As it turned out, his invitation to visit him would be less about recreation and relaxation, and more about slave labor. It took nearly every minute of the next five days to get his apartment ready for the big move (my best friend apparently hordes more shit than anyone I've ever known). In our free time we tried to plot, but the night before we were supposed to leave for Pittsburgh we were still out of ideas.

"What if we kidnap Owen, tie a cement block to his ankle, and toss him into the ocean," Justin suggested, taking a long hit of the blunt, then passing it to me. "Would that be wrong?"

"Pretty sure we're going to have to count murder out," I answered sadly. "I'd definitely get caught."

"Definitely," Justin agreed, then ducked when I threw the lighter at him.

I smiled a little to myself, and hit the blunt again. It was odd, I decided, the way things had worked out. Here Justin and I were, six and a half years after he met Brian, and still searching for a plan a way to win him over. But in spite of Owen, or anyone else that might have arisen, I knew better than to be worried. Brian had always loved Justin - from the word go, the moment they met. No matter what he said, or who he fucked, or how many times he threw my best friend out of the loft, he had always wanted him more than anyone else. He'd loved him, and only him.

I glanced at Justin, realizing that he'd fallen silent. He was staring out the window, his eyes unfocused.

"Justin?"

He turned back to me. "What's he like," he asked. I blinked, a little taken off guard by the question. After all, I had been in town now for a few days and this was the first time he'd asked anything specific about Owen. I'd just assumed that he didn't want to know - that the idea of his ex-lover with someone else was too painful to even think about.

"Well," I began, "He's, you know. Nice, I guess. He loaned me a lighter once."

"The most detailed information you can give me is that he's nice?"

I sighed. "Justin, I'm not sure how healthy this is."

"Daph."

"Look, Owen is . . . Honestly, he's a lot like you."

Justin looked stunned. "Like me?"

"Yeah, you know. Younger. Smart. Funny. Nice. Creative - he plays the acoustic guitar."

"He's a musician?"

I knew he wasn't going to be thrilled about that particular trait. I wondered if he was remembering a violinist from another lifetime. "Relax," I soothed. "It's going to be fine. Yes, you and he are similar, but that's it. He's not a replacement for Justin Taylor, he's a stand-in. A carbon copy. Not the original, not even close."

He laughed. "You have to say that shit because you're my best friend," he answered, but the anxiety in his eyes seemed to lessen somewhat.

"And as your best friend," I said, "I think it's my duty to point out that if we don't get some sort of semblance of a plan pretty soon, we're going to be in big trouble. The two of you will be sharing a city tomorrow for God's sake."

"I realize that." But it was too late. He was too distracted now by the thoughts of Brian's new boyfriend to continue working on Operation Britin (as we were calling it) tonight. "So, do you think he still loves me?"

The words were there on the tip of my tongue, the memories of my many run-ins with Brian over the last year and a half racing through my mind. I could still remember the sound of my knock against the door to the loft the night, just a month after he had left, that Justin had sent me over there to retrieve his lucky pencil. Rather, he had said it was about the pencil, but I had known, of course, that it was actually about checking on Brian, which had been just fine with me. Really, he was too fucking gorgeous for his own good.

I hadn't heard anything, so, assuming he was out, I'd let myself in, using the alarm code Justin sent me with. I'd jumped a mile when Brian's soft, "What the fuck are you doing here," had drifted over from the couch, and nearly jumped again when I realized how completely out of it he was. A bag of white powder, another bag of weed, and a large bottle of Jim Beam were all lined up on his coffee table, and while I didn't know a whole lot about mixing pharmaceuticals, I knew enough to guess that all of these things together could only lead to a disaster. I'd never been so relieved to have Michael Novotny in my cellphone contacts.

Later, once Michael had arrived and I was on my way out the door, Brian had called out to me, "Don't tell him."

I hadn't answered right away. I didn't like keeping things from Justin, and I was pretty sure he would disown me if he found out I was hiding something like this.

"Daphne," he'd continued. "Don't. We both know he'll just come running back here, and what the fuck will that solve?"

In the end I'd agreed. Of course. Like I said: too gorgeous for his own good.

"Yes," I said to Justin now, passing him the blunt. "I really think he does. And that's enough with the self-doubts. Now, are we, or are we not, Mounties?"

Justin grinned. "We always get our man."

"That's the spirit!"

*

The next morning, much too early to even consider being awake, Justin and I directed the movers to the boxes and furniture that were going with us. They would be meeting us in Pittsburgh later that night at my apartment, where we would be housing everything until Justin and Brian were reconciled and he was living at the loft again. Because, like I said, Brian had always loved Justin, so it was only a matter of time until we got this whole mess straightened out.

The plane trip was short, less than two hours, and we spent the time playing cards, and listening to the girls in the seats behind us gush over the fact that the famous artist, Justin Taylor, was sitting right in front of them. I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes when they approached him for an autograph. Great. Now he'd be preening for a week.

"You're sure you don't have to go see your mom first," I questioned as we stepped off the plane.

He shook his head. "I'm sure. She's got a lot of houses to show today, so she probably won't even get home until seven." He paused. "So, we never really figured everything out about Operation Britin. Where's the first stop going to be?"

It was true that we hadn't discussed it again since the night before, but I had actually been hit by inspiration on the plane-ride. "Liberty Diner."

"Liberty Diner," he repeated in a none-too-flattering tone.

Once again my brilliance was lost on those around me. "Well, this is the way I figure it," I began. "I know the last time you won Brian back we just kind of stuck you everywhere he was. And it worked great. But I mean, I think it's time we took a subtler approach. You know, plant the seed of your return as opposed to being all in his face."

He shrugged. "Whatever. You're the master."

I truly was. Too many viewings of The Parent Trap as a child.

The diner was crowded by the time we got there, the only available seats being the ones at the bar. As we made our way, I stole a quick look at Justin, who seemed, well, terrified. I tried to imagine what it would be like to leave everyone I knew and loved behind, and then to reappear out of nowhere at the one place they frequent every day, and couldn't even begin to guess what I would feel. I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Holy shit!"

The sudden cry came from behind us, and we turned at the same time. When I saw who it was I had to smother a groan.

"Hunter," Justin said in surprise.

And it was Hunter standing there, his pen and pad poised to take our orders. He stared at each of us in turn, and I hoped Justin couldn't read his expression when it was directed at me. I had taken a lot of precautions to ensure-

"You're back," Hunter answered. Then his eyes brightened. "Shit. Are you here to fight for Brian? Because that would be so fucking awesome. His new boyfriend is kind of an asshole."

Based on Justin's expression there was no better news he could have heard. "Really? Because Daphne said that he was alright."

Hunter rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. "He's not the spawn of Satan or anything. But he isn't one of the creators of 'Rage.' He isn't the corporeal version of J.T." But then his eyes moved to me. "Does Michael know he's in town?"

"No one does," Justin answered. "Why?"

See, this is why people should never lie to their best friend. Because I knew where Hunter was going with this question, and it was another thing I'd been dragging my feet about telling Justin.

"Michael hates you."

I glared at Hunter for his blunt explanation. "He's exaggerating. Michael doesn't hate you, he's just not your biggest fan right now."

Justin glanced at the two of us in deep suspicion. "Why?"

And wouldn't you fucking know it that at that exact moment the door to the diner swung open, and we all glanced over at the same time. I'd tell you who it was, but you're probably smart enough to guess.

He ignored Justin completely, but stared at me with unconcealed fury. "What the fuck is he doing here," he snapped.

It was Michael, of course it was Michael.

"I thought you said he was working this morning," I hissed to Hunter.

"He just hired someone. I tried to call you."

"I moved back," Justin answered, missing my exchange with Hunter, and addressing Michael.

"You brought him back," Michael practically shrieked. I looked around for Debbie, whom I was hoping would be on my side, but for the first time ever the woman was nowhere to be found. "What were you thinking? After all the -"
"All the what," Justin asked, turning to me.

"You didn't tell him," Michael demanded incredulously.

"I asked her not to." Though we were all quite familiar with the voice, all four us looked up. And there, donning the most unreadable expression in history, was Brian Kinney.