Sorry for the long delay, but it's the end of the school year, and my beta and I are very busy. Enjoy!

Brian clutched the bottle of scotch, knuckles white, as he stared at Justin.

"You were asleep."

Justin descended the stairs, walking over to where Gus and Brian sat. "I'm awake now. Heard you two talking."

Brian took his hand, pulling him down beside him on the sofa. "Are you okay?"

"I'm . . . better." Justin turned to Gus. "I'm sorry. I must have looked a mess earlier."

"Daphne just left a little while ago. She was worried about you." Brian poured another shot, offering it to Justin, who downed it in one gulp. "She told Gus that you were bashed. He's never heard the story."

"Was it some kind of secret?" Gus was watching them both, picking at a hole in his jeans. "I don't understand why I never heard about this."

"It's not a secret," said Brian. "It's just that . . . ." He dropped his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

Justin cut in smoothly. "It's not an easy thing for either of us to talk about." He took another swallow of the liquor before placing the glass back on the coffee table. "I imagine your moms felt it better to hide something so violent from you."

Brian took Justin's hand in his. "You don't have to do this, Justin. I was going to tell him myself."

Justin looked at Brian, an understanding passing between them. "We'll both tell him. I know it's just as hard for you."

Gus leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking from one to the other. He was starting to feel sorry he had asked. Obviously, this was something very deep and painful for both of them, and he didn't want to hurt his dad. Or Justin. They weren't exactly close yet, but he was starting to like the man he vaguely remembered from his childhood.

Justin turned back to Gus, still holding Brian's hand. "I had asked your dad to go to prom with me. It was my last year at St. James Academy, and it had been a bitch because I had come out, and the people at school, both staff and students, didn't handle it well. I figured, what better way to say good-bye than to bring the man I loved as my date?"

Brian sighed. "While conveniently forgetting that said man was twenty-nine and far too old for you."

A slow grin stretched across Justin's face. "Thirty, you mean."

Gus couldn't repress a smile when his father rolled his eyes.

"Just move on, would you?" said Brian.

"Anyway, your dad said no. Of course. He didn't yet realize he was deeply and irrevocably in love with me."

"Justin." The warning glare Brian shot Justin was all too familiar with Gus. He had been on the tail end of it numerous times.

"So I took Daphne. She was my best friend and didn't have a date either. We went to dinner and then to the hotel where prom was being held. She looked fabulous."

Justin paused, eyes drifting to the window as if he could see something more than the darkness outside. "We were dancing, and Daphne told me she saw Brian. I turned and there he was, wearing a tux with a white scarf, walking toward us. He was gorgeous." Refocusing, he chuckled. "Sorry, Gus. I know nobody wants to think of their parents as sexy."

"Not really, no." Gus grimaced.

"He took my hand and asked Daphne if he could borrow her date. They started playing this old, slow song, and we danced. I think the whole room was in shock. They kind of backed away, and we had the whole floor while they watched. I wasn't really paying attention though. Too busy staring at your dad."

"We did some fancy moves," said Brian. "Not bad at all, really."

"Daphne said we were amazing. And at the end, Brian kissed me right in front of everyone." Justin's eyes were shining, pushing away the shadows that earlier marked his face. "It was the best night of my life."

Brian said nothing, but he reached out to brush a lock hair from Justin's face. They were quiet for a moment, each remembering the brighter portion of the night.

"After the dance, I went to the parking garage with Brian. I was going to walk him to his car, say goodbye, and return to Daphne. It . . . ." He swallowed. "It didn't work out that way."

"Justin, you don't have to do this."

Justin held up his hand, shaking his head at Brian. He kept his gaze fastened on Gus.

"There was this guy in my class, a football player named Chris Hobbs. We didn't know each other well, but something sort of happened between us once. After that, he hated me."

Gus wanted to ask what had occurred, but the strain in Justin's voice was enough to keep him silent.

"I don't know if he planned what he did or if it was spontaneous. I don't know if our dance provoked him, but I don't believe it did. He already hated me before prom. There had been small fights between us during the year, but nothing serious."

"Maybe if I hadn't gone . . . ."

Justin rounded on Brian, eyes narrowed. "It wasn't your fault, Brian. I didn't blame you then, and I don't blame you now."

"So he hit you? At prom? In front of everyone?" Gus was appalled.

"No," Brian replied. "After we walked to my jeep and said good-bye, Justin turned around to walk away. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw someone appear behind him, carrying an aluminum baseball bat."

Oh God. Gus saw Justin give Brian's hand a squeeze, but it didn't erase the ashen color of Brian's face.

"I jumped out, running. I . . . I yelled." Brian closed his eyes, shaking. "Justin heard me and turned to look, and that's when he swung. And I heard the crack . . . it just echoed through the garage."

They were both pale now, and Justin slid an arm around Brian's waist, burying his face into Brian's shoulder.

"There was so much blood. I had never seen so much blood," whispered Brian.

Gus felt like throwing up. Images slid through his mind of shattered bone marred with crimson. He could see his dad on a hard cement floor, cradling Justin. Had he screamed? Sobbed? He wanted to scrub the picture from his head. He wanted to erase the entire story from his memory.

They continued to talk of Justin's coma, of his recovery, of his damaged motor control, and it hurt to listen. Physically hurt. Like glass shredding his skin. If it pained him to listen, he could only imagine how badly it hurt to tell. They held each other through it, as if they would shatter at any moment. He sorely wished he had never asked, but it was far too late.

When they were done, Brian looked exhausted, Justin worn.

"Do you have any questions?" Brian asked gently.

"I'm . . . God, I'm so sorry." Hot tears burned Gus's eyes, and he desperately needed to get out of there before they saw him cry.

"It's okay." Justin gave him a sad smile from where he leaned against Brian. "It's time you knew."

Gus stood, approaching them with slow steps. He leaned down and kissed his dad's cheek, something he hadn't done in years.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

The lines around Brian's eyes seemed deeper than ever. "No need. Sorry's bullshit."

He pulled Gus down between them, the three sharing a hug and moment of comfort. Gus could feel Justin shaking, and awkwardly wrapped his arm around his father's partner, an offering and an acceptance. Justin returned the embrace, unable to smile but obviously grateful for the contact.

After he had gone back to his room, Gus spent a long time on the bed, staring at the ceiling and seeing blood wrought in the shape of hate. He had always been sensitive to gay issues, given his parents, but never had he seen the violence. They had shielded him from that, not always successfully. There had been fights at school, names yelled and punches thrown. Small compared to what Justin had been through.

He heard voices outside and went to the window to peek from behind the curtain. He could see Brian standing near the pool, holding Justin from behind, his head bent over the younger man, one hand caressing the back of his neck. Their words were too quiet to be heard, but Gus knew they weren't for him anyway. After a few moments, Justin turned to face Brian, and Gus could see his face by the light from the kitchen. It was radiant, transformed from the wan mask Gus had seen earlier. Brian took his hand, leading Justin back inside, and seconds later, Gus heard the creak of the stairs.

He returned to the bed and lay down, resolutely pushing images of sorrow and pain from his mind and replacing them with what he had just seen: the intensity of Justin's expression and the tenderness with which Brian took his hand.

As he fell asleep, he thought of canvasses hidden away, of two men dancing and a scarf streaked with red.

Brian watched Justin wander out to the patio while he put the glasses in the dishwasher. Gus had gone to his room, leaving them alone with their memories. Brian had been touched and relieved to see Gus give Justin a hug. It seemed he was giving Justin more of a chance lately.

He followed Justin outside, where his lover stood motionlessly by the pool, staring at the lights in the water. The ripples played over Justin's face, shadows and light wavering over pale skin. Brian stopped just behind him, laying his hand on the nape of Justin's neck, feeling the distress in the tension beneath his fingers.

"You didn't have to do that. I would have told him myself."

"And let you take the blame?" The harsh sigh sounded far too loud. "It was never your fault. Don't think I don't know that you still feel like it is."

Brian said nothing. He knew, in the logical way of reality, that Justin's injury wasn't due to him. But consciousness is frequently illogical, especially when it comes to the fragility of emotions.

"You know what I've come to realize since I regained all my memory of that night? That I lost something more than stable motor control of my hand. I lost the whole of myself. I lost the Justin that was. I'm broken, Brian. Most of the time, I can forget about it, but it always comes back. The reminder that I'm not whole."

"Neither am I, Justin." Oh, he had thought he was, the arrogant Brian who reigned supreme over Liberty Avenue, the accomplished ad exec who played sex god by night. He had what he wanted: a job that allowed him to have the lifestyle he wanted and a line of men waiting each night to be fucked by Brian Kinney. Even after Justin came along, it took years for him to realize that there were holes he alone couldn't fill, cracks he couldn't mend. He was still learning it all the time. Lowering his lips to Justin's ear, he whispered his next words.

"Neither of us are whole apart, but together we are complete. Do you understand?" He pressed his forehead to the softness of Justin's hair. "You made me whole when you stepped into my life, even though I didn't know it then. It took me five years to figure it out, and then I let it go, pushed you away. Only to break again."

Justin trembled, and Brian slid his other hand around Justin's waist to steady him. "I'm still broken, Justin. The fractures are still there, just as yours are inside you. But what we have together is stronger than what we have apart. You're not the same person, but you're the one who completes me. Your love makes me whole."

He sorely wished he was better at this, at talking about his feelings, at shaping words from clay to transform them to gold. He had never been good at expressing himself, but this time, he must have hit the mark. The ragged breath Justin took shivered through his spine and into Brian's chest, shaky but strong. He turned within Brian's arms, the blue in his eyes much darker than usual.

"I think . . . I think you should take me upstairs now."

Their coming together this time wasn't the gentleness of comfort as it had been earlier. It wasn't the roughness of releasing grief. It was something more . . . an intensity barely contained beneath fragile skin, a desperation born of need.

They barely made it into their bedroom before Brian had Justin pinned to the wall, hands frantically grasping, mouths open and devouring. The bathrobe slid to the floor, bare legs clenching Brian's waist as he stumbled back toward the bed. He hated the seconds spent ripping his own clothes off, seconds better spent clutching Justin while desperate fingers raked his back, hard enough for even Justin's short nails to paint gouges in his skin.

It had always been like this with Justin: heat, energy, transformation. He had never been just a fuck, not even the first time. Even as a teenager, Justin's passion and trust had overwhelmed him. No one had ever opened himself like that to Brian, carelessly tossing aside Brian's hard-assed insults to see the man beneath. He kept coming back, in spite of all the walls Brian threw up, willingly opening up his soul to a man he barely knew. It was insanely stupid. It was incredibly brave.

He had taken his time before, but he wasn't quite in control of himself now. Luckily, Justin was still relaxed and ready from the previous sex, and Brian took full advantage, slathering on a coat of lube and then sliding right where he needed to be. His arms held Justin wrists above his head, keeping him in place. He simply didn't have the patience to follow Justin's usual writhing all over the bed. Each thrust buried Justin further into the sheets, and he was pleased to see Justin pulling his legs back further and even wider apart, begging without words.

Brian curled over Justin, burrowing deep until he found the exact spot and angle. As Justin gasped and bucked beneath him, he thrust shallowly, massaging that one place over and over. He knew what it felt like, the almost painful intensity of too much pleasure at once, knew the way it would make Justin feel like he would explode within his skin.

He let the heat build, muffling Justin's keening by placing his palm over his lover's mouth. Sweat stung his eyes, and his hand tickled where Justin slid his tongue between his fingers. Fuck, this is . . . . It was everything.

When he exploded, unable to mute his own cry, all he could see was light, splitting into every color of the spectrum like sunlight through a prism.

He should have known the nightmares would reappear, but Justin had calmed considerably by the time he fell asleep for the night. He had hoped they would get lucky. Unfortunately, dreams had a way of following their own path, inconsiderate and often cruel.

The smack of a hand across his shoulder woke Brian. He sat up, struggling to surface from the void of sleep. He turned to find Justin fighting the sheets, face twisted in fear.

"Justin."

He knew better than to touch Justin. Not yet. As Justin groaned, shuddering, he tried again.

"Justin."

With a gasp, Justin's eyes flew open, darting back and forth as he took in his surroundings. Brian waited, watching as his partner's breathing slowed. Justin raised his hands, brushing the wetness from his cheeks.

"Fuck."

Brian reached over to the nightstand and withdrew a bottle from the drawer, offering it to Justin.

"Want your Xanax?"

Justin shook his head. "I'm tired of covering it up with drugs."

"Drugs are awesome little helpers. I'm a firm believer."

"I know you are." There it was . . . the grin Brian was hoping for.

"It's never going to end, is it?"

He hated how defeated Justin sounded.

"Maybe not, but it doesn't define you, Justin. Not unless you let it."

"I know." Justin reached up, caressing Brian's cheek. "I owe you so much . . . for helping me through all this."

"You did it mostly on your own." Brian laid back down, pulling Justin into his arms. "All I did was fuck you."

Justin laughed, and the cloud brought by the nightmare dissipated. He flicked his tongue over Brian's collarbone.

"Can you do it again?"

That impish, little smirk got him every time.

"Why don't we find out?"

Justin was still fast asleep when Brian came out of the shower in the morning, and he decided to leave him there. Yesterday had been rough, and Justin could use the sleep.

He was in the middle of pouring coffee when Gus appeared, dressed in a Rolling Stones t-shirt and denim shorts.

"I'll take you to the comic store today. Justin's still sleeping."

"He okay?" Gus looked away, biting his lip. "I, uh, heard someone yell last night."

"He had a nightmare. It happens from time to time."

"About the bashing?"

"Yes." Brian handed him a mug of coffee. "He still suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. Usually, it's just in the form of occasional nightmares and panic attacks like yesterday. If it ever happens when you're alone with him, just call me on my cell, and I'll talk him through it."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up last night. I probably made it worse."

"No. You didn't, Gus. It's time you were told, and Justin agreed. He wouldn't have said anything to you if he didn't want to."

Gus got a bowl and poured some cereal, joining his father at the table.

"Hey, Dad?"

Brian raised an eyebrow in question.

"Would it be okay if I had a friend over on Saturday?"

"Sure." Brian narrowed his eyes over the coffee mug. "Cock or pussy?"

"Dad!"

"Well?" His dad was smirking.

"She's a girl, not a pussy. Don't embarrass me, okay?"

"I shall be the epitome of manners."

Considering the way Brian's eyes were twinkling, Gus seriously doubted that.

"Can we use the pool?"

"Of course. Just no fucking in it, okay? Justin and I refrain on your behalf, so we expect the same from you."

"Dad!"

"Pussy." Brian shuddered at the very idea.

"Dad." Time to get out the special Gus glare he used when his dad started in on his "straight people" diatribes. He especially hated when his father called the moms munchers.

Brian held up both hands in surrender. "I'll be good, I swear."

Gus rolled his eyes and went to get his backpack from his room.

Some days, not many but some, he wished he had normal parents.

When Gus got home from work at the comic store, Justin was up and fixing baked fish for dinner.

"Hey, Gus."

"Hey."

He couldn't help but examine Justin's face closely, but the man offered him a smile and seemed to be feeling better. Walking over to the fridge, Gus poured himself a glass of iced tea and took a seat at the bar.

"Look . . . I really am sorry about last night. I shouldn't have pried."

Justin hesitated and then dried his hands off to sit next to Gus.

"It's fine, Gus. It would come up at some point. So you may as well know."

"Do you still have nightmares?"

Justin barked out a harsh laugh. "Heard me last night, did you? Sorry if I woke you up."

"No!" Gus wished he could swallow his own tongue. "You don't need to apologize. I was just . . . I was worried."

He didn't see the sudden softness cross Justin's face. "Thanks, Gus."

"Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope you won't get mad, but I took a look around your studio yesterday." Gus rolled his lips inward in an unconscious imitation of his father. It was terribly endearing.

"It's okay, but was there something you were looking for? Something you want to see?"

"I was just curious. Everyone says you're becoming so famous and all."

Justin chuckled. "Oh, really? Who says?"

"Mom does, and Debbie says it too. Mom has some of your works hanging in our house. And of course, you saw Dad's loft before he sold it. All those pictures of yours?"

"Yeah," Justin said quietly. "I saw them. He must have been collecting them for years."

"I asked him once about them. He didn't want to talk about it. Just said it was 'his foolish attempt to hang on to the past'."

Justin looked away. "It wasn't foolish."

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Gus couldn't quite manage to push them out. He really didn't know Justin well enough yet. Instead, he switched the subject.

"Um, in the closet of your studio? There's these paintings in the back covered by a sheet." He traced a design in the wetness of the cool glass, afraid to look up.

"You shouldn't have been in there, Gus." The words were a gentle reprimand, and Gus could tell Justin wasn't angry. "I keep those there because, well, they remind me of darker times. I can't stand to look at them every day."

"They're of your prom, right? I mean, I didn't know what they were when I saw them, but after you told me what happened . . . ."

Justin sighed. Standing up, he gestured to Gus.

"Let's go take a look, shall we?"

Fuck. He knew he shouldn't have said anything.

Justin led him into the studio, heading directly to the closet and retrieving the three canvasses Gus remembered. Removing the sheet, he lined them up along the wall, pausing to stare at them for a while. Gus watched him in concern, but Justin seemed calm.

"You're right, of course. They're about the attack." He pointed to the first. "Brian came to prom wearing a white scarf. It became soaked with my blood after." He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but then shook his head, moving on to the next picture. "This one is reminiscent of my dreams, where I'm always running. There's always someone coming after me." He reached for the third picture, placing it in front of the others. "This one, I wish I had done differently."

Gus gazed at the scene of two men dancing, marred by tears of blood. "It's of the prom, right? You and Dad dancing?"

"Yes, but I regret including the blood." Justin knelt down, brushing the canvas with fingertips that could not erase the sadness from the painting. "That moment, when we danced was one of the happiest times of my life. I shouldn't have let my bitterness over the attack overshadow it."

"Maybe you should have another." The image bloomed bright in Gus's mind. "You guys are married now, right? But you didn't have a wedding. We could hold a reception with a dance!"

Justin held his hands up, laughing. "Whoa. I think that would scare off your father so much, I wouldn't see him again in a year. He'd hightail it to Nepal or somewhere just as remote. Besides, we did have a dance, after I came back to Pittsburgh. Our own special moment."

"You're probably right," Gus said. "I can see Dad saying receptions are for breeders."

"Well, you definitely know him well," Justin said, grinning.

He put the pictures away, covering them once more.

"Promise me you won't tell your dad about those, okay Gus? It would upset him, and he's been through enough."

"I know. You should have seen him all those years you were gone."

"That bad, huh?"

"Well, everyone else seemed to think so. I didn't see the difference because I didn't remember much of when we lived in Pittsburgh. But now that you're here . . . he's so much more alive and happy."

Justin looked away. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I didn't know." His chest tightened, pain flooding him in a wave.

"But you left." Resentment colored Gus's words dark. Maybe he was overstepping his bounds, but he had to know. All these years of wondering had bottled up inside him, flaring to fury when he arrived in Pittsburgh.

"He wanted me to. And I did also, at the time. I had every intention of maintaining our relationship, though. Until he cut me off." Justin frowned. "Hasn't he explained all this to you?"

"No. It's why I was so mad at you at first," Gus admitted sheepishly. "I thought you left Dad and it pissed me off."

"Oh, Gus." Justin didn't know whether to scream or laugh. "I did leave, but your Dad was the one to end it. It broke my heart. I suspect it broke his too."

"But why did he do that?"

Justin knew why, knew Brian's habit of crucifying himself in his desire to do what he thought he best. How he hated that Brian tried to sacrifice so much!

"I think you should talk to Brian about that, Gus. It would be better if it came from him."

Gus nodded. "I'm sorry, Justin. For how I was treating you."

Justin drew him into a rough embrace. "It's okay. You were feeling protective of your dad. I can appreciate that. Can we start over?"

"Definitely."

"Good. Come help me make the asparagus."

"I hate asparagus," groaned Gus. "I hate cooking too."

Justin chuckled. "Like father, like son. Come on. I'll show you how."