CHAPTER 6: To lesser evils

Tuesday, March 26, 2002

Justin smirked as he watched Brian focus on the one finger lightly running the edge of the baby bottle ring he had found on the floor. It had fallen out of some mother's baby bag and he should most likely return it. But there was precious little opportunity for outright teasing and flirting in here – he would take it where he could get it. From the hungry, slightly pained look on his visitor's face, the tease wasn't lost – at all. If the man's face told the truth, Brian was having some… difficulties. Hell, truth be told Justin was having his own… difficulties. And he didn't need the teasing finger play to get those going. All he needed was seeing the man sitting across from him. And his very vivid memories.

There was a bittersweetness to those memories for Justin. He no longer regretted the night he and Brian had spent together. Oh, for a long time he considered it as the beginning of hell for him, but he didn't regret it now. If anything, he clung to it like a fucking lifeline! It was all he had – his entire bank of sexual experience. There were plenty of opportunities to hook up here, and he'd even fought off a few 'offers' that bordered on demand. But even as inexperienced, scared and, yeah, fucking horny, as he had been when he arrived, he wasn't fool enough to open that Pandora's box.

He didn't count the night with Daphne. That hadn't been sex; that had been some kind of… insanity. He supposed the night with Brian had been insanity, too.

But, fucking lord, what he wouldn't give to be that crazy again!

"Um… why'd you stop?" The husky sound of the words snapped Justin back to the man of his daydreams.

"What?" Justin followed Brian's nod and noticed he was now tightly clutching the bottle ring in his fist.

"Why'd you stop? I was…enjoying the show. Gave a whole new meaning to rimming." Brian had been lost in his own memory. The feel of the boy's soft flesh giving beneath him, the earthy taste of that sweet ass… And, fuck… he'd been right there – right on that edge. Just watching him –that one fingertip that he couldn't even touch… Christ!

"You freak," Justin laughed, his face flushing. He got hard, again, as he thought of Brian and rimming. And the fucking smirk on Brian's face wasn't helping his situation one bit.

Brian laughed and took the offending piece of plastic from the young man's hand, holding it up by two fingers. "You are the one who started this little game, Sonny Boy."

"I… I was… uh… bored," Justin defended, his own smirk in place. This one embarassed. "Yeah. Bored."

The group huddled at the adjacent table looked over curiously at the snorting sound Brian made. He placed the plastic back on the table, pushing it slightly out the way, laughing.

"Yeah, well, looks like we're drawing an audience. And as much as I'm a fan of public… boredom…"

He let the thought hang unfinished between them. They both recognized the sexual tension; both knew it was a slightly dangerous game they were playing. Neither one was ready for the consequences if they were caught playing it.

"Justin, I know it's hard…"

This time, Justin snorted, an amused 'you did not just say that' look on his face.

"Shit. Okay… I know it's difficult…" Brian corrected.

"You have no fucking idea, Brian, just how… difficult." Brian knew their play was over as he heard the suddenly serious tone of Justin's words. "I'm literally surrounded by men. Even if I was straight it would be a challenge – but I'm fucking gay! A constantly horny nineteen year old, for chrissake!" He paused and looked directly into the older man's eyes. "They don't exactly supply us with condoms, Brian. Inmates fucking other inmates is not something they actively encourage."

"Jesus…"

"Yeah, Jesus."

"But… the worst part is not touching. I can't touch anyone, Brian. It's too… it's not a good idea here. I haven't really touched anyone in over ten fucking month! Not even a damned friendly hug." Justin took a deep breath as a winsome little smile played on his lips. "Except on Tuesday."

Brian's eyes barely registered the small smile before they closed against the sting of tears behind them. Christ! He knew how much those small touches on Tuesday meant to him personally. He literally lived his week waiting to simply touch Justin. But to Justin they were… everything. Every goddamned thing. Brian could walk away from this room and find a dozen tricks ready, willing and able to suck or be fucked. He could shake a hand, or hug Deb without thinking about it. He could pick up his son and feel those warm little arms wrap around him.

He could touch them.

And this man sitting across from him – this man who had been screwed over by a fucking homophobic world, who deserved every fucking good thing in that world… This man who made Brian feel things he'd never dared to feel, to even think of feeling… he couldn't even touch.

Brian had a life outside. He had the fucking luxury of being torn between his Tuesday world and the touchable, fuckable, livable life he had the rest of the week. And it was a luxury, as incomprehensible as it was to think of it as that. Justin had Tuesday. The rest of his week was no fucking life at all.

Justin was right.

Brian had no fucking idea.

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Six months earlier:

"Dada!"

Brian's face broke out in a grin at the still unfamiliar sound of his son calling him 'Dada'. He'd been saying it, off and on, for about two weeks. This child Brian hadn't even really wanted to begin with, made his entire day with two badly enunciated syllables.

"Hey, Sonny Boy. You having a happy birthday?" Little hands patted the smooth olive cheeks, one tiny finger poked inside Brian's mouth with a giggle.

"He's definitely your son. One year old and already shoving things in someone's mouth." Michael slapped his friend on the shoulder as he walked toward the cake table.

"Christ, Mikey. Ignoring the unfortunate, and I sincerely hope unintended, incestuous connotation to that comment, I'd say we should give him at least a few years before we have him sexually fixated. Maybe he should learn to walk – or ride a bike before that?" Mikey never knew when to think and when to speak. Somehow, somewhere along the line Deb had forgotten to install his verbal filter. What he thought, he said. Brian had to laugh at his own hypocrisy. He and Mikey did have that in common – missing filters. Only, Brian thought, his missing filter was for his dick.

"What the hell happened to this thing?" Michael had moved on from the moment, now staring in frustration – plate in hand – at the purple and chocolate remains of the one-year-old's decimated birthday cake. "It looks like the Joker exploded."

"Good boy, Gus! You pissed off your Uncle Mikey," Brian whispered loudly to the wiggling boy in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead as he lowered him to the playpen.

"I think it was Barney, Mikey. Gus is a little young to grasp the nuances of the Joker."

"Purple dinosaur, purple villain. Not a lot of difference." Michael sighed as he put the plate back on the table. "You meeting us at Babylon later?"

"Not tonight, Mikey. Early day tomorrow." Michael was leaving in a few days – beginning his new life in Portland with the good doctor – and Brian felt a sharp pang of… What? Regret? He should be there with him tonight. But… tomorrow was Tuesday. Not just any Tuesday. It was one of the rare times he and Daphne would visit together, so they'd planned to meet for breakfast before driving to Mercer. To make the day last longer, to fill as much of it as possible for Justin, they usually tried to stagger their arrivals. But this visit… this was different. This week marked one year since the attack. And tonight… tonight was one year since…

"What the hell is going on with you, Brian?"

"Mikey…"

"Don't. Just don't do that. Don't brush me off again." The crestfallen look on Michael's face stabbed at Brian. "I'm moving, Brian. The other side of the fucking country. I wanted to spend some time with my friend before I leave, for chrissake. And we all know that tomorrow is out, whatever the fuck that's all about."

Brian pulled his best friend into a tight embrace, burying his face in the smaller man's shoulder. So many times he'd been tempted to tell Michael about his visits to Mercer, to explain his absences on Tuesday. But he knew his friend. Knew he would never understand the strong connection to Justin, the need to be there for him. Michael had been supportive during the trial – what he and the others knew of it – but he was supportive of Brian, not Justin. In Michael's mind, Justin was the bad kid who dragged Brian into his problems, parading his involvement with him around on the front page of the local papers, and no amount of explanation on Brian's part would have convinced him otherwise. Not that Brian had tried that hard to explain. He kept his guilt to himself. This was a part of his life his friends couldn't share. One he wouldn't let them share.

"I'll be there, Mikey. Tonight," he said, and pulled his friend closer.

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Tuesday, March 26, 2002

The harsh blare of the warning buzzer didn't quite startle them. They always expected it. Ten months of repetition tends to affect one's internal clock, and they instinctively knew, almost to the minute, when visiting hours were over. Today, for Brian, the end of their time meant something a little more than it had when he walked in. Justin had given him another small piece of himself today, had made himself that much more vulnerable with his admission of loneliness. Justin missed simply touching and Brian felt an overwhelming urgency to let him feel, to let him have touch. But in this fucked up system that made touching a reason to be stricken from the visitor's list, he wasn't sure how he was going to manage it.

As the guards milled around the room, urging the departure of straggling visitors, Brian and Justin stood for one extra long moment looking at each other. Memorizing. Capturing something that they could take with them – hang onto. Justin's eyes lingered over the soft, sensuous lips. Brian's lingered over deep, haunted sapphire blue. He pulled the young man in for their allowed touch. It was just a moment – he had to make it count. Pressing his body into the contours and curves of Justin's, he curled his fingers into the short hair at the back of Justin's head.

"I'm touching you," he whispered into the young man's ear. "Until I can see you next Tuesday, I'll keep touching you."

He felt the slight tightening of Justin's arms around him, heard the soft whimper as they separated. "I'd like that," Justin said. "Later."

"Later."

Brian settled himself behind the wheel of his Jeep, wiping his hand across his face, surprised at the wetness he found there. Even after all these months, all the tears he had secretly and not so secretly cried, he was still surprised when he did. He'd learned at the hand of the master that men don't cry.

He was fucking stoic.

He didn't fucking do emotion.

Until Justin… the strongest man he knew… had changed all that shit. A nineteen year old kid being forced to handle all the shit life piled on him? Yeah, Brian could fucking cry about it!

As his shoulders started to shake, he laid his head on the steering wheel and gave himself one minute to give into it all. Then he turned the key in the ignition, looked back over his shoulder at the hatefully imposing structure, and started the hour and a half back to the Pitts.

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He didn't really intend for this to turn out to be such a complicated affair. There was way too much food, way too many decorations and Brian was going to be way too pissed when he saw it all. Emmett had tried – he really had – to keep it sedate. It was just family. But, Lord, Vic was turning forty-eight! Almost a half century of glorious gaydom! And that should be celebrated. Honeycutt style.

Brian had given Emmett a key to the loft, as well as the security code, so that he would be able to set up the birthday party for Vic. Of course, Mr. I've-Got-a-Secret had to snidely warn Emmett not to get too attached to coming and going. He would make sure to change the security code as soon as the party was finished, thank you very much! Emmett smirked to himself at that. Brian could pretend to be such a bitch at times.

"Well, since I've gone this far, I may as well do it up right," Emmett whispered to himself. "Just a few more streamers there, and this beautiful flower arrangement right… here!" But as Emmett set the vase of spring flowers on the liquor cart next to Brian's desk, he bumped a file folder, sending papers skittering to the hardwood floor.

"Oh, lord. Brian will be so pissed! Really pissed," he chastised himself as he hurriedly gathered up the scattered papers, placing them carefully back into the manila folder. One thing he had been specifically warned against was bothering anything on Brian's desk. You don't mess with Brian's work files.

Rather than placing the file back on the desk, where he knew it would just be at risk again during the party, he pulled out one of the file drawers next to the desk and placed it on the hanging rack. As he started to close the drawer he noticed a file tab with two words written on it – Justin/Daphne.

Justin. His name is Justin.

The words were as clear as the day Brian had spoken them in his office weeks ago. This file was about the boy in prison.

Emmett Honeycutt was not normally a nosey person. Honestly. Well, not much, anyway. But he had already followed Brian to the prison, and they had already talked about the boy to some degree. So… his curiosity got the better of him and he pulled out the file.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he looked through the file.

A paid off mortgage document stapled to a… cash bail receipt in the amount of…. "Oh, my lord"…

Receipts for attorney's fees notated for 'Taylor defense'.

Hospital receipts and detailed bills for a Daphne Chanders – pregnancy? Surgery?

Letters from an adoption attorney.

The photographs he had seen in Brian's office – the 'friend's' child.

Oh, god.

As Emmett's jaw opened even further he muttered a simple "fuck me." He had naïvely thought Brian was merely visiting the kid. A friendly gesture taking on a life of its own, so to speak. But this… this was much, much more than that. Brian had spent thousands on attorneys, thousands more on medical expenses. Mortgaged his home! He was… taking care of these two. Supporting them to a large degree.

Emmett's question was, as he replaced the file in the drawer – why?

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Nine months earlier:

It hadn't really gone well. At all.

"He's never going to forgive me, is he?"

Brian's eyes never left the road. He didn't need to see the girl sitting next to him to know that she was trying to crawl inside herself. To see that she had shredded the damp tissue in her hands. To see how swollen her eyes had become.

It was all there in the frightened, small voice, punctuated by one huge question mark.

"Give him some time, Princess. That was a fucking big shock we gave him. Let him process it."

The words sounded right. Give him time. Justin had every right to be angry, to feel… betrayed. Again. To need time. But in his gut, Brian wasn't at all sure Justin would forgive them. Either of them.

And he wasn't at all sure either of them would make it if he didn't.

"I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing," the small, shallow voice whispered. "God, Brian! I should never, never have kept it a secret."

"Probably not. But you did what you thought was best. For him."

Gravel crunched beneath the wide Jeep tires as the vehicle pulled into the parking lot of the rest stop. Brian unbuckled the seat belt and walked around, opening the passenger door. "C'mon." Holding the young woman's face in both hands, he kissed her forehead. The rich brown eyes glistened at they stared past him at nothing in particular. She'd been so strong, so solid through everything. She'd cried, she'd railed, she'd screamed – but never once had she given up. Not on Justin or the pregnancy or… Brian himself. It was so simple to see why Justin cared so much for her. God, why he himself had come to care so much for her.

"You need to wash your face, and I need a smoke."

Daphne nodded her head. She'd heard the request he didn't make, the admission his stubborn pride and his own fear wouldn't let him voice.

I need a minute to compose myself.

He was sitting on a concrete picnic table top smoking what was probably his third cigarette when she returned from the restroom.

"You do know you're supposed to undress before you take a shower, right?" He nodded his head to the water spots on the front of her blue blouse.

"They always make it look so pristine, so not messy in the movies. But it's not that easy to splash water on your face from a bathroom sink and keep it off your clothes."

Brian took a long drag on the cigarette before putting it out on the dirty picnic table top. "They make a lot of things look easy in the movies. Fall off a ten story building and walk away. Dodge bullets with the power of your mind. Wash your face neatly in a bathroom." He gave her a quick smirk. "And then they all go off and live happily ever after."

Daphne sat between Brian's legs on the bench, her head leaning back against him. "He thinks I betrayed him."

"Betrayal implies that you meant to hurt him. He's smart enough to know that's not the case."

"I would have told him. Before she was born. But…" She leaned her head into one of Brian's long legs, needing the touch. "I just…The trial. His parents. Prison looming over him. The last thing he needed was worrying about me being pregnant. With his baby… Christ, I shouldn't have said anything to him!"

"Listen to me," Brian pulled Daphne's face around to make sure she focused on him. "You are still healing. He had no idea why you weren't there, hadn't been to see him since he got there. He didn't know you had surgery, much less a baby. You had to tell him, Princess. Of course he's hurt. But he will forgive you."

Brian recalled the devastation on Justin's face. The whispered incredulity –

And you didn't think I'd want to know about my own child?

He recalled his back as he walked out on their visitation.

Brian had wanted to wrap him up in his arms, to comfort him, to shake him, to demand that he see just what this young woman had sacrificed for him – what they would both continue to sacrifice for him.

And then he hoped for Daphne's sake that forgiveness was possible.

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Tuesday, March 26, 2002:

"Michael! Hey everybody, Michael's here!"

Debbie's unexpected excitement cut through the celebration in the room, and everyone turned toward the open loft door.

"So, the prodigal son returns from the primordial forest." Brian walked toward his old friend and embraced him. "Hey, Mikey."

"Hey, Brian. I've missed you, asshole."

"I've missed you, too. Where's the good doctor?" Brian noticed the slight grin at the question. Ah, so no ripples yet in the Sea of Domestic Tranquility.

"Still in Portland," Michael said simply, as if the few words explained it all. Not so long ago, that would probably have been the case. They would have understood each other, and Brian felt a pang of guilt at how far apart they had drifted.

"Baby! Let me look at you!" Debbie pulled her son into a tight hug before thrusting him back. "You are nothing but skin and bones, Michael Charles Novotny. When's the last time you ate a decent meal?"

"Good to see you too, ma," he laughed and walked away to greet Emmett and Ted.

The birthday party for Vic had also served as a reunion, of sorts, with Michael. But Brian had felt that distance between them that had nothing to do with geography. This last six months had let them drift apart. They had hugged and said all the right words, but something was sadly missing.

"Everything okay, Brian?" Vic had seen the brief interaction of the two friends – much too brief if their history counted for anything.

"Never better, Vic. Happy birthday." Brian handed a glass to his friend. "Just Emmett's punch, Vic. Nothing doctored."

"In that case, Brian… thank you for the drink, and damn you for remembering my birthday."

"Yeah, well, no fag likes to admit to getting older, but, alas, Emmett wasn't going to forget. So, it was either a party here, in the bosom of your loving family or celebrating with every queer in the Pitts at Woody's." Brian took a drink from his own glass, grimacing only slightly at the familiar burn. He had opted for something a bit stronger than Emmett's party punch. "Just think of this as the lesser of two evils."

Vic chuckled and held up his glass toward Brian. "To lesser evils."

"To lesser evils," Brian repeated and downed the remainder of his bourbon.

"Have to say I'm surprised to see you tonight." There was no guile in Vic's statement. He had long ago recognized Brian for the complicated, enigmatic man he was and had no doubt that whatever occupied him on this particular day every week was significant.

"Because it's a birthday party? Or because it's Tuesday?" Brian made no attempt to act indifferent. He certainly knew that his disappearing act one day a week was hashed and rehashed by their little family. Vic, though, was the kind of man who normally stayed as far away from family 'politics' as possible.

"Both, I guess," Vic stated honestly and instantly saw a hesitation in the younger man's eyes. "Brian, what you do in your life is your business, no one else's. I know whatever it is must be important to you. That's all. If you want to share, we're here."

Brian stared into his empty glass, as if he'd find some proper response there. He respected the quiet, wise man he'd known so long, the man who'd been almost like a father to him. As he looked up from the silent glass and into the eyes of his friend, he found only acceptance and respect. He simply nodded.

He thought about the distance that had grown between Michael and himself, a distance that could only partially be explained by Michael's move to Portland. Brian realized that the feeling included the other members of his family as well. Even without the dreaded introspection, Brian knew he had been the one who closed down, who had pulled away.

Vic was right to be surprised at Brian's presence tonight.

Maybe Vic was right that it was time to share, as well.