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A/N: I can't believe I'm doing this. . But credit where credit is due. In large part, this chapter (and working out future chapters) goes to my ex. You guys officially owe him, as do I. Either way, I'm glad I've got another writer to bounce the hard stuff off of and that I can do the same for you.

Also, also, also! T gets a round of applause, a huge one! She helped me get my work up on another site, I've met some new people cause of her and she sends me little bug messages from time to time to make sure I'm still working on this. ^.^ So, huge thanks to her and hopefully I can get back into the word game. lol

JustCallMeMarly – Oh shit, I'm getting personal now! XD I just wanted to say I love getting your reviews, I really do. You're dedicated and take the time to give me something very well thought out, and I doubt I deserve it. Lol Your first review actually helped me feel comfortable doing this much with this story. When I started posting the B/M fics here, I noticed a serious lack of them, I figured no one actually WANTED to read them! So thank you for that. We should talk more, jump in some discussions some time when I'm not completely bogged down and have slept. I'm more coherent… or so I'm told. You know what I mean.

PS – Squee! Word game!

Rae – I can't just leave you out. Lol Your excitement makes me giggle! I have a feeling you're just one of those people that passes it on, know what I mean? So far, the reviews have always made me smile and get ready for the next chapter. Thank you! And I'm so glad my story was the first one to get you 'back in the game' so to speak. And as far as school, I'm trying. Lol I need a lighter load next semester.

Lisa – You wanted Ethan, I'm sorry I can't give him to you. Don't be sad! There might be a hopeful conclusion for the blond brat. lol

FantasyChick – I'm so happy to have dragged you over to the dark side. ^.^ Stay here, we have hot boys with the best untold love story ever created (even though we love to fill in those blanks for them lol). And cookies. I can offer the cookies.

I tend to do personal reviews when I know I'm coming to the end. I dunno if this'll be the last chapter until I finish it, so don't freak and think that! I just know that we're finally reaching the end point, and soon. So, I wanted to thank each of you, my reviewers, personally for taking a few minutes out of your day to give me a bit of encouragement or just make my day (cause it does make my day lol). And to the readers I have (or don't have… I dunno, you're invisible!) that don't leave a review, thank you for reading! I hope you're passing the story on to friends or, I dunno, something. Lol I like sharing… sometimes.

I do hate dragging these out, but I am on a slight roll at the moment. I'm kind of surprised, I have to admit. No one seemed to pick it up, or at least you didn't say anything. Once I got the 'past' parts of the story caught up with the present, I freaked. I can't just… not continue using the writing style I had been! So, I went back to the first chapter, used the very last part of the last present scene (the shoooower) and gave it more depth. I decided to keep it up, using previous 'present scenes' as new 'past scenes' with different character perspectives that will obviously lead to fun new twists and explanations! And it helps me bring in the other characters much better. So, honestly, I feel like I'm now telling three stories at once. The original past scenes, the present scenes and the new present/past scenes.

Christ! I guess I love making more work for myself. I officially have more to play with in the story now, like, ideas are forming as I type even though I just said we were coming to an end… that might've been premature now. o.O Forgive me?

Okay, I'm done. I promise. Enjoy the next chapter!

~SL

Chapter Seven

"I'll say it, if you want," Brian said quietly, tight grip still on Michael's wrist.

Michael smiled. "You don't have to. You never did. I always knew."

"I just… I can't keep this up. Not without getting more in return."

"We could start doing the diner again in the mornings. We haven't done that in awhile-"

"Half a year," Brian elaborated. Like breakfast was going to make up for lost time Brian never knew he had lost?

"Okay, we haven't done that in half a year. Still think Ted and Emmett would remember us, let alone go?" Michael ask, trying to joke.

"Well, the three of us are usually always there. You disappeared." It wasn't a joke to Brian.

Michael sighed. "It's hard, y'know? I don't expect you to understand, but there's just so much legal bullshit to slog through with Hunter that… it might be easier to-" the look on Brian's face changed subtly, but it was caught. "That's not my choice, Brian. Don't do that."

"What?"

"That look."

"Which one?" he asked, releasing Michael's wrist, playing innocent.

"Mm, that one you get where you try to look as empty as possible. It doesn't work."

"Maybe not on you, but everyone else-"

"Everyone else is fucking retarded. And they won't be me. Ever."

"Don't I know it," Brian muttered, rolling to sit up on the edge of his side of the bed, back facing Michael. He had no guilt about what they were doing, where they just fucked. Brian had no such love or respect for Ben when they first met and he had none of it now.

Honestly, he just couldn't face Michael. Brian didn't know how his best friend could say those things (those so very true things) and… just let him go. Because he was collecting his clothes that had made a trail from here to the stairs and down, putting his on and collecting the articles of Michael's to bring them back. He needed a moment to breathe.

God, he wondered why he started all of this in the first place. The only going on that night so fucking long ago was that he was there in the club with Michael and Ben was an asshole. Didn't deserve half of what Michael gave him. And neither did anyone else cruising him that night. It just… it made so much sense when he was fucked up. Brian was there, he was always there, and he learned his lesson with Justin, didn't he? He figured he was better off alone after that mess, but he was never alone, really. Michael was there. Michael was always there, even if he had other things to do. A phone call away, not even.

So, what had he learned from Justin? If not being alone, what else?

Brian knew he could blame it on the drugs, he could've. It was easy enough to since he had done it before and damned if he might not do it again. But Brian knew he was one of those people that learned something better when he physically did it, not when someone told him how to do it. He never tried a relationship, a real one, since he was a kid (hell, what was a 'relationship' back then? A quick fuck when the parents were out, not much else). Justin being his first taste at this, Brian found that… not only could he do it, but he could do it better. Practice, practice, practice, right?

He just wanted, truly actually wanted someone he could stomach for more than a few months at a time. Someone who could keep up with him, not hold him back, who wouldn't play catch up. All of that had been there all this fucking time and he would've been an idiot not to take a chance… just once. Blame it on the party favors and drinking if worse came to worse.

Too bad it got worse.

Brian didn't expect it to be so easy to slip inside of the idea of a 'relationship', because that's all it still was to him. They still had the friendship, added some sex into it, but Michael's relationship was with Ben. And Brian was starting to hate that more and more with each passing day that he realized how much he wanted to take that place and how much better he could do with it for Michael. And Michael deserved the best, didn't he?

Ah, shit. This was not supposed to happen.

"Brian?" Michael called, popping his head out the doorway. "Oh, hey… thought you might've left."

Brian held the bundle of Michael's clothes closer to his chest, trying not to jump. He'd been too lost in thought in the hallway. And it was that face with the sheepish smile and the wild dark hair with those dark eyes that let him forget everything that happened to him in the past, that made Brian walk over to Michael, dropping the clothes on the floor and pulling him tight up against him and kissed him.

Michael looked up, surprised when he pulled away. "What's up?"

"I'll never leave you, Mikey," Brian admitted. "I can't."

Ben and Brian were still toe to toe in the doorway, glaring at each other. So they knew they took things a little too far. Brian had a knack for saying too much when it wasn't necessary and Ben didn't really have to come all the way out here to land a good one right to Brian's gut. They knew this. They understood it. Why were they still here?

"We done here?" Brian asked, trying to let the tension out of his body. He felt so tightly wound. He wanted to fight back, it was natural instinct for him after years of the bullshit he went through. You beat the other person down until they knew better for next time. Ben had a thick skull. His lesson might take awhile.

"No," Ben said, trying to cross the entryway.

Brian put a hand to Ben's wide chest without any strength behind it. Ben had stopped when he felt the fingertips touch him, holding him back. "Well, unless you're here to fix the lovely burn on my hardwood floor, I'm done," Brian said, flicking his eyes to the floor where the cigarette lay, dead. He was thankful these new ones stopped burning if you neglected them for a few minutes, despite the added chemicals they probably had to use. The damage was minimal, just a dark spot, tiny. Wouldn't even notice it. "And so are you."

Ben looked absolutely shocked. "Leave my fucking family alone."

"Now they're your 'family'?" Brian asked, scoffing in disbelief, letting his hand fall back to his side. "Because rumor has it that you're gone an awful lot to be anyone's family."

"How would you know?" Ben snapped, trying to pull the advantage of his slight height difference over Brian, looking down his nose at him through his glasses. He was still bigger, either way. That was intimidating enough.

Or it should've been. Brian still had a knack for saying too much. "Someone had to keep Mikey company, Benny Boy. C'mon, you're a smart man. Put two and two together."

When asked later, Brian still wouldn't have the words to describe Ben's face in that moment. It was heartbreaking. Almost. Watching that handsome face register and process what had been said, then break. Shattered and crumbling, Brian felt like rolling his eyes for split second. This was too much bullshit for him. Watching this man he had no respect for as a person just collapse. He wasn't the person to do this in front of.

Ben was staring at the floor now, mostly at the forgotten cigarette, wishing for one. "In my bed." Michael lied. Looked him in the eyes and lied. That hurt worse than the actions.

Brian did roll his eyes now. "You want to kill yourself with this? Fine. Yes. In your bed." Let's just forget half of it was Michael's, shall we? "I'd like to leave now."

Casual indifference or not, Brian had sharp eyes focused on the hulking form of a broken man in front of him. If Ben had come here on the attack, there was no way he was going to calm down instantly and be done with it. Brian had seen him flip out when there was a vigil after the bombing of Babylon. Yeah, that guy was asking for it. A swift kick in the nuts would've done him some good, but Ben had probably put the poor bastard in the hospital with that assault.

Brian wasn't going down the same way, he had resolved that after catching his breath.

Ben didn't know what to do. Black material was fisted in his hands, unsure of what conclusion to draw from it. He remembered the shirt, did think much of it when Michael had come home in one of Brian's shirts (adorably rumpled in the oversized thing, thinking back on it) muttering something about wanting something clean to wear. He knew Michael had been hung over, among other things, but had he really been this blind?

The bed was still a mess, pillows tossed to the floor and the sheets peeled and thrown. In the mess, picking it up (he had assumed that Michael had fallen back asleep and woken up late to open the store), Ben had found the torn black shirt stuffed between the mattress and headboard. Tucked away for what reason? Had it always been there? And why the hell was it ripped?

God, that night was so long ago it was hard to remember everything exactly, but this was the shirt. The only other solid black shirt Michael owned was a long sleeve. And he hated wearing all black. He heard the front door open and shut downstairs, Hunter and Michael doing their usual banter back and forth. Ben really didn't feel like playing nice tonight. Things were just getting harder and harder to handle and he wasn't sure where to find his next outlet with this little revelation in his hands.

It all just kept coming back to one thing: Brian.

The last time he saw this shirt, Michael was going out with Brian. Why was it torn? Michael probably had some excuse about Brian. Whenever they were arguing, he ran to Brian. They couldn't have a normal, balanced relationship because of Brian.

Ben felt a surge of anger. He didn't want to think the worst of his husband, but hadn't he been in the same position once before? Someone who, maybe didn't understand him, but seemed to. His problems, his illness, wanted so desperately to be part of it, to worship him… That's what Michael did for Brian, wasn't it? That adoring, almost lifelong admiration and respect, the utmost intimate knowledge of each other

The room… it looked like a fight went on in here. Or, maybe, some absolutely fucking crazy sex. That was stretching the limits of Ben's imagination, even he had to admit, but still. With things between them so unsure it was a possibility, wasn't it?

"Ben?" Michael called up the stairs.

Ben felt like he'd been caught red-handed. What did he do now? Talk to Michael about it? Was it anything to talk about? He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and felt rooted to the spot, shirt held tightly in his hands as he stared at it, listening to the footfalls come closer and closer to the door.

The cab hadn't arrived quick enough for Michael's taste. He was pacing near the door with Hunter tumbling down the stairs, pulling s shirt over his head when the horn went off outside. They both jumped into the back, Michael directing the driver to Red Cape and then to Brian's Loft. Unfortunately, they were hitting morning traffic by the time Hunter had gotten settled at the shop. Stuck in lines of slow moving cars, Michael fidgeted, eventually pulling out his phone.

Call number one was to Emmett.

"Honey?" Emmett asked, obviously having been woken up. "Michael, what's up?"

"Em, I'm sorry," Michael said absently, staring intently out the window. "I know it's really early, but can you give Hunter a hand at the store for awhile? Just a few hours, I've got a shipment coming in and something came up."

"Well, it's just nice to hear from you," Emmett yawned. "Even if it's for a favor. Can it wait an hour? Need to gussy myself up."

"Yeah, sure," Michael nodded, even though Emmett couldn't see it. "I'm sorry. Things have been so busy lately. Thank you so much, Em. We'll do dinner or something tonight. My treat."

"You just go take care of business, hon," Emmett consoled. "Sounds like you're in a rush."

"Yeah, fucking traffic."

"Well, it is an ungodly hour of the morning."

"Most people get up for work now, Emmett."

Emmett groaned, getting out of bed. "Have I ever been most people?"

Michael laughed. "Never. Thanks, Em."

"Mmhm. I'll call if somethin' comes up."

"Ben?" The door opened and Michael poked his head in. "Ben, hey, c'mon! Hunter suggested we go out for pizza and a movie. We haven't done that in forever."

"Michael, what is this?" Ben held up the shirt with one hand and waved the other to mention the room in its state of disarray. Michael leaned against the doorframe and looked down at the floor quickly. Not good. That was guilt.

Michael shrugged. "I just… I was a little cranky this morning. I meant to clean it up before I left, but I got caught up with Hunter and-"

"And this?" Ben held up the tattered shirt.

Michael squinted and walked closer, taking the material from Ben. "Oh, hey, that's my shirt. Aw, shit, it's ruined, Ben. Where'd you find it?"

Ben watched Michael closely before carefully telling him it was stuffed between the bed and headboard and what, oh what, could it possibly be doing there? Michael shuffled his feet, his grip tightening on the shirt as he avoided Ben's gaze. None of this was good in Ben's book. Michael wouldn't lie to him and this was just… too much to keep inside for his husband, wasn't it?

Michael was quiet for too long. "You know the last time I-"

"Yo, dudes," Hunter popped into the room. "Pizza and a movie, remember? There's a ten o'clock showing of that new superhero movie, Michael. We've got enough time to eat if we leave now, otherwise we should just hit the eight o'clock and pig out at the concession stand."

Hunter looked impatiently and expectantly at Ben and Michael. Michael finally met Ben's eyes and tossed the ruined shirt on the bed. Ben knew that look on his husband's face. It was the 'not in front of the children' look, like when Hunter had first moved in with them and Michael wanted to keep their sex life as private as possible.

On the other hand, Hunter had been listening on (not on purpose! Maybe…) to the conversation. Ever since watching what happened outside the comic shop, he couldn't help but want to know what in the hell was going on. He trusted Michael, despite his actions. He just wanted to know everything was okay. He couldn't rid himself of that fear. Hunter knew he could take care of himself, hold himself up (on shaky limbs, but still), but he didn't want the rug pulled out from under him.

Should he tell Ben what he saw?

"Alright, pal," Ben said, smiling as he absently twirled the silver band. "Let's all get out of here and try to get that pizza on time so we don't miss the movie, yeah?"

Hunter smiled and left the room, clomping back down the stairs and Michael let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Oh, God."

Ben kept a cool gaze on his husband, watching as he shut his eyes, just stopping himself from burying his face in the torn shirt in his grasp. He knew that Michael didn't want Hunter to walk in on this sort of conversation, whatever it might entail. Still, wasn't that a bit dramatic a reaction over a shirt, or was Ben just trying to pick his husband apart to find some fault?

"I guess we'll have some things to talk about later?"

The next call was to Melanie. Michael liked having her personal cell so he couldn't get roped into a long conversation with Lindsey. Maybe another day, but not now. Phone pressed to his ear, he leaned forward and tapped the cabbie on the shoulder. He looked over at Michael, who gestured for him to stop, he'd walk the rest of the way. It'd be quicker than this.

Shoving some bills into the man's outstretched hand, he climbed out of the taxi just as Mel picked up on her end.

"What?!"

Michael held the phone away from his ear in shock before bring it back. "Well, hello to you too beautiful mother of my wonderful, adorable daughter."

Mel sighed, shuffling some papers around. "Michael? Oh, shit. Sorry. I'm just in a fuckin' mess right now."

"What's going on?" Michael asked, waiting impatiently at a crosswalk.

"Fucking Brian called, what else?" Mel grumbled. "Sent the day into a fucking tailspin."

"When did he call?" The urgency was distinct in Michael's voice.

"Hour or two ago, I dunno. Asked for Linds and Gus, what am I good for?"

"Well, what happened?"

"Not a fuckin' clue, but now Lindsey's in a goddamn tizzy about visits or, I think she said moving at one point. She was a mile a damn minute after he called. Pretty sure she meant Brian getting something out here for summers."

Michael's heart was caught in his throat when he heard the word 'moving'. Brian leaving. Leaving the Pitts, leaving him. He cleared his throat as he crossed the street. "Well, Gus'll love that, y'know? Better to let Brian be around when he wants to."

Mel laughed harshly. "That, or he's officially ran out of fresh meat in America."

"C'mon, he's not that bad," Michael chuckled nervously. "Anyways, I'm sorry to bother you, but I've got this huge favor I need some help with."

"I'm all ears,"Mel said absently, more papers shuffling in the background.

When they had gotten home and sat Hunter down at the table to do his homework, both he and Ben had quietly gone up the stairs, Michael behind Ben looking like a sullen child that knew he was going to get a talking to. He didn't want to do this, it was bad enough he played dumb earlier about the shirt, because he'd have to confess to that too.

Then again, Ben didn't have any solid proof against him. It was a ripped shirt and a messy bed. A shirt he hadn't worn in a year and one day of a messy bedroom. He could stick with his story. There was no other proof, anything except his outburst of misery, but that could just be added to stress, remembering something last minute?

He was still trying to figure it out when they had reached the bedroom. Ben was waiting for Michael to come in and join him, the room still disheveled. When Michael joined Ben, he shut the door quietly behind Michael, who had started to pick up the tossed bedding and rearrange the bed. As if that would put everything back in order. Ben wasn't sure what to do with himself but stand there and watch with curious eyes. How did one start a conversation like this? The last time they had… a situation like this, Ben wrote up a neat little story and handed it off to Michael. Couldn't do that now.

"Good night out, wasn't it?" Michael asked, trying to make light conversation.

Ben took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Late night, but I think we're closer to getting Hunter on the right track for school. That's good."

"I don't think he'd want to disappoint us, but he is a slacker. It's an easy choice to make, but hard to keep your word on," Michael informed, snapping the comforter up in the air and smoothed it out as it rumpled across the bed.

Ben smiled slightly. "Speaking from experience?"

"God, you have no idea how many times I knew I could get an A in a class and just how badly I wanted to but it was just so much easier to break the resolve and watch cartoons instead."

"Couldn't miss the new thrilling episode, though."

Michael smiled wanly. "Sometimes I would use that to convince myself."

Ben smiled and came around to the opposite end of the bed to help Michael spread the sheets neatly, tucking in corners and adjusting pillows Michael tossed to his side. When they were done, Ben stood up straight and leaned back to stretch as Michael shifted uncomfortably as he had picked the torn shirt up off the floor. They had left it on the bed when they went out for the night and Michael needed to toss it aside to make the bed. The talk of school and cartoons had Michael endeared to Ben once again, but that wasn't enough this time.

Ben eyed the shirt up before choosing to speak. "The last time I remember you wearing that shirt was probably a year ago."

"Yeah, went out with Brian that night," Michael said quietly, carefully.

"How did it get destroyed?"

"That night was so long ago, Ben…"

"You came home wearing one of Brian's. I remember that."

"I guess maybe someone at the club? Or Brian and I got into like, a wrestling match or something. We were kinda fucked up," Michael confessed. 'Wrestling match' was as close to 'fucked my best friend' as he would get until the beans really had to be spilt. In a way it had been a wrestling match.

There wasn't much Ben trusted about that, honestly. Could he be blamed? Michael's tone and actions were speaking so loud it was like they were screaming right in his face. He could handle it, but he wanted the truth. Shit, maybe this was the truth and he was just too ready to pounce on Brian any chance he got. He knew he could be guilty of going overboard when Brian was involved.

"Self-serving asshole," Ben muttered, shutting his eyes in misery. "You just don't care about anyone but yourself, do you?"

"Could say the same for you," Brian snapped. He wasn't here to prove anything to anyone, especially Ben.

"Fuck you! What the hell do you know? You just ruined… everything. You always do."

"I haven't known you long enough to ruin 'everything'."

Ben snorted. "Michael's life, dreams, God knows what you did to him growing up-"

Brian snapped, a fist connecting to the side of Ben's jaw. That was enough out of the professor's goddamn mouth. He had it coming a long time ago if you asked Brian. Ben's head recoiled from the shock more than the pain. It was there, but he was built to take a hit, even to the face. The cords of his neck standing out as he tried to rein in his own anger at being hit. Fuck, there was more to Brian than you would think at first glance.

"Get the hell out of my way," Brian said, voice low and threatening. He was shaking out his right hand, the one that had left, what was looking like, a very nice bruise on Ben's cheek. "And don't you ever tell me how to handle Michael. You don't get that privilege, Benny Boy. You never will. Move."

Brian was too caught up in his own anger (not to mention one kickass monologue of parting words. Goddamn if they shouldn't put that in a movie somewhere) to see a huge ham of a fist coming right back at him. He had been too intent on getting out the door, getting to Michael. He may not have been built with layer upon layer of muscle like Ben, but he had learned how to take a hit or two in his lifetime. It was second nature to dodge what he could, the brunt being taken mostly on his chin and jaw, rattling his teeth, and just rolling with it, taking a step back.

"Motherfucker," Brian growled, spitting reflexively onto the hardwood floor. No blood, but damn, his teeth were still shaking. And now there was another thing to clean up. "We gonna do this all day, Bruckner? Fucking blow for blow?"

"You started it," Ben bit out, rubbing at his own bruised cheek. Too bad he couldn't reach the bruised ego.

"Maybe if you gave Michael what he deserved, none of this would've happened!"

"I love him, what else do I have to give?!"

Both men stared, panting, buzzing high on adrenaline and anger. Blood was singing in their ears as each man took their time to contemplate the next moves. Ben had the obvious weight factor in his favor. If he lost it, Brian was looking at a hospital visit. Brian, on the other hand, had some actual hands on fighting experience. He had no morals when it came to blows. Whatever it took to be the last man standing was how he played it if it got to that point.

Brian cleared his throat, tentatively touching his jaw, not letting Ben get the satisfaction of seeing him wince. "You should've been there. Let him in. He loves with everything he's got. He doesn't halfass it like you do."

"You can do better?" Ben asked, amusement clear in his eyes under the sharp sparkle of anger. "Did you forget who you are?"

"Doesn't matter who I am, because that's who Michael loves. Always has."

"Always will," Ben sneered, rolling his eyes. Brian's eyebrows shot up in shock. "What? You think I don't fucking hear the two of you? Goddamn, it drives me up a fucking wall to listen to it!"

True, it wasn't as though Brian and Michael talked in secret code or anything, but he felt… violated to have Ben using their own words against them.

"I figured you might've been," Ben said, sitting down on the bed. "It didn't seem like just hung over."

Michael still clung to the shirt, not sure what to do with it. Throw it out? He didn't want to. Sit on the bed with Ben? He didn't think he wanted to do that either. What was left? Stand there like a guilty moron, apparently. Ben wanted to make the process go quicker, have Michael confess or just… say something. Anything.

"Yeah, well… I left angry that night. Had to let off a bit of steam."

Ben visibly hesitated, thinking hard and trying to decide if it was worth knowing the truth. What a time to have second thoughts. "Anything happen at the club that night? The reason your shirt got ripped?"

Michael had been given a choice. They all included lying. He could make up a story about someone forceful trying to drag him off. Brian maybe got 'tired of waiting' (he was usually the one leaving everyone else waiting) and tugged him along. It was an old shirt, probably easy to tear, at least it had been.

"Not that I can remember," Michael finally answered, sitting on the bed, feeling the full weight of guilt over him. "But it was so long ago, Ben. Not that it would excuse anything, but… it was so long ago."

He just wanted Ben to drop it. He wanted the world back in order. Probably shouldn't've started this tangle of lies if he wanted that. Oh, and that sleeping with Brian thing on a regular basis. That probably wasn't a good way to keep up 'normal'.

Ben lounged fully on the made up bed, tired and looking forward to his day off tomorrow. He knew there was more to the story, but he didn't think he could stomach much more than this. It felt like Michael practically admitted something right there with that 'not that it would excuse anything' line of bullshit. What was that, if not an admission?

"You're right. I'm sorry, I just thought… maybe-" Why could he just shut the hell up?

"Ben," Michael said firmly. "Don't."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "But… things have just been so off and then I came home to this…"

Michael smiled. "I know, but really, you don't think I'm so dumb I'd bring anyone back here if I was cheating, right?"

Ben chuckled a little as Michael's gut churned at another outright lie. True, Michael wouldn't do that, he was too good for that. And Ben knew, had some faith, that Michael wouldn't lie about that. He had to keep some faith. "Not a conversation I want to be having, but… no. This is the bed we share. You wouldn't do that. I don't think either of us could."

Michael laid on the bed next to Ben, letting the shirt fall to the floor, forgotten now, and curled up next to his husband. His husband. The man he willingly chose to be with for the rest of his life. Start a family, leave behind a lot of things he thought he would never get, leave Liberty Ave for this man because he wanted a different life. Ben held onto him tightly feeling relieved. Michael didn't lie to him. Sometimes veiled the truth a bit (like now), but always came out fully in the end. That's how it worked and he understood. He thought he understood Michael fairly well and… well, Ben felt a little more than guilty for this whole ordeal tonight.

Still… wouldn't anyone else do what he did in this situation?

"Are you kidding me?" Mel sighed, leaning back in her desk chair. She was at home in her office and seriously debating on taking a personal health day.

Michael shook his head even though Mel couldn't see it. "Not really. That's the entire situation, Mel."

It… it felt good to let someone know what a fucking mess he made. And Mel had been the perfect choice. She knew everyone, was close enough to understand the situations and yet, far enough away where Michael knew she couldn't go out and actually do anything about it or throw her two cents in somewhere. Just over this phone. Honestly, were she to call anyone else after they hung up, Michael doubted they would believe her. The whole thing seemed too farfetched to handle in this little 'burg and she now knew everything from the affair to the divorce and all that was in between.

"Okay, so let me get this straight. Right down the point,"Mel said, getting right into work. "You and Ben are done, yeah?"

"Yeah," he admitted quietly, wishing he could stop and take this call more privately, but he was about a block away from Brian's place as it was. No going back now. "I wish we could save it, but… it's just… We co-exist, Mel. That's it. I don't want that."

Mel muttered something undecipherable into the phone before clearing her throat. "Yeah, I know what it can feel like. Alright, but the paperwork on Hunter is still in limbo."

"Mmhm. We want it finished so there's no problems when we finalize the divorce… separation, whatever," Michael explained. "Oh, speaking of, any idea what we have to do to get out of this as clean as possible? I mean, I'm still technically married in Canada."

"I'll ask about it. I'm not much of a divorce lawyer, Mike, but I'm sure it's as standard as over there. Fill out a few blanks on a form, maybe a hearing to divide up belongings and call it settled. Anything worth fighting for?"

"Hunter."

So what to do now? Ben didn't want to let go of Michael just yet. He did love him, there was a reason he proposed. Michael was everything he knew he should want. Sweet, attentive, caring to the point of smothering some day (although, after knowing Deb this long it wasn't hard to figure out where he got it from). Michael was a good bet for the long shot. He didn't wish anyone was there for his eventual downfall to HIV (he thought about it every fucking day, always paranoid the next day would most likely be the last of his good days), but someone had to be. Otherwise it'd be an embarrassment of hospice care and hospital visits with no end in sight.

He just never thought he'd want so much with Michael. To try and make him happy. The rationalization being that they were men, their needs were simpler. It was one of those things he truly appreciated about men. Women needed relationships, friends, other couples to socialize with, children. All sorts of nonsense that Ben never found himself wanting in his youth, or even now. After his diagnosis, his idle want of such things were just out of spite that he couldn't have them more than anything else.

But Michael wanted them. He seemed like the kind of man who had always wanted a large family, that's why he had such close friends that held him so dear. His own bloodline was small and dwindling, but with his friends they had such a ragtag put together of qualities that you couldn't help but think of family when you saw them together. As if, years down the road, they would be holding holidays together.

Who else would give that to Michael, if he wouldn't? They were in this together, better or worse, Michael would eventually admit anything. They could get back to normal, things would be fine and, hopefully, they could live out the rest of their days together. Content. Rocky some days, but content nonetheless.

"Maybe we should go on a vacation," Ben suggested lightly. "A weekend away or something small."

Anything to help them find their footing.

"You have classes on Saturday now," Michael reminded, hand running absently over Ben's clothed chest.

Ben put a hand over the one Michael was using, caressing it gently. "I can miss one class. Just let the students know and give them a little busy work."

"Or be a benevolent teacher and let them slack off for a weekend."

"Or be a benevolent teacher and let them slack off for a weekend," Ben chuckled, bringing the hand up to press a kiss to the palm. Michael was adorable, no matter what, would always be close to Ben's heart.

Too bad that fear would always come first.

"Enough," Brian said, holding his palms up between them. "I'm not looking for a fight, I don't think you are either." Otherwise Ben would've put him ten ways to broken, Brian had no doubts about that. "But if you don't get the fuck out, right now, I'm calling the cops. Simple as that."

It was slightly satisfying for Ben to hear that from Brian. Almost like giving up. "Fine. He's gonna be at the store with Hunter."

Brian was more than relieved to see Ben backing away from the doorway. This probably wasn't the end of it. Ben would probably be back in Michael's life one way or another soon, be it their divorce or-

"Where are you gonna be?" Brian asked warily. After all this time to think Michael would just up and leave Ben? When he tried so hard to keep this little affair quiet, on the side and hidden? It didn't fit right.

"Back at the house," Ben waved off, turning to leave. "Tell Michael to grab his shit when I'm working."

"I'll be sure to do that, Benny Boy," Brian replied, too pleased about the situation as a whole for the immediate benefits.

Ben shot a glare over his shoulder. "Fuck you, Kinney."

"Told you before," Brian said with an easy smile, setting the security alarm before following out the door tentatively. He wanted some distance. "It's a onetime deal."

"Except for Michael," Ben said with a dry laugh, poised at the top of the stairs. He made to start his descent and then turn to face Brian again. "What are you giving him that I can't? What the hell makes you so much better than what we had?"

"I've been there," Brian shrugged, sliding the large metal door shut, tugging back after he locked it to make sure it stuck. "And I'll always be there. Like I said to the one before you. I've been here before you and I'll be here after you're long gone. I've been right so far."

"That's it?" Ben looked more than confused. "You just assume anyone in Michael's life won't last, except you?"

"None of you take the fucking time to know him!" Brian snapped, clenching his right hand into a tight fist again. The knuckles ached from previous use, but he could live with it. It was dull in comparison to the outright indignation he felt about Ben trying to pick what he and Michael were apart. "You've been around what? Two, three, four years? Fuck you. Y'know his favorite comic book? That's great! He'll tell anyone. You think you know how much he can love? You don't even understand it until you're a beaten down wreck, crying in his arms. That little hospital stint you had back then is only a fucking fraction of what he would give for you… if you'd let him. But you can't just take."

Well, you could. Michael would let you take everything from him physically, emotionally and mentally… but any decent person would have half a mind to give back. To make the effort.

"Saying you love him isn't the same as loving him. Saying you gave him everything isn't the same as doing it," Brian muttered, shaking his clenched hand out absently. "You have to do. All your pretty fucking words don't mean shit when I have to clean up after you, take care of him, show him everything and still let him choose. I let him be a man while the rest of you-"

"Oh, here we go!" Ben exclaimed, tossing his hands up in exasperation. "I don't do this, I don't do that. I'm not Brian fucking Kinney, is what you're saying. What makes you so fucking special? If you know all this, why bother letting anyone else have him?"

Brian faltered, choking on the words. "I-"

"He wasn't ready," Michael said quietly from the second landing, looking up at Ben and Brian yelling back and forth. The bickering sounded more like a married couple than a quarrel over someone like himself.

Both men looked down at Michael in surprise, neither figuring he'd show up right here. For Brian, it was pure relief that he wouldn't have to go around town looking like a lunatic, tearing up half the 'burg in pursuit. Ben, on the other hand, wasn't quite ready for the face-to-face confrontation and it showed. Michael took quick stock of what had happened, dark eyes darting over each man's face in worry and shock. Bruises, a scuffle, Brian favoring his right hand with a methodical, rhythmic tightening and loosening of it and the occasional shake. Ben's hand drifting up to his face to touch the bruised skin and try to cover it up by placing a hand over his mouth. Michael shook his head, closing his eyes in heartfelt agony over the guilt. It was his fault.

"He wasn't ready," Michael repeated, voice shaking just slightly. "He knows me inside and out and he knew what I wanted, always. With Brian, I never want for anything except… what he couldn't give me. So, he let me find my own way. He always let me make my own mistakes, take my own chances. I was never forced into anything… except the occasional late night party." A smile flicker briefly across his lips. "I was never a 'wife' or a 'boytoy'. I wasn't a 'Mama's Boy'. He listened to me and let me pick. I wasn't pigeonholed in his life. He gave me what he could and let me off from there. The rest of you have this place for me that I never quite fit, no matter how hard I try."

He sounded exhausted. Like this was years coming to say to someone, anyone.

"It looks like he keeps me back, perpetually stuck at fourteen," Michael sighed, ascending the last flight of stairs to Brian's floor. "But that isn't it. That's just a part of me that he loves, that he was a big influence on. Everything we are started then, it's why we keep going back to it, the way couples think back on first dates or anniversaries. It wasn't pretty, us growing up, but it was ours."

Ben and Brian stepped back to let Michael on the top landing with them. He smiled at Brian, who wanted nothing more than to hug the life right out of Michael. Someone understood him, someone got what he did in life. It was and always would come back to Michael. Ben looked away from the two men smiling at each other. His stomach was in knots listening to Michael's little speech.

"He's good, y'know?" Michael asked suddenly, looking over at Ben. "He's good at making sure no one else can see him like I do. You won't understand, I don't blame you." He looked back up at Brian. "And that's fine. I don't wan-"

Brian had cut Michael off, pulling the smaller man in his arms and crushing their lips together. Michael was stunned into silence after Brian pulled away.

"Michael, shut the fuck up," Brian said, voice breathless as he stared at his best friend.

Moments passed by in Ben's memory, things he couldn't keep out. Whatever might have been left with he and Michael crumbled quietly as Brian had taken Michael in his arms. Those two, that look… fuck.

"Yo!" Hunter said, popping his head in the bedroom. Michael and Ben looked at him expectantly. "Just wanted to say g'night… and I wouldn't mind spending a weekend with 'Granma'."

"You're a nosey little shit, you know that?" Michael asked with a tired smile, not lifting his head from Ben's chest.

"You love me, admit it," Hunter countered with, grinning.

"You know we do, pal," Ben said, smiling. "We haven't really decided yet, but we'll let you know what weekend, okay?"

It was just that feeling of… family, Ben hated seeing go the most. The regret was deeply felt, not having enough time (cruel goddamn irony) to make the most of it. Try harder, make the effort.

"Yeah, sure," Hunter said agreeably. "Think Deb'll mind if I-"

"Spend most of the weekend with Katie?" Michael finished. "Well, if we got used to missing your loving presence, I'm sure she will, too."

Ben laughed. "You two are worse than siblings sometimes."

"You love me, though," Michael offered playfully, smiling up at Ben.

He did. Ben did, he just couldn't love enough.

Hunter rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Enough love-fest. Night."

"Night, pal," Ben said and Michael intoned with the same.

Michael was getting tired. Today took way too much out of him. "He's a great kid."

"Yeah… another few months and we might really be his parents," Ben said thoughtfully.

"We aren't already?"

"Well, legally, I mean. I think we can both agree that we've been his parents for a long time now."

Michael closed his eyes. "Yeah."

Ben made his way downstairs, quickly leaving Brian's building as if hell were on his heels. Trying to just… get the fuck away from it. He couldn't really drive out memories of the not too long ago past, but he wanted to. Wished he could. Wanted more than anything to leave all of it behind. It was an easy jog for him down the block and he stood on a corner, unsure of where to go next.

Michael was tired enough that when Hunter offered to open the store for him the next day, he let the kid go to town, grunting pitiful excuses for responses as he shuffled to the table and grabbed the cereal box. Ben smiled and leaned over to give him a quick kiss good morning, to which Michael smiled blearily at.

"Whatcha doin' today?" Michael asked Ben, pouring milk over the cereal. Hunter came back downstairs and asked Michael for the keys to the store. They made a trade as the store key was also kept on the ring that held Michael's house keys.

"Nothing," Ben said, glancing up from the paper. "You?"

Michael smiled shyly. "Nothin'."

"Wanna do nothing with me today?" Ben asked, folding up the finished paper and setting it aside.

Michael pretended to think about it. "Oh, I don't know… there's just so much nothing I have to do on my own…"

"I'll help you," Ben offered. "We'll get both our nothing done faster that way so we can do nothing together."

They looked at each other before they broke into peals of laughter that had Hunter staring at them like they each had two heads before making a show of cautiously backing towards the front door. This sent Ben and Michael into a new round of laughs as Hunter left. Hunter didn't know what was weirder, having them act like a normal cutesy married couple, or down each other's throats.

Ben felt a slight tremor run through him. The house was the last place he wanted to be. But there was one place he could stand going. Traffic had cleared up, a quick glance at his watch showing he'd spent the last two hours dealing with this bullshit. He was late for class and hadn't called in at all. On his way towards his newly decided destination, Ben pulled out his phone and called in work. Not really willing to deal with the rumor mill the college could be, he opted for a slightly lesser truth. Just a cold (he worried about them often enough), but he'd be back on track for classes the day after tomorrow, when he had them again.

Just an hour or two away from the ideas plaguing him would do him better.

Justin was glad for the late flight out. Well, not too late, more like mid-morning, early afternoon. Either way, it was better than getting up at the butt crack of dawn to fight commuter traffic and possibly miss his flight anyway due to lines and security. All these measures they took now… oh well, hindsight WAS twenty-twenty. Couldn't complain when he knew it was all for the best.

Problem was, he hated flying out of New York. It was crowded, noisy, loud and just a mess to fight through. JFK wasn't bad, but it was great either. He was willing to go the extra distance for that little bit of comfort that was probably all in his head. La Guardia was just a nut house to him. Could be fragments of his mom during conversations on the phone of what she had heard about it, he couldn't be sure.

Adrenaline had set in when he was bombarded by the bustling noise of the airport when he entered, checking his one lone bag and hitching his smaller carryon duffle bag higher on his shoulder. He wandered down the busy terminal, locating his gate and seeing it was on time so far and then got on line for the security check. Justin had to check all his information for the umpteenth time. Tickets, ID, bag. He shook the bag on his shoulder gently trying to remember the contents. One change of clothes (just in case they lost his luggage… another worry-ism from his mother), a book, pencils and a sketchbook (he couldn't draw like that for too long, but it helped pass time and ease nerves just like it always did), no liquids, no lighters, no weapons (when Justin spotted the sign that had actually said 'no weapons' he almost cracked up laughing), some snacks… yeah, he was good.

God, the wait was killing him. Unfortunately, you had to get past this nonsense before you could get anywhere else. Everything in the airport was beyond security lines. Food court, shops, his actual gate. And these people just didn't know how to fly (like he had so much experience, yeah?) business suits, heels, laptop bags with carryon bags, purses with purses, baby gear spilling out from bags, not to mention the screaming kids trying to climb onto the conveyer belt for the bags and shoes. Christ, couldn't anyone keep a handle on them?

Justin dragged over a grey bin and toed his sneakers off, placing them inside and got another bin to put his bag in. The process was fairly bulky and time consuming, leaving the line slower than normal and overflowing with people trying to fit all the bins on at once. The whole system could be better done another way, he was sure of it, he just didn't know how. He patted down his pockets, taking out his cell phone and keys, any loose change that found their way in there and dumped those into the bin with his shoes. He didn't need to spend another five minutes going back and forth through the metal detector (although, the guard with the wand just beyond the detector would be worth a, uh, cavity search…).

The bins with his items had made it through before he did, and as he was putting his shoes back on and putting all the loose items back in their proper pockets, he felt the adrenaline edge off just a bit. He was ahead of schedule (IF they were boarding on time… which was rare anyways) and annoyed he'd be stuck here for an hour. All that rush seemed for nothing after the checks and waiting. He wasn't hungry, but he could do with some coffee and wander through a few shops before getting to his gate.

Damn, to think he'd be back in the Pitts in a few hours. This was an insane idea, why was he doing it? Partly for Brian, really on that end, all he had to do was show up. Scare the crap out of Michael by just being there. Sometimes insinuation worked better than anything on that end. That wasn't hard. Did he need a week, though? Did they really need this little idea blown up to the insane proportions it was? Probably not.

Justin ordered his coffee in the food court and wandered down the terminal, stopping in a bookstore to peruse the overstocked 'best sellers' he never heard of or whatever Oprah was pushing now. Rag mags, stars in rehab and who's who on the carpets. Cute guy with green eyes behind the counter… nothing really substantial in the store.

Maybe he missed the connection. He had roots in Pittsburg. Family, some friends and a whole life, once upon a time. With all this time away, he was probably idealizing it, painting the memories in brighter colors from times past, but he wouldn't know until he got there. He was, damn it all, excited. He missed Liberty Ave, the old haunts, he missed that weird group of men he hung out with as a kid, but held them all dearly in his heart. He'd never tell, though.

Justin knew he'd grown up with this time away from his home. He preferred not to think too long on his own childish moments from back then, embarrassing himself with things he'd said or done. Better to leave those alone and just remember he was a kid, an idiot by default and move on to now. And now he was seated in one of those uncomfortable plastic seats at his gate, duffle bag settled in the seat next to him. The flight was full, people filling up row after row of the plastic chairs, mulling around near the wall to ceiling windows, small children shouting about the planes driving around on the tarmac or how they didn't want that for lunch, they wanted french fries.

Resting the cup gently on his thigh, he let his head fall back, blond hair growing a little long again brushing past his cheeks. Thank whoever he decided on sweats today. It wasn't chilly, but if he wasn't going out, he liked being comfortable. And since his work required a lot of mess, sweatpants were a godsend. Ever try getting oils off bare skin? Yeah, so much for working in the way he was usually most comfortable. Raw, blotchy patches of skin from scrubbing wasn't that attractive.

Maybe he should call it off. What was the point? He was torn as it was. Yeah, only having one side of the information made it easy to side with Brian and not get involved dramatically, but when he stopped to think about it, what about Ben? And their family? It was just… hard to make it in a relationship, period. He wasn't so inclined to think that all men were bound to cheat or fuck up. Everyone had that capability, no matter what. Were men socially more inclined? It was up for debate in his mind. He just wanted to see something fucking real in his life. He wanted the same things Michael did, and Michael was… well, not really a role model, per se, but someone he could relate to on wanting those things.

If he couldn't do it, why would Justin ever think he could?

New York was hard, to say the least. The bars were there, shops and clubs. Hell, it was like its own version of Liberty Ave in a way. There were couples, drag queens, hustlers… you name it, it was there to be had. He had a few friends he frequented establishments with, but that was trying on his patience. They were all his age, and of the proper mindset for that age. Which wasn't about trying to find someone and have a life. He was tired of backrooms and bars and alleys. It was just hard to make that change. Harder than he ever thought.

"'Scuze me?"

Justin sat up, opening his eyes on the man in front of him. He had a newspaper rolled up in one hand, a laptop case in the other, gesturing towards the seat that Justin's bag was taking up.

"Everything else is full, you mind?" Damn, he was hot. Curly black hair, steely blue eyes and a curiously lifted eyebrow. Justin almost didn't hear him.

"Oh, shit, yeah," Justin mumbled, dragging his bag off the chair and tucking it between his feet. "Sorry. Just… needed a moment."

The other man smiled and took the seat with a nod. Fuck, was this one of those 'don't talk to me, this is my bubble and you're invading' types?

Too bad Justin liked to talk. "Heading to Philly?" That's where this flight happened to be going. From there, it was a lovely car ride into the Pitts. He didn't mind. He wasn't on a schedule and it had been cheaper this way around.

"Yeah, business," the guy answered. "You?"

"Family… sort of." Justin smiled. He had no idea what else to call everyone at this point in his life.

"Cool. Out in Philly?"

"Nah, Pittsburgh."

The guy made a face. "Eh, nothin' there, really."

"Home is home," Justin shrugged.

"I hear that," the other man chuckled, opening up his paper to read. The conversation was officially over and it was a fairly boring wait until they started calling seat numbers to be boarded.

Was he really ready to go back home?

It was about ten, probably a little after, when Justin stumbled into the diner wearing his exhaustion and hangover on his sleeve. He'd managed a shower after giving, what was his name? Tim, the boot and found a pair of jeans and an old paint splattered, but comfy, t-shirt. Worst part about the morning after for the blond was that he was fucking starving, but didn't want to move. His stomach kept waking him up even though he had only eaten hours before… wait, had he? There was Michael and Hunter and then… well damn. Maybe he and Tim had just gone back to the hotel after all. That added a whole new level to his complaining stomach. It was mildly busy in the place and he looked around for Debbie, but she was nowhere to be found (thank god, his headache may not be able to take her voice) and was ushered into a booth and promptly laid himself down on the bench of it while asking for the strongest coffee available, black.

"You look like the living dead."

"Unless you're offering me your brain, I don't give a fuck," Justin replied, a hand shooting up seemingly from under the table, with the index finger pointed upwards, as if making a very serious point before disappearing under the table again.

"Ever get tired of it?"

"What?" Justin still hadn't bothered to sit up. He just didn't care.

"Fucks, partying, drugs… the whole scene."

"Yeah, but I got nothin' else to do. I'm on vacation, not like I'm here long enough for anything else. If m'not fuckin' somethin', I'm fuckin' somethin' up."

"What about New York?"

Oddly enough, Justin was seated next to the guy he'd been talking with at the gate. Brian had offered to get his plane ticket for him, but Justin had refused. It was his idea after all. If Brian really wanted to pay him back somehow, he could buy a few rounds at Woody's. Which he usually did anyways. It wasn't as though Justin was strapped for cash at this point in career, but just because he now had that money on his own didn't mean it was burning a hole in his pocket. He found that all the things he'd wanted when he was younger, things out of reach due to price, just weren't for him now that he had the money. He wasn't stingy, by any means, but he knew a good deal when he saw one.

Unfortunately for Justin, airlines never had good deals these days. Up one day, down in the next hour and then skyrocketed shortly after. He'd made himself dizzy trying to make sure he wasn't paying too much until it was down to the wire. First class certainly was a pretty chunk of change, but for a little jump across a few states? Seemed illegal what they charged.

Still, noticing his company for the duration, he was willing to live with it.

"Looks like we meet again," Justin smiled at the guy who had the window seat. He looked up and smiled back, even giving Justin a once over quickly with his eyes, as if he missed something from earlier.

"Guess so," the guy said with a nod towards the empty seat. Justin took it (like he was going to refuse? Hell, he paid for it) and slipped his bag under the seat in front of him. It was just small enough to fit without getting stuck.

"What business are you in?" the blond asked, trying not to get annoyed by the other boarding passengers bumping into him or trying in vain to shove their too large or overstuffed luggage in the compartment over his head.

"Publishing."

"Oh, hey, you ever do comics?" Justin asked, shifting around to reach his phone to turn it off before slipping it back into his pocket.

The man shook his head giving Justin a questioning 'what are you, twelve?' look. "No. My company does novels."

"Shame. I used to do all the artwork for a comic a few years back. Big hit on the web and in the Pitts. I'm, uh, Justin, by the way."

"Paul," the other man replied, setting his paper down. Well, now he felt a little bad for insulting the blond. Just a little. "What comic was it?"

"Rage."

"Oh, no shit?" Paul asked, definitely interested now. "That thing got passed around the office when it hit. We loved it… well, in the beginning."

It was Justin's turn to flash Paul an odd look. "What was wrong after that?"

"Well, after the third issue or so," Paul waved a hand as if he wasn't too sure, which he wasn't. "The whole dynamic changed. Did you switch writers? 'Cause the storylines were less about saving Gayopolis and more about Rage and J.T. which would be fine… if that was how the story was supposed to go, y'know?"

"Uh… no, we didn't… change writers," Justin said, shifting uncomfortably. "I… just started suggesting some ideas…"

"Oh Lord, you're one of those artists, then?"

Justin bristled. "I'm sorry, I don't know what one of those artists are."

Paul chuckled. "The ones who get too big for their britches. The writer writes, the artist draws the pretty little pictures and colors them. Not both."

"Art is a form of expression," Justin said defensively, sinking into his seat. "I was just trying to-"

"Taylor," Paul cut him off remembering the last name from the cover of Rage. "Justin Taylor – J.T. I get it."

"You and the rest of the fanbase," the blond said, rolling his eyes.

"Where'd Rage come from?"

"I was fucking him at the time, young and in love."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Weren't we all at one point. So, Zephyr?"

"Uh, Br- Rage's real life best friend put on paper."

"See, those two should've had the romantic plot," Paul commented with a curt nod of his head. "J.T. should've been dropped like a hot potato halfway through. The kid needed to grow up."

"Yeah, well… I'd like to think he did," Justin muttered, fiddling with his seatbelt.

"That whole marriage thing? Completely out of left field. Felt fake."

Justin closed his eyes miserably, wishing he never started conversation with Paul. "Yeah, you'll be glad to know it never happened in real life. Too bad we couldn't follow a script there."

"Life isn't like that," Paul stated matter-of-factly. "You've got roll with the punches and deal with it. Are Zephyr and Rage together now? Y'know… in real life? Cause if the comic was based off their real interaction… shit, they should've been fuckin' years ago."

This flight was going to be pure agony.

"What about it?" Justin grumped from his position on the bench. He wasn't going to sit up just yet. This felt better for all his little aches and bumps from the other night. Shit, he didn't even know who the hell was talking to him.

"Nothing there to look forward to?"

"Just more bars, clubs and cock," the blond snorted. The waitress came back with the coffee and asked if Justin was ready to order. He heard a thump across the table, whoever was talking decided to join him.

"Can I get scrambled eggs, three of 'em, bacon, white toast with butter, short stack and home fries?" Justin asked, his hand popping up from under the table to gesture questioningly.

"Yah, and you, hon?" Apparently the mysterious voice was going to join him for real.

"BLT and a coke."

"'Kay, gimme a few," the waitress said, wandering off.

Justin kept his position, sprawled on the bench seat and the person opposite him kept silent. The seconds dragged on between them as Justin closed his eyes again, trying to ignore whoever was intent on bothering him when he was this battered from a night out. Who would be so cruel?

"Gonna drink your coffee at all, J.T.?"

Justin shot up, first knocking his head on the edge of the table and flopping back down on the thinly padded seat and then easing himself into a sitting position, one hand clutching the side of his head. Damn, he was going to have a bump there later.

Steely blue eyes laughed at him from across the table and a hand came up to brush a stray black curl out of his face.

"Paul?"

"Last I checked."

"The fuck are you doing here?" Justin asked, gaping across the table.

Paul shrugged, a hand idly playing with the silverware on the table. "Well, business finished up kinda quick in Philly, and I happened to remember quite the attractive, if so goddamn talkative I wanted to staple his mouth shut, blond saying he'd be in Pittsburg."

"And you're on Liberty Ave… why?" He had to ask. Yeah, Paul was hot, but he hadn't set off Justin's gaydar at all. Okay, a smidge, but that might've just been Justin hoping.

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Really? You tell me all about the gayest comic book on Earth you used to draw and you expect me not to know where to find you? You fucked Rage after all, where else could you be in this dump of a place?"

"Not the gayest on Earth…" Justin muttered, pulling his coffee over to him.

"Pretty fucking close, then," Paul relented, smiling. "Hot, though, I'll give you that."

"What the fuck are you?" Justin blurted out, then averted his eyes into the hot mug, embarrassed.

Paul smiled slyly. "Man, you've been having it easy, haven't you? Gaydar broken? Must be from just drowning yourself in willing cock all the time."

"So, you're…?"

Paul shook his head, laughing. "Nope. So straight I'm bent."

Justin gave Paul a quizzical look. "I never understood that… cause wouldn't that mean you're playin' for the same team?"

"Dunno," Paul shrugged. "Don't really care. Just stay away from my ass."

Justin snorted. "Yeah, like I wanted it anyways."

"Don't lie to yourself, you know you did."

"Is there a reason you're here?"

Paul smiled broadly. "I thought you'd never ask, sweetheart."

A few torturous hours later (Paul turned out to be quite the chatterbox when he was criticizing) they landed in Philly, running into early dinner time. Now was the wait to taxi to the gate. Then waiting to be told they were in Philly, what time it was, what the weather was like and what a pleasure it was to have them all flying with this airline. After that it was an explosion of scrambling for bags and getting out first. Justin wished he could do that, but taking the aisle seat meant he was bombarded with bags being pulled down above his head, hair abdomens shoved in his face… he just wanted out, and a cigarette.

Eventually, the plane was vacated in a semi-orderly fashion and Justin was about make a mad dash for the entrance of the airport when he remember he actually had luggage to pick up at the carousel. Fuck. He didn't want to miss it, or lose it, but fighting that crowd around the luggage claim was just rubbing him the wrong way. Especially when Paul found him again.

"How long you in town for?" Paul asked as they waited, side by side, for their luggage to appear.

"A week."

"For family? Ah, lemme guess, break from school?"

Justin glared from the corner of his eyes. "I could say the same for you."

"I'm flattered," Paul said, grinning widely. "But I am but a well aged 32. You?"

"23, almost 24."

Paul rolled his eyes. A kid. "So… break from school?"

"Listen, fucker," Justin snapped. "You've been on my ass since that whole Rage thing. Do you just feed off making people feel like shit, huh?"

Paul cocked an eyebrow at Justin's outburst, a few people turning their heads to look behind them. "Well, I am an editor."

"And I'm a fucking artist. It's not really your circle, so whatever, but I'm not exactly hurting in my line of work. I'm here to help some friends out for a week, not a break from school. I'm not a kid, I'm not a child, I'm not here to take your shit!"

"Whoa, doggy's got bark," Paul chuckled, shifting his laptop from one hand to the other. "Does he bite, too, I wonder."

"You wanna find out?"

"Tough son-of-a-bitch, aren't you?" Paul snorted. "New York must've worked its magic quick."

Justin turned to look at the different colors of luggage passed by on the belt. All he wanted was hi bag and he could get the fuck out of here, away from this asshole and on his way to Pittsburg, his room and a shower.

"Brrr," Paul said, pretending to shiver. "I think it just dropped twenty degrees. Quite a cold shoulder you've got."

The blond pressed his lips together in a thin line. He was not going to talk to Paul anymore, he was dead set on it at this point.

Paul whistled nonchalantly standing next to Justin, rocking back and forth on his heels, he reached over to grab his bag off the conveyor belt and didn't leave yet. Christ, he was going to wait for Justin to get his bag, too? Oh, joy of joys, maybe they'd even share a car together! Right. But as Justin spotted his bag and went to reach for it, Paul sideswiped him and snatched the small black bag up.

"Excuse me, does this belong to you?" Paul asked innocently.

If Justin didn't know any better, he'd say the man was flirting with him. Badly. "You know it does, dick."

"Ouch, kid," the other man replied. "I don't know if it's yours. Looks like the bag of someone who'd be more polite."

Justin reached for the bag and Paul pulled it just out of his grasp. "Ah-ah. What did our mommies say about taking things?"

"May I please have my luggage?" Justin asked, exasperated at this point.

Paul handed it over. "Easy as pie."

Justin muttered under his breath, something like 'your mom is easy' was barely heard as he got himself situated. "Whatever. Good luck with business."

"Oh, don't leave me now!" Paul exclaimed. "We just got here and now you're leaving me?"

A few people around them waiting for their bags looked over at the two men curiously. A lovers spat right in the airport? A few looked at Justin with disgust, taking Paul's words to be truth. Flying out here and then leaving him? God, what a bastard. Justin glanced around and shifted the duffle bag on his shoulder. Fight or flight.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't do… this anymore," the blond replied, flashing Paul a quick smile before looking ashamed at the ground. "There's… someone else."

Paul thought he was going to get another rise out of the kid, an angry outburst, or just blown off. Whaddaya know? There WAS a sense of humor in there. He fought from outright laughing by holding his hand in front of his mouth and hope that gleam coming from unshed peals of laughter would thought to be tears.

"How… How could you?!" He choked up on some of the words, more out of laughter than actual emotion. Paul turned away from Justin, trying to compose himself.

"Maybe if you put out a little more," Justin said, annoyed. "You've been a frigid little drama queen, no idea how to treat a man."

Paul couldn't do it. He just couldn't fucking do it. Still trying not to laugh, he glanced over his shoulder at Justin and rushed out of the airport, through the automatic doors where picks ups and drop offs occurred. The blond looked around at the small group of people who had been watching and shrugged.

"He'll get over it," he announced, flashing a brilliantly smug smile. "He always does."

With that, he walked off, still dying for a smoke and guess who was waiting for him?

"Good show," Paul commented, laughing as Justin took a lighter from the front compartment of his bag.

"Yeah, come back in a week for the encore," Justin said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

Paul shrugged. "I just might, who knows?"

"So, why won't you leave me alone?" Justin asked, exhaling a trail of grey smoke.

"You're fun."

"So're clowns."

"Yeah, but you gotta pay for 'em. You're cheaper," Paul replied with a smile.

Justin shook his head. "You couldn't afford me if I was charging."

"Mm!" Paul shook his head. "Oh yeah, artist. So, enlighten me, bring me into your 'circle', as you call it. What do you do?"

"I'm… an artist," Justin shrugged. "Mostly my own work, gallery showings these days. Paint, draw… mostly on a computer these days, special program I've got, comics… That's the main medium. Never been any good with things like sculpting. Just fine arts."

"Why stop the comic? They don't do half bad."

Justin paused. "Things… happened."

"Still keep in touch with the writer?" Paul asked, leaning up against a wall near the doors.

"Barely. Just regular emails, calls… I've been busy. He doesn't even know I'm here."

"And Rage?"

"I'm helping him by surprising the writer."

"Good to know," Paul said looking a little lost in thought before pushing himself off the wall. "Well, good luck in… where were you going?"

"Pittsburgh," Justin filled in, holding out a hand for quick shake.

Paul accepted with a firm squeeze. "Yeah, try and make the best of it."

"You too," Justin said, watching Paul wander off to a shuttle, talking to the driver. The hell just happened?

"You want me to what?" Justin asked. Maybe he hadn't heard correctly.

Paul wiped at his mouth with the napkin before tossing it down on the empty plate. Goddamn, this place was good. How did all the queers stay so thin if this was the frequent haunt? He leaned back in to the bench, hands resting over his full stomach.

"I want you to introduce me to the writer," Paul said. "I loved the comic for-"

"For awhile, I remember," Justin cut off, rolling his eyes.

Paul chuckled. "That's just it. Do it over, man. Comics do it all the time! Take Marvel and DC, how many friggen universes do they have for all their bullshit?"

"I dunno, ask Mike. He's the comic geek," the blond shrugged, picking up the last piece of bacon. "It's just been… over for so long, Paul. I doubt there would be a comeback, a willing fanbase to embrace the new and improved Rage. Besides, Mike would have to look for a new artist. It's just a lot of work to put on him right now."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Oh, I dunno," Justin sighed, as if thinking hard. "Maybe the fact that I actually live in another state… or, here's a good one! I've got my own projects to work on. The one thing about working on Rage was that you should always stick to your deadlines. The fans expect it. If you lose the trust, you lose the readership, and with it, their money. I can barely keep my own schedule, let alone add more on to it."

Paul watched Justin in silence as the blond picked at what remained on his plates, almost despondent. Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh came to mind. The kid was just beyond down in the dumps over some bullshit. Worked himself into a hole he felt he couldn't get out of.

"Damn, if you're gonna be a pussy, why don't you just go home early?" Paul asked, glancing around the diner for the waitress and gesturing towards their table while mouthing the word 'check'. "Like you said, in New York there's just as many bars, clubs and cock."

Justin cupped a cheek in his hand with his elbow propped on the table. "How am I being a pussy for being rational?"

"Thought this guy was your friend?"

"Well, yeah…" Honestly, continually calling someone an acquaintance was awkward. He did like Michael, but to say they were friends might be pushing fragile boundaries at the moment. "I just fucked a lot of shit up lately."

"You only got here, what, Sunday? How much damage can you do, squirt?" Paul questioned, discretely taking the check from the waitress.

Justin laughed bitterly. "Oh man, you don't even wanna know."

"Hey, I asked."

Justin had gotten to his hotel and checked in a few hours later. Fucking long as drive out of Philly to the Pitts. Longer than he expected. Being in a car for too long made him antsy, so unpacking his things for the week (just for something to do) and taking a shower had been the best remedy. He hadn't bothered trying Brian's cell, he knew that the other man was going to be at work today, some last minute fuck up Brian told him about in a voicemail he'd received while his phone was off in the air. That's where he headed after dressing for the night, looking good enough to turn heads in familiar curiosity. Dear lord, he never got this kind of attention in New York just from walking down the street. Too many people, faces and bodies to pick out just one.

He expected the doors to Kinnetik to be locked, having to call Brian just to come get him. Brian was a stickler for security systems and locks, but the place was completely open. Which was worrisome to Justin. Had something happened, maybe? Should he go in? Well, standing outside in the evening chill was doing him no good either way, so if he wasn't going to call the cops, he might as well go on in.

Walking the halls of the building, a lot of memories came flooding back. The arguments in Brian's office, the sex in the cubicles, flashes of when this place was a bath house and how fantastically perverted he had felt when eyes were on him constantly for his first try at sex in public. Whew. Did not need this train of thought. Brian's office door was closed, but he could clearly hear people behind the door. Maybe a phone call. A meeting? Who knew.

"Whatcha working on?" Justin heard Michael ask from the other side of the door. Justin arched an eyebrow in surprise. Maybe he was interrupting a… meeting.

Brian sighed. "Why won't you go home?"

"Cause."

"Michael, I'm working."

"Brian, I'm annoying."

"I knew that since I met you."

"Shut up!"

Justin smiled listening to the banter. Christ, that shit used to irritate the hell out of him a few years back. He almost had to smother a laugh when he heard a sharp snap of a hand to the back of a head.

"Ow! You hit like your mother," Brian whined, rubbing the back of his head.

Michael smiled. "You don't know the half of it."

"You really need to go home, Mikey," Brian pushed again. "You know I don't mind you here, but I've got work that has to get done. The presentation is tomorrow, and Big Ben's probably wondering where you've gotten to."

Uh-oh… Ben was still in this picture after all? Justin had hoped that maybe… maybe there would be a last minute change of heart. Something. Figuring this was going to be his cue to break all that nonsense up, he reached for the handle on the door, opening it just enough to peek in.

"Brian?" Michael asked, sliding to the side of the chair to sit lightly on the armrest.

"Hm?" Brian had gone back to looking over the campaign. It was almost done, really. A few more tweaks, honestly, a lot more cleavage… there was a joke in there somewhere. He never saw the hand coming at the back of his head. "OW! You little shit, get out of my fucking office!"

"Make me!"

"Don't start this crap again."

Again? They were really like this all the time? It was like watching two kids knocking each other around. Justin still couldn't figure out how they were making any of this work, but it wasn't his place to decide anything.

Michael stuck his tongue out at Brian, who rolled his eyes. "Real mature, Mikey."

"I'm very mature for my age," Michael insisted, sliding from the armrest into Brian's lap, dislodging Brian's attention from the work as he found himself with a lap full of Michael. Brian held his hands up and away, as if he didn't want to contaminate the scene of a crime. Justin actually looked shocked as he watched it happen. Brian refusing a blatant offer of a body? Well, damn it all, he'd been right. Kinney was in love. But to see Michael taking charge, somewhat, threw him for a loop. It wasn't really a sexual move, but it had the adorable coyness to it that only Michael could bring.

Michael looked up at Brian. "You look like a dumbass."

Justin had to agree.

"You look like you're doing something you shouldn't."

Again, considering the situation, Justin had to agree with Brian.

"I'm inclined to agree," Justin said, making himself known as he threw the door open, nearly sending Michael and Brian's heads spinning towards the door in shock. Brian was so startled he managed to get up out of the chair, sending Michael tumbling to the floor, one hand reaching out to catch himself on the desk on instinct. This sent the stacks of papers and work Brian had been so focused on previous to flutter around to the floor.

"How the fuck do you people keep getting in here?" Brian demanded to know, sounding exasperated.

"Remember how, when I first moved in, you told me to always lock the door when I left?" Justin asked, striding into the room confidently, but slowly as if feeling out the old territory. So many memories and just a short amount of time to get this right. "You probably should've told Michael the same thing."

Michael clamored to his feet, glaring at Justin. What was he, invisible? Justin beamed back at Michael, all too pleased to have walked in at just the right time. What the hell was he doing here? He saw Brian go over and hug the man, who returned it gratefully. Justin was tired, drained and fell into the embrace like a desperate lover. He took a peek through his lashes at Michael puttering around the desk. The level of tension was almost palpable from across the way.

"How was the flight?" Brian asked, leaving Michael in the background.

Justin shrugged. "Short. I told you I could drive it." Brian had argued him out of it previously, insisting on buying the plane ticket for Justin if that was the issue. It wasn't, but the effort counted. Justin, obviously, had sucked it up and flown if just to shut Brian up.

"You would've been too tired to see anyone," the older man argued. "But I'm glad you made it. How's the show going?"

"Opening night was horrendous," Justin sighed, overly dramatic he knew, fitting what was expected to a 't'. "Pictures, interviews" he waved a hand "I'm glad I've got the status to leave whenever I want now. Almost sold out, though."

Brian clapped a hand on Justin's shoulder, giving him a smile. "Almost only counts in horseshoes and war. Up for a drink tonight?"

Michael cleared his throat, tapping the papers he had silently collected off the floor on Brian's desk, setting the stack down firmly. Justin was here. Justin was here and Brian knew he would be coming. And now? Now he was just… an assistant. A background figure. It felt too much like six years back, suddenly. He was watching, helpless, as Brian reeled the kid in and left him standing there on the sidewalk.

"Mikey, put that down," Brian said, waving him over. "Come out with us tonight."

Michael made his way slowly over to the two, aware of how tall Justin had gotten in a year. His luck in the art world changing for the better instantaneously had affected his wardrobe too. No longer was this a kid playing dress up in Brian's image, this was a full-fledged carbon copy with a hint of something new. Michael wasn't a label whore like Brian, but he knew expensive when it smacked him in the face. A dark blue silk shirt wrapped in a deep brown leather jacket with black jeans Michael was sure didn't just come off the rack and a pair of undistinguishable (to Michael, anyways) pair of dark brown shoes brought it all together. Justin had taken the time to shower and change out of the comfy knock around clothes he worn for the trip over. Honestly, just to get the skuzzy feeling of meeting Paul off of him was a relief.

He didn't copy Brian's look, really. If anything, Brian had taught him the value of a designer label. They held more presence than he did and that went the extra mile in his career. Truth be told, he didn't frequent the stores that often. Maybe to check the new line that was out, or some must have item that he really thought he could not live without… until he got it home. His style didn't have Brian's all black domineering, tailored, don't touch me it's worth more than your life style… but Michael was sure that if you matched price tags, they would equal the same.

The clothes held more presence than Justin did, and it certainly showed if Michael's quick assessment had proven anything.

Justin raised an eyebrow, giving Michael a hug that was returned halfheartedly. Michael was more upset that Justin was visiting and Brian knew about it and he didn't. Did anyone else know and keep it from him?

"Out with you two?" Justin asked, easing into the next question. "Are you two…?"

Brian couldn't answer quick enough. "No," Michael said, shaking his head. "Still married."

"Ah, well… as long as I wasn't interrupting," the blond said.

"You know how it is," Brian shrugged, an odd mix of emotions Justin couldn't place on his face. "I'm working and Mikey is nothing but trouble."

"Funny, Ma says the same thing about you," Michael muttered. "Hey, I got get going. Help Hunter close the shop and get something going for dinner."

"Well, are you gonna come out with us?" Justin asked. "We could get all the guys together."

"Yeah," Michael said, just wanting to get to the door. "Maybe just Woody's, though."

"Okay," Brian said, leaning over to give Michael a kiss on the cheek. Which wasn't out of the ordinary between them. "I'll get you around eight."

"Yeah. Sorry about work," the shorter man sighed, pulling away and heading for the door.

Justin watched Michael leave and turned back to Brian. "You didn't even tell him I was coming, did you?"

Brian smiled. "Do you really think I should've?"

"I figured maybe some fair warning, Brian," Justin frowned, slipping hands into jacket pockets. "Blindsiding him wasn't really what I had in mind."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Do you know how to handle Michael?"

"Not like you, obviously, but I know that it's not right."

"Well… sometimes the ends justify the means, Sunshine."

Justin wandered over to the desk, looking over the scattered papers Michael had collected. "So, why are you here on a Sunday?"

"Last minute project to fix," Brian shrugged. "Some little upstart decided to fuck with it and the boss man" he pointed to himself "does not approve."

"Ah, to slave away in your little office," Justin said, hands waving to show off the large room. "And work away your life. You should get out more."

"Why do you think you're here?"

"I thought I was here to be a pawn in a sinister Kinney scheme."

Brian chuckled. "Well, true. But, if you're my pawn, then I'm pulling your strings. Are you hungry?"

Justin made a so-so motion, rocking a hand back and forth. "Brought a few snacks with me, but I could eat."

"Yeah, well, I've been here all day. You're eating," Brian decided, picking up his black leather jacket from its perch behind his desk chair.

"Ooo, boss me around, Mr. Kinney," Justin said in a breathless tone, hopping lightly on the desk, leaning towards Brian as if to be the stereotypical tempting secretary, even letting a hand flutter to his chest to undo a button or two on his shirt.

Brian cocked an eyebrow at the blond. "You made a horrible employee when you worked for me, and you make a worse 'office fling' now and you don't even work here." Justin laughed, slipping off the desk and Brian ruffled the feathery blond hair brusquely. "C'mon, I'm starving."

"Brian," Michael panted, finally finding air between a barrage of kisses being showered over his face and neck while hands were slowly teasing the shirt up over a pale flat stomach. They had made it into the Loft, at least, away from any prying eyes that might be around. Brian had shoved Michael over the threshold, up against the nearest flat surface – the breakfast bar – and went on the attack. The only thoughts running through his head were Michael, he was here, the secret was out and now he was all Brian's.

Brian hadn't stopped the assault on every inch of Michael he could get at until Michael had enough of being ignored. Slender fingers slipped easily into the dark brown hair, Brian closed his eyes in silent bliss from the feel of it as he latched onto Michael's neck with his mouth like a teenager. What he wasn't expecting was Michael's fingers to tug so sharply on the silky locks that his head would be snapped back and away from Michael's neck.

"Brian. Fucking. Kinney," Michael hissed, glaring up at him. The awkward angle Michael pulled his head back to left Brian with a slight headache to look down and make eye contact. Angry Mikey was… kinda hot. All riled up, disheveled and wild eyed without the wanton throes of passion involved where Michael just lost himself, this was different. Michael was in control and he knew it.

"Yeeeesssss, Michael. Fucking. Novotny?" Brian hissed back, if just to irritate Michael further. Which earned him a sharp tug of reprimand. "You're gonna make me go bald prematurely if you keep that up."

"Listen when I speak and I'll let you go," Michael told him. Simple as that. "I'm not here for this. I wanted to get here before…" his free hand came up and touched the light bruise on the side of Brian's jaw and Brian let his eyes close at the soft touch "I'm sorry." The hand tangled dangerously in Brian's hair released its grip and smoothed through the soft strands and down the sides of Brian's face gently, annoyance dissipating slowly as Michael took stock of the damage.

"Not your fault," Brian muttered, letting his head fall forward and rest their foreheads together.

Tears pooled unexpectedly in the deep brown eyes. "It is. All of it was."

"It takes two, Mikey," Brian soothed, reaching up to take one of Michael's hands and press a kiss to the flat palm. "Or, in this case, three." He flashed a weak grin.

Michael sniffled, returning a wavering smile with watery eyes. "You'd let me get away with murder, wouldn't you?"

Brian shrugged. "I'd help you bury the bodies."

Silence settled over the two of them as they let the chain of events sink in. Was this what they had been going through their own personal hells for? That gentle caress across darkening skin bringing a soft shudder up a spine? The quiet expectation as hazel eyes searched desperately for something in dark brown ones? Something had been steadily building in the silence, Brian habitually rolling his lips inward to form a thin line as his eyes continued to stare in nearly frantic desperation for… something. Why was Michael here, if not for him? What else could there be, than this, right now?

"Hunter," Michael answered for him, quietly. Brian's hand hadn't let go of Michael's, his thumb rubbing the back of the hand as he waited for the rest. There was always more with Michael. "I need my life settled first, Brian. The divorce, a place to stay and what happens with Hunter. I still have a family to take care of."

Brian took a deep breath, unaware he had been holding his for so long. "I know."

Was that it? 'I know'?

"He at school?" Brian asked, squeezing the hand in his grasp gently before letting go and righting himself, pulling away from Michael. He had to be reasonable. The Loft wouldn't be a comfortable place for all three of them. A few nights, sure, but Brian didn't think he could bear to let Michael leave once he had him for just a few nights.

"Nah," Michael shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself as he looked down at his foot, the one currently scuffing back and forth on the floor. This wasn't weird… it was just hard. Michael wasn't sure what he had been expecting from Brian, but this wasn't a satisfying outcome out of the choices, either. "Over at the shop with Em. He knows, though."

"Slowly it all unwinds," Brian murmured. "Where do you think Benny Boy's heading off to?"

"Ben," Michael corrected sternly. There was no reason to berate his soon to be ex-husband further. There was still some semblance of love for him, certainly, but how much remained in question. "I'm not sure. He did have work today, but I guess he'd be late at this point." It was almost noon.

"Need a ride to the shop?" Brian asked, picking up the dead cigarette and phone from the floor. One went in the trash, the other was slipped into his back pocket.

"Don't you have work?" Michael questioned, looking at Brian hard. "It's Tuesday."

"Wonders of technology Mikey," the other man sighed. "Left it all up to Cynthia and Schmidt today. Email, what a wonderful thing."

"How is Ted?"

Brian shrugged. "Not dead yet. Do you need a ride or not?"

A/N: Feeling letdown? Confused? It's like chapter one all over again. Ah, good times we had back then. Goooood times. Anyways, school is out for the summer (cause summer classes would make me go crazy… well, more so) and that whole sleeping thing we humans do? Yeah… turns out I haven't been getting enough of that so the first few days were spent playing catch up.

Can I resolve obvious halfbaked ideas I've planted in this chapter? Tune in… within the next two weeks (possibly) to find out! While I go nuts and rack up a phone bill yelling about gay men to my ex. Probably wishes he dated 'normal' girls at this point… or that we didn't get along as well as we do. Hah!

Writers love company… as long as the egos don't get in the way.

Reviews are appreciated!

~SL

PS – Hope everyone will eventually have a great summer!