Brian was sitting at his desk working on a presentation for a meeting with execs from a company that makes and distributes health food. Well, trying to work. This was the first time Brian had seen Justin pick up a pencil since the bashing. He was lying on the fluffy white rug (on his stomach) facing the desk with a sketchpad in front of him drawing Brian, or so Brian assumed, since he had spent the last 20 minutes alternately peeking up at him and sketching. Brian was eager to see how the drawing was progressing, but he didn't want to make Justin nervous. He knew that Justin was insecure about his ability, especially since he couldn't remember how well he'd been able to draw before. So Justin was fighting both the fear that he had no talent and a physical impairment.

Brian glanced over at Justin for the 5th time in the last 20 minutes and noticed that Justin's hand was shaking. He tensed up. He felt so helpless, and he hated it. Brian was normally able to control every aspect of his environment and everyone in it; he was a born leader: charismatic, intelligent, and fast on his feet. Brian turned his gaze back to the computer screen. He could no longer stand to watch Justin struggle to draw in spite of his trembling hand, his eyes dark with pain, sweat beading on his forehead.

Suddenly Justin threw the sketchpad across the room. Brian looked up quickly, but he was not surprised. Justin's inability to control his own body must be even more frustrating than Brian's inability to help Justin. Justin sat up. He was stretching his hand, wiggling his fingers, and frowning, pain still clearly written in his eyes. Brian's first instinct was to rush over and massage Justin's hand. But he hesitated. He didn't want to wound Justin's pride. Finally, concern for Justin's physical well-being won out. He stood and approached Justin. Then he nonchalantly took Justin's hand in his and began to massage it while he told Justin about what he'd been working on. The distraction succeeded.

Brian complained, "Granola bars are not sexy. I suppose I could have people exercising, but what health food product isn't advertised that way. I need another hook, but, so far, I got a whole lot of nothing."

Justin furrowed his brow, pondering Brian's dilemma. "Maybe you could advertise them as 'fuel for passion.'"

"Fuel for passion?"

"Yeah. You could have two men in a locker room talking. One man could say that he and his wife are having problems. That he comes home from work and the gym each night too tired for anything but TV. Then the other man could whip out a granola bar and suggest that he have one right after he gets home, asserting that that will give him all the energy he needs. Maybe he could even wink. The passion the slogan refers to could be romantic, athletic, or professional. To capture the female demographic, you could have two working mothers having a similar conversation. You know…'I work all day and then come home and make dinner, help the kids with their homework, bathe them, and put them to bed. Where am I supposed to get the energy for anything else?'"

"That's not bad, Kitten. Not bad at all."

Now Justin's eyes were clear, and his face relaxed. Brian was still holding Justin's hand in his, but he'd stopped massaging it.

Justin looked up at Brian and smiled. He asked in wonder, "How did you do that?"

Brian tilted his head. "Do what?"

"In just a few minutes, you managed to make the pain disappear. Not even my physical therapist could do that."

Brian smiled softly, even a little shyly. Then he shrugged.

Justin's gaze changed from one of wonder to one of longing, which grew stronger by the second. Now his eyes burned with a desire so intense that Brian flushed. Without even thinking, Brian fell to his knees.

Brian fell to his knees in front of Justin, cupped his face in his hands, and sent his lips crashing down onto Justin's. Justin slid his arms around Brian's neck and pulled him closer, kissing him back with equal ardor. Unaccountably, he shivered. Brian felt Justin's body tremble and slid his hands down to Justin's waist, encircling it and drawing him nearer. To warm him or steady him, he didn't know. The gesture was unconscious. Then he slid his hands up Justin's back and ran his fingers through Justin's silky hair. So soft.

Suddenly, Justin froze. Brian continued to kiss Justin for a moment or two before he realized something was wrong. He pulled back and looked at Justin. Justin was staring off into space, his eyes wide and filled with some unseen pain.

Brian asked gently, "Justin? Are you okay?"

Justin didn't answer. It was as though he hadn't heard him.

More urgently, he called to him again, "Kitten?"

Justin looked up at that. He replied absently, "Brian."

Then he flinched as though he'd been struck, closed his eyes tightly, and fell forward. Brian took Justin into his arms, holding him tight and rubbing his back.

He breathed, "Kitten, what's wrong?"

Justin whispered, "I can hear it clatter. Echoing."

Brian stiffened. "What is it? What…"

But Justin could no longer hear Brian.

Justin continued, "Then nothing."

Brian held him tighter.

"Silence."

Justin's voice was so small now that Brian could barely hear him.

In a hollow monotone that frightened Brian, Justin asked, "It wasn't an accident, was it?"

Brian didn't, couldn't, respond.

Justin pulled away from him roughly and then leaned back, plopping down onto his butt. He looked at his hands for a moment, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark. Brian was at a complete loss. Still stunned and speechless. But Justin found his voice, though it shook.

"My mom. She said…she said it was an accident. My injury. My memory loss. My hand."

Brian closed his eyes slowly, languidly, and let his head fall. Bracing himself for what he knew must come next.

Justin burst into tears, but made no sound. Not at first. Then only a low retching moan. Finally, he asked, "Why?"

Brian looked back up, just in time to see Justin shaking his head, staring at something Brian couldn't see, his eyes filled with fear. Justin froze for a moment. Then he lost consciousness.

Brian managed to catch Justin before he hit the floor, though he had to dive. Holding Justin this way, his body seemingly lifeless, Brian was overwhelmed with memories, terrible memories he'd give anything to erase. He buried his face in Justin's chest and, for the first time since the 'incident,' he cried.