Disclaimer: I do not own Queer As Folk. No profit is generated from this, it is done merely because I love writing, I have a story to tell, and I want to share.

Feedback: Pretty, pretty please.

Author's Note: Very busy few months for me, but I still found time to work on this. Debbie fans, be warned. I write her very realistically and I have no mercy on her characterization. She pissed me off the majority of season 4, so this is kinda that frustration coming to fruition. I know I kinda leave it where you want to smack Brian into saying something, but believe me, I have an even better better Deb/Brian confrontation coming up in a later chapter, and then a gasp nice, apologizing Debbie who, of course, is proved wrong!

Michael trudged up the steps to his apartment - our apartment, he corrected himself - exhausted from a bustling day at the store. It seemed the news of RAGE the movie had spread like wildfire across the gay plains of Liberty Avenue. He'd been bombarded with ceaseless questions, (most of which he didn't have anything close to an answer for) tremendously appreciated congratulations and best wishes, and the exceedingly annoying - that is, after being asked about 3,000 times - 'are ya gonna be rich' inquiries. To top it off, he'd been finishing up Hunter's training in the fundamentals of running a comic book store during the whole barrage. Normally, he would delight in the chance to talk with eager Rage enthusiasts, but there was nothing 'normal' about today.

Not after last night.

So instead, he'd acquired one bitch of a headache and a sore tongue from biting it frequently - to keep himself from yelling at everyone to just shut the fuck up and go home already, there was a jack hammer at work on his skull.

A few aspirins had taken care of it somewhat, reducing it to a dull throb instead of a piercing ache. Too bad aspirin couldn't diminish other aches.

He ran a hand through his mussed hair and sighed as he reached his floor. He couldn't wait to take a long, hot shower, presumed immediately by sliding under warm, silky sheets. Maybe a nice cold beer, he thought as he turned his key, or some of that left-over cannelloni Ma had sent over, or....

He stopped dead in his tracks as he opened the apartment door to find what he least expected.

"Em?"

"One and only, Sweetie."

Head occupying one armrest and ankles the other, Emmett bounded from his restful position on the couch and trotted giddily across the room to envelope Michael in a warm hug.

Michael hugged him back, looking across his shoulder at the coffee table - swamped with every kind of junk food and take-out imaginable.

"What's all..." Michael gestured with his arms to encompass what used to be a coffee table, "this?"

"Well, I thought since your gorgeous husband-to-be isn't going to be in till late, and Hunter's out with friends, I'd come over and keep you a little company!" Emmett collapsed on the couch with a flourish, giving Michael a toothy grin.

Michael stood there, unable to keep the suspicion from sharpening his gaze. What was Em up to?

"C'mon! Kick back, relax! I got all our favorites - lemon bars for you, those delicious chocolate Stud Muffins for me, a few of our favorite movies....I thought we could relive a night from our past. Like all those times, when the tricks had come and gone - pun intended - and we'd just stay up till late, swapping big dick stories and stuffing ourselves like Thanksgiving turkeys...what'd'ya say?" Emmett patted the couch cushions invitingly, bouncing on his own like a hyper 3-year-old.

"Em...this is really sweet of you...and there's nothing I'd like more than to have another night like that...but our plane leaves at eight in the morning tomorrow and I have to get some sleep. You'd think the store had a sign on it that said 'Free Blowjobs'. It was a fucking mad house." Michael followed Emmett's lead, collapsing on the couch beside him and covering his eyes with one hand.

"Honey - I know JUST what you need." Emmett leaped from the couch, springing across the room to dig through the bag he had left by the door.

Michael peeked out from under his fingers, brows knitted in wary curiosity coupled with fatigue.

"Em...if you think I'm gonna let you stick two cucumbers on my eyes or any of that nasty facial mud from Africa..."

Emmett placed an indignant hand on his slim hips and held up a small, blue bottle.

"This 'nasty facial mud from Africa' happens to be the best there is. At least it better be...at $50 a bottle. And, it just so happens to be specially formulated for brightening the complexion of a bride before her wedding day...."

Michael sent Emmett a withering glare, but Emmett, to his dismay, wasn't affected in the least.

"....and the vitamin C beautifies, purifies, and tightens...fabulous combination of adjectives, don't you think?"

"Em...shouldn't you be experimenting on Ted? Not me?"

"He's working late." Which was a slight alteration of the truth, but it was duly justified in this situation. "Seems like both our husbands have ditched us tonight, huh? Now - get your hands off your face and lets do something about this complexion of yours. You look worn out, sweetie. And not in that good 'after sex' way."

"Thanks."

"Oh, don't worry...I'll have that gorgeous pale skin of yours practically glowing by the time I'm finished with you. Now, lie back, and relax."

Michael huffed, deciding to just give in. What could it hurt? Besides, having a little company would be nice, actually - he hadn't been seeing much of Ben lately, and he tried not to think too hard on why that didn't seem right - not at all right, especially considering that they were now engaged, so to speak. Emmett was one of the few people he felt the most at ease with, so this couldn't be so bad.

"JESUS! What the fuck is in that shit?" Michael flinched when the cold, slimy cream made contain with his skin - and nearly hurled when the smell reached his nose.

It was somewhere between dead fish and rotten peaches.

"God knows, but it works like a charm!" Emmett said cheerily, as he continued to lather the green, pasty cream onto Michael's face, not exactly succeeding in restraining himself from laughing at Michael's comically scrunched up features.

"I'll just have to take your word for it...but I swear to God, if it turns me green or something..."

"Michael...." Em's voice held a concerned note that caused Michael to open one eye.

"Hmm?"

"Where did you get these bruises? On your neck? I didn't know Ben liked it rough!" Em's tone turned playful, once he realized they were love bites.

Michael froze. He'd totally forgotten about them. People at the store - for the most part - weren't nosy enough to pay any heed, and Hunter had merely shook his head knowingly. Thinking Ben did it.

Oh, shit - Ben. What was he going to tell Ben? He'd left before he had woken this morning. Had he seen them? He knew they hadn't been there the night before - they had been merely red marks. And Ben had been too tired (or so he kept repeating) and in a too big of hurry to leave Babylon to even notice.

Michael felt the bitter taste of panic mop up every ounce of saliva from his mouth. How in the hell was he going to explain this? He didn't even remember Brian sucking that hard...but then, his skin was so fair and sensitive that a meager pinch would guarantee a small bruise.

Shit, shit, shit.

At Emmet's questioning gaze from his lack of response, he lowered his eyes and bit his bottom lip. He never could keep a poker face.

"Sweetie...it WAS Ben that did it, right?" Em had finished coating Michael's skin, and flipped the top of the bottle closed, never taking his eyes off Michael's troubled features.

When Michael didn't respond, Emmett's mind went into over-drive. Surely Michael wouldn't...

"Honey, you're not saying - "

"No Em. I didn't sleep with another man."

That answer only troubled Emmett more. If he hadn't, then why did he look so ashamed? So...scared?

"Oh my God...Michael...did someone...did someone take advantage of you?" Face etched in horror, Em raised a hand to his mouth, and the other to clasp Michael's.

"No, no, no. Nothing like that." Michael squeezed Emmett's hand lightly in reassurance, meeting Emmett's worried gaze in full before closing his eyes in defeat.

"Michael...you know you can tell me anything, but only if you want to. I'm always here to listen. But...you're not acting like yourself...and last night, when you came back from the bathroom, you - "

"It was Brian, Em." Michael's voice was barely above whisper. He burrowed into the warmth of the couch, hugging a gaudy pillow tightly against his chest, as if seeking protection from an unseen force.

"What did you say?" Emmet couldn't have looked more surprised if someone had punched him square in the gut. This was the last thing he had been expecting, although he couldn't understand why he hadn't figured it out already - the only one who could get Michael this upset was Brian. And he'd heard them fighting last night, hence the reason he had decided to check up on him tonight, but still....it couldn't....

"It was Brian." Michael's eyes fluttered closed as he repeated the words, but not before Emmett glimpsed the brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, elicited by the pain of a fresh memory.

"Brian......Kinney?" He was still unable to believe it. Michael said he hadn't slept with another man....but then, Brian wasn't just another man.

"For God's sake Em, how many Brian's do we know?!" Michael's voice was exasperated more than angry, choked with frustration.

"Oh, Sweetie, I'm...I'm so sorry. I had no idea. When?"

"When what? Last night, of course."

"But...you went home with Ben last night."

"Of course I did."

Emmett furrowed his brow in confusion. It all made sense now - or...not. They'd been fighting in the bathroom because they had finally slept with each other, but, dear Lord, how long had it been going on?

"But the marks..."

Michael sat up suddenly, massaging his throbbing temple with thumb and index finger. How had he gotten himself into this fucking mess? How did Brian, the man he would die for, succeed so glamorously in systematically and repeatedly fucking up his life?

"Em, like I said, I didn't sleep with anyone. Nothing happened."

"Something happened. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I'm not here to pry. I'm here as a friend."

"I'm sorry...I just...I don't..." Michael wrapped his arms around his body, as if attempting to escape by folding in upon himself. Tears began to flow.

The big brother instinct kicking in almost immediately, Emmett gathered Michael to him, and allowed his friend the freedom to cry on a sympathetic shoulder, rubbing his back in small, soothing circles. Whatever had happened, it had Michael more shaken and lost than Emmett had ever seen him before.

After a few moments, Michael pulled back, starting to wipe at his tears with the backs of his hands, but thinking better of it when he remember the gooey state of his face.

Emmett sat silently and patiently, giving Michael time to say what he needed. He resisted the urge to reach out and grab a muffin to nibble on in attempt to abate his suspense - now was not the time to be thinking of food.

"He followed me into the bathroom last night. He...we...almost...we almost fucked right then and there. But I stopped him. I didn't understand why he was doing it. I didn't know if it was because of his job, or Justin...or if maybe..." Michael hesitated, afraid of how foolish he might sound. He'd given everyone the idea - and not misleadingly, for he really had felt that way - that he was over Brian Kinney. So what was this going to sound like?

Emmett's voice was soft and venturing as he spoke. "That maybe, he might be trying to tell you something?"

"Something like that. I just don't know Em. I've never felt so many feelings from him before, never been able to not know what was on his mind...and it just overwhelmed me, and I think I might've said or done the wrongs things. He was like himself, but yet, he wasn't...I was confused...and..."

"You haven't done anything you should feel ashamed of, sweetie. Brian's been doing this for how many years? Don't let him spoil your ideal of happiness, but don't ignore your gut feeling, either. You can't listen to me, or your Ma, or anyone - you've got to listen to yourself. What does your heart tell you?"

Michael hesitated, pulling at his lower lip with white teeth. His eyes unfocused in thought, and for a brief moment Emmet though he might voice second thoughts about wedding Ben.

"That I still love Ben, and that we've come to far to let my uncertainty or my feelings for Brian screw it up. But...oh God...I'm afraid I've lost him, Em. I've never seen him look like that before. And we said such...stupid, hurtful things to each other. Things we didn't mean, but can never take back."

"Have you talked to him today?"

"No. I tried once, but his cell phone was turned off. I don't think I can see him right now."

"Then don't. Make him come to you, for once. He owes you that. No matter what his motivations, it was wrong for him to put you in this situation three days before you marry Ben. Please sweetie....don't let him ruin this for you."

"I'm not." Michael leaned his against Em's shoulder, grateful for the words, for any logical reasoning at this point.

"Fuck. I feel like an idiot, sitting here like a scene from Days of Our Lives with this green crap all over my face."

Emmett chuckled, pulling Michael to his feet and leading him towards the bathroom.

"I think it's been long enough. Wash it off with some cold water. What time will Ben be home?" Emmett glanced at his watch as Michael scrubbed at his face.

"'Bout 30 minutes. He said 9:30."

"What are you going to tell him?"

Michael froze momentarily, rinsed the last of the cream off his face and took the fluffy white towel from Emmett's outstretched hand.

"The truth. I'll just have to tell him the truth. There's not a lot of excuses I can make up for these, huh?" He touched the three small bruises as he spoke, fighting another onslaught of tears.

"Are you sure - "

"I'm not sure about anything right now, Em, except that I've got to tell him the truth. It shouldn't change a thing between us. He knows how I feel. I still love him, and I still want to marry him."

Emmett bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from saying anything - it was obvious that Michael was trying to convince himself of his own words. He decided to change the subject; lighten the mood before Ben came home and Michael was faced with the inevitable. He moved to stand behind Michael, looking over his shoulder and into the small bathroom mirror that he had primped and preened in front of many a mornings.

"See?! Look at that luminous skin that was just dying to be uncovered."

"Yeah, well, it's the only luminous thing about me right now."

"Oh, don't be silly. A day from now, you're going to be walking the streets of Boston in style, hunky husband in tow, basking in the glow of romantic love."

Michael turned suddenly, brown eyes large with unease.

"I'm scared, Em."

"Pre-nuptial jitters? Everyone has those, sweetie."

"Not that. I'm scared of losing the two people I love. I'm scared of not making the right decision, and it being the biggest, dumbest mistake I'll ever make. I can't lose either of them, Em."

Emmett was suddenly at a loss for words. What did one say to such a statement? Twelve years of witnessing the intense bond that was Brian and Michael, and still, he had no words to describe to it, no definite way to explain the complexity of their commitment to one another. He couldn't tell Michael to just forget Brian - that would never happen, no matter what heinous crime Brian committed - nor could he say 'go for it', in fear that Michael would be rejected once again; but this time, to lose Ben in the process. So, best to stay on the current course, because no matter what they said or did - they would never leave each other.

"Your not going to lose anyone, sweetie. You're going to get on that plane with Ben in the morning, and you're going to arrive in Massachusetts; and by Monday evening - you are going to be married and having the time of your life. I only wish a could be there to see you." Em laid an affectionate hand on Michael's cheek, smiling with encouragement.

"Me too. It's going to feel weird not having you guys there."

Em was going to make a joke along of the lines of how it was probably better they weren't going to be there, because Brian would probably 'speak now' instead of 'forever holding his peace', but that was a bad joke to crack at the moment.

"If there's anything you need me to do, like packing, cleaning...?"

"Everything that can be packed has been already. Hunter's watching the store, Ma's getting my mail for me..." He cringed slightly, "I think we've got everything."

"Are you sure about Hunter? And the store, I mean."

"A few months ago I would've been insane to leave him with so much as a plant I cared about, but he's really changed. He wants this responsibility, and we have to let him know we trust him. He's seventeen, after all. Plus, Vic's gonna be there to help out, so that's a reassurance. It's not a problem, and I think he'll actually enjoy it."

"Well, if you have faith in him, so do I. Now - what do you say we keep that poor lonesome food over there some company, shall we?"

For thirty minutes they ate and reflected back on the good ole days, thinking back on all the hilarious times they had spent with one another, constantly into mischief and scrapping to get by - but always there for one another. Michael laughed and joked and seemed to genuinely appreciate his company, but Emmett still could not shake the feeling that something was desperately wrong with him; for his normally bright, cheerful eyes were almost in another time and place, haunted and hollow - as if something was eating away at his very soul.

Except it wasn't just 'something' - it was Brian Kinney. It infuriated Emmett that he could be so blasé about Michael's feelings - either tell Michael how you really feel or let him live his own life. Or, as Deb would so colorfully put it - shit or get off the pot.

Emmett had been torn about what advice to give Michael - he didn't want to see him turn away a year and a half of a growing relationship for a few cryptic words from Brian. He wasn't about to try and guess Brian Kinney's motives, but he knew he was tired of Brian giving Michael mixed signals. He also knew, all to well at times, that Brian felt more than simple 'platonic love' for his best friend, but just how much more, he wasn't about to risk a guess. But he WAS going to pay said person a visit once Michael was out of town, and give him a long overdue piece of his flaming gay mind.

"Dude, aren't you guys a little old for pajama parties?" Both men, in the midst licking their fingers and giggling like a pair of fifth graders, turned at Hunter's voice.

"The day I'm too old for any kind of party is the day I'm no longer queer...which is never, by the way," Em said proudly. Michael shook his head with a chuckle and began to clear the coffee table of empty boxes and wrappers.

Hunter unslung his backpack from his shoulder, throwing Em a dubious glance as he grabbed a soda from the fridge. He still couldn't quite figure out the flamboyant man that was one of his foster parent's closest friends, but he definitely liked him and the way he would rib him like a younger brother. It was a nice feeling.

"You hungry? Em brought pizza and there's some left over's in there."

"Nah. I ate earlier, with some friends. You're not supposed to eat carbs after seven, you know."

Michael winced unconsciously, the remark causing Brian's face to appear in his mind. For the entire day, every little thing had caused him to think of Brian, to see the beautiful hazel eyes. It was like he was 14 again, and he hated it. Hated how helpless he felt.

"Just 'friends'? Not maybe, one special girl friend?" Michael winked at Hunter as he stuffed the empty pizza box into the garbage can.

Em perked up, catching Michael's wink.

Michael and Ben had known for months now that Hunter preferred girls, and that he was still exploring the sexual aspect of his young life. In the most remote corners of their minds they had expected such a twist, considering Hunter's past, but weren't prepared for it. Michael was still nervous with the thought of guiding a straight, or even bisexual teen - he wanted only the best for Hunter, and he seriously doubted his aptitude when it came to straight relationships.

"Say what?" Emmet teased, cupping a hand to his ear. "Have we found a special lady? Do tell."

Hunter actually blushed, downing the rest of his soda quickly before moving to the couch.

"No. Maybe. No. Like I'm going to tell you, the biggest blabbermouth in Pittsburgh."

Emmett placed a hand over his chest in feigned shock.

"Moi? A blabbermouth? Michael, what sort of things have you been telling this child?"

"The title 'Gossip of Pittsburgh' is already taken by Ma." Michael coolly intercepted
Hunter's grab for the TV remote, reaching it a fraction of a second before him and wriggling it admonishingly.

"Nuh uh. No TV for you. You've got to get up and go to work in the morning, remember?"

Hunter rolled his eyes, but walked towards his room in defeat.

"Fine, fine. I'll leave you two fags to your slumber party."

"Good night, little workin' man!" Emmet called out, right before Hunter closed his door, a mix of exasperation and amusement on his young face.

"Almost like needling Brian. I just love deflating cynical sarcasm."

Christ, did everyone have to keep mentioning Brian tonight?

"Yeah, well, he's got no shortage of that." Michael prayed his voice wasn't wavering, that his eyes weren't watery. All he wanted to do, no matter how childish the notion, was to crawl into his bed, alone, and cry. Just cry...until all his confusion and heartache was flushed from his body as physically and furiously as the hot, bitter tears he knew he would shed. But he couldn't. He had ugly reality to face. And a future husband, who was due home any minute.

"Michael?"

"Huh?"

"I said, are you okay? You looked really peaked there for sec, sweetie."

"Yeah. I'm fine. Like I said, busy day at the store." Michael passed a hand through his dark hair, smiling weakly before he moved to the kitchen, bracing his arms on either side of the sink. Seconds later he felt gentle hands lightly grasp his biceps.

"Michael, please. I can see it in your eyes, how this is affecting you. It will destroy you, piece by piece, if you let it."

Michael snorted disdainfully, eyes fixed upon the cold stainless steel of the sink, observing it idly. So very cold, and lifeless. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm afraid it is, hon." He turned Michael around to face him, not surprised to see a silent tear snake from the corner of one eye. His expression, however, was stony - undefinable. Like that of a man who had just been exiled from his own country.

"I know you love them both, and that you would give up everything you are for either of them. Do what this..." He laid a hand upon Michael's chest, over his heart, "is telling you. Don't even try to convince yourself with the same old 'if, ands, or but's'...time is past for that. Its time to be honest with yourself, to be honest with them. Walk the path that you choose. Avoid the road with the signs that have 'regret' written on them in big read letters - they're all dead ends, Michael, and you deserve so much more than a dead end."

He placed a parting kiss on Michael's forehead, wishing he possessed the eloquent words to ease Michael's confusion, but he knew that in the end, the only person who could do that was Michael himself. The only person who could choose was Michael.

"I love you, sweetie. Call if you need anything." All he received in response was a gracious nod of Michael's head before it was ducked in attempt to keep him from seeing anymore of the raw pain within. He knew Michael hated to cause the people he cared about to share in his heartaches, to pity for him. So he left quietly, the sudden stillness hanging over the usually animated apartment like a stagnant, oppressive cloud.

Michael heard the door close, and let out a ragged breath, Emmett's words still echoing through his dulled senses. They're all dead ends, Michael.

He didn't know how long he had stood there, lost within the farthest recesses of his consciousness, violently denying his most carefully guarded thoughts; when he heard Ben. Righting himself quickly, he pretended to wash dishes that weren't there, keep on filling the role; pretending to play in a world that wasn't there, and never would be.

But it was too late now. He was trapped in his own paragon of domestic happiness. He loved Hunter, he loved Ben - but this was not where he wanted to be in 20 years. The realization hurt more than any physical wound ever could. He had always, since he was a gawky, nerdy, 14-year-old boy, knew what he wanted for his future; but over the years of repetitive, stinging rejection the dream had atrophied, had become buried and smothered underneath new - but far less desirable - hopes and dreams. Now, the dusty memories and fantasies of the only future he had ever wanted for himself had bubbled to the surface, scorching his very being and mocking the reality before him.

"Hey, baby." Arms, strong arms, encircled him from behind, and he was engulfed with a crisp, familiar scent. Try as he might, the combination of sensations did little to soothe him, to reaffirm his place in life.

He melted back into Ben's hard body, closing his eyes. He loved this man, and this man would never reject him, never deny him the commitments they had pledged to one another. How could he betray him? Now? He couldn't. He simply couldn't. It would be to much to bear to see pain in the ocean blue of Ben's gentle eyes, knowing he had put it there, simply because he could not let go of an impractical dream. Or, he thought bitterly, as others would call it - an obsession.

"Hey."

"You and Em have a good time? I'm glad you had company. I'm sorry I couldn't be here tonight."

"S'okay. We had a great time. I missed you, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Michael turned around, mentally bracing himself for the confession he was about to make.

"Michael...what...?" Ben couldn't decide which disturbed him more - the bruises of Michael's skin, or the internal ones, deep within his amber eyes. The two combined brought four syllables instantly to mind. Brian Kinney.

"Brian."

At Michael's whispered confession; confusion, anger, hurt, then resignation haunted across Ben's features, until eventually, all other emotions were stifled out by the cold, gripping sensation of fear. He knew his eyes reflected it, that it was etched upon every line of his body. Had he finally lost Michael to Brian? Was it time? It couldn't be. He and Michael had just begun to really live with each other, to learn the other's little habits and tendencies. Brian couldn't take him away now, yet he always knew this day would come. He felt a sharp squeeze within his chest, until it was almost painful to breath. The only thing that kept him grounded was the love pouring from Michael's beautiful brown eyes. Arms snaked around his waist, pulling him close.

"Nothing happened, Ben...nothing that matters." Michael cupped Ben's face gently within his hands, willing the hurt and fear away with the tactility of touch and gaze. "What matters is this : I choose you."

Everything around him dissolved into a blissful haze as Michael's lips touched his own, sealing the spoken words with physical connection. He let the tension glide away like melted ice as he leaned into Michael, incapable of speech and paralyzed with the most intense form of joy and relief he had ever experienced.

He felt himself being lead towards the bedroom, and he continued to stare at Michael with awe, his steps light, as if he were floating. This man, Michael Novotny, the man he had been looking for his entire life - had chosen him.

As he lowered Michael onto the bed, he briefly wondered why Michael began to avert his gaze, why he didn't look as euphoric as he knew he must. It didn't matter, he thought, as he began to replace Brian's marks of possession with his own.

Michael was his.

Steam veiled the room in a transparent cloud of vacillating wisps, curling and unfurling in sinuous motions. The foggy vapor was a perfect simile for Brian Kinney's current state of mind.

He stood with his back to the spray of the shower nozzle, allowing the water to course down his tilted head and through his thick hair, the pressure fanning his bangs along his forehead. Rivulets of water poured down his face and collected in pearl-like beads upon his slightly parted lips and long eyelashes.

It was truly a hedonistic sight to behold, had anyone been present to appreciate the sensuality so aptly displayed.

But he was alone, silently willing the heated water to wash away more than sweat and body oils.

He reached back a hand and ceased the flow of water, unable to bear its heat any longer. Water sprayed against the clear surface of the shower walls as he shook his head violently, freeing it from the weight of moisture.

Ever since he was a small child, he had loved water - the feel of it, the power of it, the sensation of freedom one recevied from diving into its cool depths. In his youth, bath time had been the highlight of his evening, even though Joan had always been there to coldly remind him that bathtime was not for playing. He didn't have the rubber duckies or the colorful, different sized cups, nor the squeaky picture books that floated - she didn't believe in them. Bathtime was a chore, a daily ritual, much like everything else in her empty life. There was no turtle shaped sprinkler to dig out of the basement when summer arrived, no swimming pool with animals on the sides to assemble on the lawn. Still, he had found a way to have fun with nothing, to make something out of nothing, which perhaps explained his aptitude in advertising. He refused to allow her or Jack to take away the simple fascinations of life - but that had been the indifferent obstinence of a young child, which fades. He proved no different. At ten years of age, he had lost what little hold and enjoyment he had on life. His innocence wilted - stifled by Jack's unremitting violence and cruel words - and replaced by a bitter cynicism far to pronounced for his age.

He had quickly abandoned the 'make due' attitude of a child, and replaced it with a hatred of all people and ideals that expounded love and the establishment of family as the cure to all the ailments and predicaments of life. It was bullshit. Kitty pools, random hugs and adoring kisses, cook-outs on the patio, conversations on the porch and utter bullshit.

Other families had those things - he'd seen them, if only briefly and in glimpses from the various moves his family endured - and he had envied the children who lived the illusion of the perfect American life. With age, his sharp young mind had quickly discerned that it was all a facade, a cheesy advertisement.

He'd still wondered, in those last days of his young life, in which he had clung to the hope of finding love, if it was because of him, if he was simply unable or unworthy to earn the love of his parents or anyone else. He couldn't count the times he had sat in that humid church and listened to priests utter verbose sermons declaring the importance and wonderfulness of love...yet he had never seen it, never felts it 'wondrous power'. The very people who screamed it from pulpits and rooftops proved to be the most cold and unloving of all; his own mother, for instance. Love was a concept he could not grasp or even experience, therefore his instinct told him to fear - to hate - the unknown. And that was exactly what he had done; with a caustic, 'fuck you' smile firmly in place. He would never let love touch him - shouldn't be that difficult, he'd mused, considering he'd lived the majority of his life without it.

Then he met Michael. Mikey.

He reached for a towel, pushing his face into the soft, clean smelling cotton. Exiting the shower, he admired his lithe form in the mirror. He stood there for a moment, tracing the sluices of water that ran down his torso with clouded eyes. Yes, as a little boy he had loved water. But even a love for something as simple as that could be killed.

Michael had rekindled it - had rekindled everything in him. His life literally began at fourteen, when his eyes captured a gentle gaze of brown.

He had taught Michael how to swim, one hazy summer morning, shortly after they had met. He knew he if looked in the mirror, he would be smiling from the memories evoked; a ridiculous, sentimental smile, no doubt. The way Michael had trusted him...no one had ever done that. The way he had so easily confided in him - like he knew Brian would never tell - that he was nervous and embarrassed that he didn't know how to swim and was afraid of drowning. How he'd been so pathetically shy, blushing beet red when he had stripped down to his swimming trunks.

Brian loved swimming once again after that day, but only with Michael. Everything became 'only with Michael'. He would smile an earnest smile, share a painful memory, or give a random hug or adoring kiss - only with Michael. Because Michael figuratively and literally kept him from drowning, and somehow became the exception to his life-guide list of 'nevers' and 'don't evers', and consequently, the one person ever allowed to see behind his fortification of mental walls and emotional shields.

He secured the towel low around his hips after rubbing himself dry, his hair a wet, tousled mess. Michael would tell him he looked 'scruffy looking'. He cocked his head to one side, examining his profile. He lightly touched the corner of one eye, contemplating if it was at all possible to age in one night, just from the strain of mere words. He even felt older than he did last night. Worn out. Tired.

"Fuck it."

He reached angrily for his toothbrush, making sure not to grab Justin's. That would just be gross.

A sudden, insistent knocking at his loft door caused his hand to zig-zag and the toothpaste to miss the toothbrush, leaving a squiggling trail across the marble sink. He ignored the fact that his hands had been shaky since last night.

"Shit."

He felt adrenaline flood his veins, and his heart began to beat wildly. That couldn't it? How could Michael possibly forgive him, come back to him, after the awful things he had said last night?

He jerked a pair of black jeans over his still damp legs, nearly falling flat on his ass twice in the process. He remembered the ratty state of his hair, and combed long fingers through it hastily.

The weird knocking continued, and his heart fell as he padded towards the door. Only one person knocked like that, and it wasn't the one who he desperately wanted to see at his door.

"Deb."

"I'm sorry its so damn late, but I was on my way home and needed to stop by."

Christ, why did she look so fucking forlorn? Needed to stop by... Deb never came by his loft unless it was something of importance, or unless she wanted to finagle him into doing some kind of ludicrous good deed that he didn't have a flying fuck to do with in the first place. To say the least, when Debbie came to his loft, the reason was rarely a pleasant drop-in for tea and crumpets.

He felt a plunge in the pit of his stomach, prompted by Debbie's offbeat tone and bereft appearance...Holy fuck, is it Michael?

"Do I need to come after someone else comes?" she dead-panned, taking in Brian's state of undress and furrowed brow. She peered past him, no doubt expecting to see the bed writhing with men.

He stepped aside, realizing he'd been standing at the door like Frankenstein.

"No. It's just me. Come on in."

Debbie walked in hesitantly, still looking around as if she expected to find a couple of guys going at it in the corner. Her eyes darted across the expanse of the loft floor, then settled to meet Brian's in a wry smile. She smacked her gum loudly.

"Last time I was in here, half of Pittsburgh was fucking on the floor."

He ignored her, biting the tip of his thumb boredly as he draped his bare torso across the cool stainless steel of the kitchen island, feeling his shoulders relax at her abrupt turn of nonchalance. It was a reflex born of a bizarre, deeply rooted instinct that caused Michael to immediately spring to mind on the rare occasions that Deb graced his doorstep.

"What sin have I committed this time towards the good of mankind to be honored with your presence on this lovely evening?"

She lifted an eyebrow, ignoring him in turn and walking over to face him from the opposite side of the island.

"Justin told me."

God love the woman - so straight to the point.

"Told you what?"

She chuckled and smiled. "Don't play dumb with me. It may work with Michael, but it sure as hell doesn't work with me."

Alarm flared briefly in Brian's consciousness, but was gone as quickly as it had surfaced. There was no way she could know about last night. He had told nobody, and he knew Mikey like the back of his hand - and he would tell no one, lest of all his mother. Still, he marveled at how well Debbie did not know her own son.

"So you're coming here to harangue me, per usual, for my flawed judgement. Thanks for the concern Deb, but I'll do whatever I goddamn please."

After an obstinate stare, he retreated to the fridge, tossing her a sweet smile over his shoulder.

"Would you like something fizzy?" His angelic tone was a complete spin from his sharp words seconds prior.

Deb straightened, placing her her hands on her generous hips, recognizing the play on words spoken long ago.

"I'm fizzy enough, thanks. What's got your cock in a knot?"

He laughed, popping the cap off his beer and stifling his chuckle with a long swig.

"My dick is just fine. How's yours?"

Deb stared at him, challenging him wordlessly with her eyes. Something had his feathers severely ruffled; his every sense on the defensive. She knew this version of Brian Kinney entirely too well.

"Listen, I don't know what the hell crawled up your ass, but I came over to give you my goddamn support, if you'd only keep that sarcastic trap of yours shut long enough for me to get a fucking word in."

Brian boredly rolled the cap of his beer between his thumb, looking up at Debbie expectantly through his eyelashes.

"Well aren't you going to say something?!"

"I'm keeping my sarcastic trap shut, as ordered," he said flatly, making sure his tone was brimming with indifference.

Debbie's jaw worked for a moment, then she raised a hand and pointed a red tipped finger in his direction.

"Maybe you don't know it, but you made the best decision of your life when you agreed to go with Sunshine."

Brian bit the inside of his mouth and stared down at the bottle cap, refusing to show how much that comment hurt, refusing to let the forthcoming arguments spill forth from the tip of his tongue. Let her say her piece. It might give him some ammunition for the future.

"He needs you, and you need him." She began to pace in front of the kitchen area like a caged animal, her predictability eliciting a sinister smirk from Brian. "This'll be good for him - and you too. He was heartbroken when you turned him down, and I was madder than hell. But you surprised me. I don't know what made you change your mind, but I'm happy you did. Because you would've lived the rest of your life regretting that you'd let him go."

Brian felt his blood boiling. He couldn't listen to this bullshit for much longer. He'd tolerated it for nearly twenty years - tolerated her putting him down, only to jerk him right back up when it suited her purposes. It was no fucking wonder Michael had no confidence.

"You can't go on like this, letting Sunshine think that - "

That was it. End of the rope. "Why, Deb?" He interrupted, annoyance lacing every syllable.

"Why what?" Debbie screeched, both arms shooting up in exasperation.

"I don't need a fucking little pep talk. Why did you come here? To convince yourself?"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

Brian swiveled on his bar stool to face her fully, the corner of his lip caught between his teeth as he smiled.

"You can't hurt my wittle feelings, Deb. You don't have to build me up before you tear me down."

Debbie shook her head slowly, acknowledging that her charade had been busted. She stalked towards Brian, until her face was a breath away from his. Brian didn't move a muscle.

"I don't want you telling him." Her voice was low and raspy - dangerous and intimidating for someone who did not know her well. "He's finally made a life of his own, found someone to be with who loves him. I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and watch you destroy it. Because you know all to well that no matter who is in his life, he'll always run to you."

Debbie backed off, finding the stool across from Brian and lowering herself onto it, never breaking the tension of the heated glare between them.

"He's leaving in the morning, and won't be back for three weeks. If he finds out, we both know what'll happen. He'll drop Ben like a rock and rush back here, begging you not to go."

"I'm glad you think Mikey is so selfish."

"It's not a matter of selfishness. It's a matter of what he can't have. Of what's not returned."

Brian swallowed, his head raised defiantly. He thought of the time and effort he had wasted, seeking to earn Debbie's love and pride. He didn't want it now.

"It's a matter of him looking for something that isn't there."

"Mikey's a big boy, Deb. When are you gonna realize that?"

"Don't talk to me about 'realizing' things about Michael. Any chance you ever had with him was lost years ago."

Brian barked out a laugh, but the sound a scornful sneer. He couldn't say anything to counter her - she had just voiced his deepest fear. The very thing that was causing him to flee. Still, the other part of him, the rational part that wasn't corroded with cynicism, knew it was a lie.

Debbie shook her head sadly, her face suddenly appearing much older than it was, the laugh lines more pronounced and her eyes regretful, and Brian instantly recognized the expression. Pity. It was all he could do not to crush the beer bottle between his fingers.

"You believe what you want. But listen to me - he is not to know anything until that plane lands here in Pittsburgh three weeks and 12 hours from now, with a wedding band on his finger, you hear me?"

Brian resisted the urge to deliver his trademark 'fuck.you.' right in her face. She wanted to play her little act, well, so could he. Except - no one ever saw the backstage in his play.

Debbie took his silence in stride, beginning to look uncomfortable under Brian's undeciperheable gaze. Brian watched her squirm, relishing it.

"He can call you, visit you, email you. Its time you two grew up."

"You mean grew apart."

"You are the one who's deciding to leave, buster. All I'm doing is trying to protect my baby, from getting fucked by Brian Kinney in the only way he knows. The only way he ever will."

"For Christ sakes, Deb, give it a rest."

"Not until you do. My ass ain't leaving this loft until you give me your word."

"I don't give anyone my word." He enunciated each syllable pointedly - venomously adamant.

Brian watched her smack her gum cockily, and he knew that her threat was not idle. This was Debbie at her finest - full out bitch-mode. Relentless and unmoving.

"You are NOT going to fuck this up for him. You can never give him what Ben has, and you don't even want to. Hell, you only talk about how much you hate any kind of relationship every fucking chance you get. You think Michael wants that? Huh? Do you want him to have anything less than what he wants?"

For the first time since their conversation, Brian lowered his head, shaking it softly in quiet acquiesce. He wanted - had always wanted - Michael to have everything he wanted and more.

Memories from his childhood surfaced unbidden. Jack, telling him he was useless. Joan, rejecting his every gesture of love and affection.

They didn't matter. Fuck the nay sayers. Only Michael, the one person who loved him unconditionally, who loved the real Brian Kinney - mattered to him. He may not be good enough for him - yet - but he could (and did) love Michael more than anyone else could possibly comprehend.

"I thought so. I'm not telling you stop being his friend. I'm not telling you to never talk to him again. All I'm asking is for you to just let him have this with Ben, and go to LA. Go, and let him be, with Ben. He doesn't have to know, and you don't have to tell him. It's better this way."

After a long silence, he felt a hand cup his cheek, but did not look up. He knew what was about to come, and he hated her for it.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo. You take care of yourself, and of Sunshine."

It was days before he was leaving for LA, yet she was already giving him her goodbye, her accursed blessing. He refused to return it, because he would be back. To prove that she, and everybody else, was wrong; so, so, wrong.

TBC.....