence ... and it suddenly came to Brian that Jay reminded him in many ways of Lindsay; he had much the same ease, the same sort of social graces; and for the first time he found himself wondering if Jay were really as young as he appeared. And he realised that the description forming in his brain wasn't sweet or cute ... it was beautiful.

"I made a fresh fruit salad for dessert," Jay was saying. "I don't have any cream, though."

Brian couldn't resist smirking. "Really?" he drawled, elevating an eyebrow. "I'd like to bet you've got plenty."

He watched the slow flush rise on the kid's cheekbones before Jay ducked his bright head. Damn. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone who could blush so easily, except for Mikey. It was kind of charming, really. And it was fun to tease the kid ... after all, it wasn't like Brian was flirting with him. Brian didn't flirt with anyone.

Jay rose, and cleared their plates; he carried them to the sink, went to the refrigerator and came back with two bowls, moving with the easy grace of a dancer. He set one before Brian, and then seated himself again. The bowl contained a colourful arrangement of sliced fruit – apple, peach, orange segments and grapes – and Brian ate it with pleasure. When he'd finished Jay took both bowls and headed back to the sink. Brian cleared the rest of the table and followed.

"You don't have to wash up as well, you know."

Jay glanced up at him. "It's all done. There's only these bowls and the plates left."

Brian sighed, picked up a towel and started to dry the flatware Jay had already washed, putting it back in the drawer as he did so. When he'd dried the plates and bowls and put them away too, he turned to see Jay wiping down the sink and draining board and leaned against the counter to watch. "You're gonna make someone a lovely wife some day."

Jay shook his head a little impatiently. "Why do you always have to do that?"

Brian lifted an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"You know very well." Jay dried his hands. "I tried to thank you yesterday for finding Yellow Submarine, and for the sketchpad. But you wouldn't let me, so I wanted to do this instead. There's no need to belittle me about it."

Brian fully intended to tell the kid in no uncertain terms that the Loft was his place, and he'd say whatever the fuck he wanted, thank you very much. Instead he found himself walking over. He placed his left hand on Jay's shoulder and gently pushed back the blond hair with his right, tucking it behind the boy's ear. "It's just my way," he said softly. "Actually, that was the nicest 'thank you' I've had for a long time."

And there it was, that smile. Brian looked down into the shining blue eyes, and felt that strange, unfamiliar warmth grow again inside him. Before he knew it he was leaning down, and, mindful of the half-healed cut, placed a gentle kiss on the inviting pink lips.

They were every bit as warm as he thought they'd be, and so soft, and he could taste the lingering flavour of fruit ... he felt his dick responding with enthusiasm, and he wanted more than anything to deepen the kiss, to plunder the kid's mouth ... but that would be stupid. Very, very stupid.

He pulled away, kicking himself for being an idiot. The last thing he needed was to let the kid start thinking he cared, or fucking something.

"Come on." He deliberately avoided looking at Jay's dazed expression. "Let's check out the fucking Blue Meanies."

So they sat on the sofa and watched Yellow Submarine, and Brian dug out his weed and let Jay have a couple of tokes even though it made him cough, and Jay sang along in a stupid Liverpudlian accent and Brian laughed harder than he had for a long time.

Yes, things were definitely looking up. Only another few days and the kid would be gone. Brian would be able to sleep in his own bed instead of getting backache on the fucking sofa, he could bring tricks home again, and he wouldn't have to worry about upsetting the boy anymore. He'd be able to work on Stockwell's campaign in peace. And that would be a very good thing, right?

Right.

TBC