Holy crap finally. I'm sorry this took so long. I'm on my college's magazine, and all my writing power has gone into my (finally, almost finished) article about GLBT students and college. Now here's Brian and Justin and all their stuff. This one is super long and does have quite a bit of dialogue. Enjoy!

"Someone's here to see you." Cynthia announced at eight-thirty in the morning, then turned and exited the doorway without further explanation. Brian rolled his eyes. What a great assistant he had. A second later, a pensive-looking Daphne entered, carrying a newspaper.

"Why, Doctor Chanders, you're looking particularly stunning today."

"Don't inflate my ego more than it is, Brian. I'm not a doctor yet. Just a student intern." Brian grinned. Daphne gestured to the paper in her hand. "Did you see the news? Someone died last night."

"Well, I know that death is usually a tragic and news-worthy occurrence that is generally disliked, but someone dies every day. Why should I care?"

"You should know better than to say that to a doctor."

"You said you weren't a doctor."

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, what I came here to tell you. Remember that Pink Posse thing that Justin was in?"

Brian's expression darkened, his hand clenching involuntarily. "Yeah, I remember." He growled.

"That asshole Cody the one who started that shit, he was killed yesterday evening."

"How?"

"I guess he's been doing that anti-hetero vigilante stuff by himself since then, threatening people and waving guns around and things. Anyways, apparently he started in on this guy who had called someone a faggot for bumping into him on the street and making him spill his coffee."

"Typical city dweller straight guy."

"Right. And Cody cornered the guy in the parking lot and started yelling at him. He pulled his gun and the man had one of his own in his jacket. Cody was slower than the guy he'd picked out to harass. Thing is, it's perfectly legal. The man was acting in self defense and his gun was licensed and registered to him. Cody was just being a dick and the gun was his dad's. So there's almost no case."

"Wow. Fitting end for our violent friend. Have you told Justin?"

"No, I just found out. A friend of mine on the night shift was one of the responding paramedics. I was going to leave that job to you, anyway."

"All right. Thanks for telling me about it."

"No problem. And, um, how are you doing? He says you're not talking to him, not for almost two months. He misses you."

Brian grimaced. "I…guess…I miss him to. But, he needs to concentrate on settling in, getting his stuff done, becoming a success. He doesn't need me to distract him."

"That is such bullshit, Brian. Call him. Talk to him."

"Hmmm."

Daphne seemed to know that was the end of that conversation. She stepped over and kissed him on the cheek, squeezed his shoulder. He eyed her.

"If you ever want to hang out with a fag hag or just want to stop being an asshole for a little while, call me up." She smiled to take the sting out of her words, her eyes soft.

He nodded once and she smiled gently at him before leaving the room. Brian let this new information sink in. Cody. He hadn't thought about Justin's days with the Pink Posse in a long time.

He remembered Justin's anger, the frightening intensity brought on by pent up fear and hurt from the bashing, pushed down and down for so long and then pulled back up and transformed into rage by Cody's manipulations. He remembered his own paralyzing fear, night after night, waiting for Justin to come home to him, cold worry in his gut, hoping with everything he had that the phone would not ring to tell him something he'd never, ever want to hear.

He remembered the night Justin had come home stone-faced and shaking, stood in the doorway and told him it was over. When Brian had moved to embrace him, Justin had held up his hands and backed away.

"I nearly killed Hobbes tonight." His voice would have sounded flat and unaffected to anyone else, but Brian could hear the overload of emotion. His heart had jumped into his throat at the dreaded name, but he just looked curiously at Justin. "Cody and I waited outside his house 'til he got home. I wanted him to apologize. He wouldn't. Said I was going to get AIDS and die, all that usual shit. He started to walk away. Cody handed me a gun. I put it in Hobbes' mouth and made him apologize. I…I…it was loaded. Fucking loaded. And I wanted to, Brian. You have no idea how much I wanted to. But I didn't. I couldn't."

They had clutched at each other, then, Justin grasping and trembling but not crying. Brian hadn't said so, but he knew exactly how much Justin wanted to kill Chris Hobbes. He remembered the same feeling of anger and hatred from the days just after the bashing. He knew.

Now he stared absently at the papers on his desk. He blinked and looked at the phone, a deep frown creasing his features. Then he took a deep, shaking breath and picked up the receiver.

Justin was on break at Il Pomodoro Sorridente when his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Brian. He frowned. Brian wouldn't be calling unless it was something really important. Or if their friends had managed to convince him to stop being asshole, but Justin highly doubted the latter.

"Brian, hi."

"Justin." Brian's voice was tense, tight. It was the first time Justin had heard his lover's voice in over a month, and the tension unnerved him.

"Brian, why are you calling? Is everyone okay? Are you okay?" For a moment, Justin felt hysterical.

"Everyone's fine, Justin." Brian's voice was still tight. He'd called him 'Justin.' "But, um, remember that asshole from your stupid vigilante group—"

"Cody?"

"Yeah, Cody. He's dead."

Something cold gripped Justin's heart, but it wasn't sadness. "How?"

"Seems he was running around playing vigilante boy even after you had the sense to leave. He pulled a gun on some civilian with an actual gun license and a steady hand. Apparently your little friend wasn't the sharpshooter he thought he was."

For a moment there was silence, just Brian and Justin breathing on opposite sides of the line.

"Brian?" Justin's voice was soft, a whisper. He felt very small, suddenly. The realization that that could have been him had he stayed with Cody longer hit him hard all over again. "Brian, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for scaring you back then."

"It's okay. It's what you had to do. And no apologies, remember?"

"Uh huh." Justin sighed. Brian's voice had softened and Justin felt a little happy now.

"Are you going to be all right, Sunshine?"

Justin smiled at the familiar nickname, inhaled deeply and steadied himself "Yeah. I'm good. I have Fi or Laura if I really need to talk to someone."

"Good. I have to get back to work, and I'm sure you do, too."

"Uh huh. Later."

"Later, Sunshine."

Justin closed his cell phone and sighed again. Cody was dead. He let that information sink in. After he had gone off the deep end and held a gun to Hobbes' head, after he'd come home to Brian and had time to think about his recent insanity he'd realized that he or Cody could have died during any of their stupid forays into queer revolution. He'd realized they could have taken on someone with a gun, a knife, a black belt in jujitsu or something. Someone far stronger and more violent than either of them Or at least than Justin.

He'd also realized, once he was clear-headed, that Cody probably would have left him to die or be severely injured if any of their victims had begun to really fight back. The night after those revelations, he'd rolled over to Brian in the night and pulled him close, closer, tangling their limbs together and clutching at Brian's back. Brian had held him close, his strong hands gripping just a little too hard, belying the indifference he'd shown during those weeks when Justin was away.

Now Justin wondered, not for the first time, why he'd ever felt power during that time. Yeah, now he knew how to fight back if he ever got into a sticky situation, but that was the only good that had come of it. He realized now that he hadn't looked like anything but a silly kid playing at being tough. Cody, with his shaved head, looked like what he was—a violent skinhead teenager with an inflated sense of hatred toward everything because of his childhood, a ruthless bastard who'd kill or hurt anything if it would benefit his furious idea of a cause. Justin had looked…like a child. Shaving his head had simply accentuated the clean, fragile lines of his smooth skull. Once his hair was gone, underneath was the clean lines of a easily-breakable mass of bone, graceful and sleek, but a small white scar stood out just above and in front of his temple, a testament to what those bones had already been through, evidence of the extreme fragility and proof that he was a victim.

Justin let out a long, cathartic sigh. That was a long time ago. He'd done what he'd needed to do: he'd faced Hobbes. That was over now. If Cody was dead, he probably deserved it. The bastard would've ended up in jail anyway. He crushed his cigarette under his foot and headed back inside.

Sitting on an ugly blue stool at the counter of his shop, Michael read the same comic book page over and over again, his mind absolutely not on it. Brian had not treated him too kindly for months. Michael remembered that before the bombing, they'd been having the biggest fight of their entire friendship, but afterward, Brian had apologized. He'd been at fault and he'd apologized. He couldn't still be mad at Michael, could he? Maybe he was.

The bell on the door jingled and he looked up from staring contemplatively at his hands resting on the countertop. Ben smiled lovingly at him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking."

"Okay," he held up a bag. "I brought sandwiches for lunch. It's a furlough day today. Only the teachers came in and only for half a day. Damn budget cuts." He held a wrapped bundle out to Michael, who took the proffered sandwich.

Ben watched his husband as he began to absently eat his lunch. He was pretty certain Michael had been thinking of Brian. He'd had his 'thinking about Brian' face on quite a bit lately. It was times like this when he wondered in frustration—against his Zen morals and better judgment—why he put up with this love-bordering-on-dependency-bordering-on-obsession Michael had for his best friend.

But then he'd seen an empty-looking Brian at the Diner or Woody's or Deb's without Justin and he'd remember. Justin and Michael were the two people Brian Kinney depended on most—and one half of that equation was gone.

Though, he realized as he thought about it again, he wasn't entirely sure the second half was totally welcome either. He'd noticed the distinct lack of really making up and talking about their friendship. This seemed to be the way Brian was- no words, only nearly inscrutable actions. And he guessed that was what Michael was thinking about—whether or not Brian still liked him, still wanted him around, still trusted him. Because there hadn't been much talk between them since Justin let. Brian was generally being pretty antisocial.

But he really didn't want to think about Brian. He liked Brian, he understood Brian, he knew why Brian was acting this way, but he didn't want the man to take up his thoughts, the way they did Michael's. He needed to find some way to distract his partner.

Emmett's phone trilled happily, the sounds of RuPaul filling the air. He plucked it off of Debbie's kitchen table and flipped it open, continuing to flick through the menu of his current wedding, trying to search out any mistakes or recipes that 'didn't fit'.

"Yes, hello?"

"Hey, Emmett," a voice drawled through the speaker. Emmett smiled.

"Calvin, hey."

"You plannin' anything tonight?"

"Not at all. Did you have something in mind?"

"How about you and me goin' out to dinner? And maybe a little, um, dessert afterward?"

Emmett smiled. He had been sad after letting Drew go, but finding Calvin had swung his moods upward and he was incredibly happy once more. "Well, of course. I'll always have time for dinner. And there's always room for dessert."

"Good, where do you want to go?"

"Your choice. In fact, surprise me."

"I will. See you tonight."

"See you, Calvin."

He hung up with a smile. When he looked up, Debbie was standing in front of the table, grinning at him, her bright red lipstick making her excited leer look even more enthusiastic.

"You got a date, Em?"

"Yeah, tonight."

"Oh, Honey, I'm so happy!" she kissed his cheek and grinned, neglecting to wipe off the red imprint of lips now on his cheek.

"Thanks, Deb."

"Now Carl and I can have the house to ourselves for once." She joked. Emmett rolled his eyes. She made a kissy face at him and he smirked and made one back.

"Well, here we are again."

Ted chuckled and looked around him. "Eating cookies and drinking milk in my kitchen?"

"Remember the last time we were doing this?" Blake gestured at him with half of his chocolate chip cookie.

"We were eating cookies from Mel and Linds. And I got the job at Rigoletto's. God, that ridiculous restaurant."

Blake laughed. "Still, you were a good singer."

"I'm a better accountant than a Pavarotti."

"Thanks to Brian."

"Always thanks to Brian. And you, of course, for getting me out of rehab."

"Ted…"

"No, seriously. If you weren't there, I would never have worked as hard to impress you and get out on my own." He leaned in and kissed his lover on the cheek. Blake took his hand and led him to the couch, turning just for a moment so he could turn La Traviata on.

"I wouldn't have become who I am today if you hadn't believed in me all those years ago, Ted." He sat down beside Ted, who laced their fingers together and pulled Blake close.

"You know, after we stopped seeing each other, I always felt like something was missing. I dated plenty of other guys, but they never really connected. I felt like I had found the perfect something, and then lost it. And really, I wasn't sure who that was. And then we met at the gay ski week…and it was like everything clicked into place."

"I know exactly what you mean."

Justin was thankful that Fifi wasn't as nosy as Debbie; she'd noticed that Justin was shaken, disturbed, but had not butted in or asked him anything, though she had been a little sweeter and more subdued when talking to him, and gave him a gentle hug when he got off.

Justin walked home with his time in the Posse in the forefront of his mind. E could remember the weight of the gun, the sting and jolt of punching someone. He felt a sudden irrational fear for himself. He could feel the pressing closeness of the crowded streets. By the time he got back to the apartment, he was panting. Laura was not home, and locked himself in his room.

Curled in a ball on his bed, he shivered. He hated this. He hated always feeling like a victim. It made him angry. He'd put this behind him with his confrontation with Hobbes, he shouldn't be feeling like this. He got up and went into the living room area. He needed noise, something to take his mind off things. He sat down to watch That 70's Show reruns.

He was running, running in the dark, he could feel the wind rushing past his closely shaved head. Cody's voice echoed around him, yelling at him. He could feel Hobbes' snarl of "Taylor!" Something was chasing him, but he couldn't see who, he couldn't see anything. "Justin!" something yelled angrily.

"Justin!" A face appeared in front of him and he struck out at it. "Shit! Justin, wake up. It's me!"

Justin's eyes flew open, his head clearing slowly. Laura was crouched beside him, rubbing the left side of her face, which was already a little red.

"Shit! Laura! Are you okay? I'm so sorry."

"It'll take more than a fist to the face to bring me down. Are you alright? You were having a nightmare."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I got some information today that wasn't great. I guess I'm a little stressed out."

"A little? You punched me in the face." She rubbed her cheek again.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm worried about you. Even with all the work you've been doing, you haven't been this stressed."

"I know. Stuff is just going on in Pittsburgh that brought back a lot of things."

"Just, take it easy, all right?"

"I'll try."

She nodded and patted his shoulder, then gave him a smile and went back to her room. He sighed, stretched and sat up, looking blearily around for his cell phone. He found and pocketed it, then headed into his own bedroom to call Brian. He stared at his phone, unwilling and very reluctant to disturb and frighten Brian, so instead he put it back in his jeans and grabbed his backpack to head outside for a walk.

The sun was finally beginning to set, throwing golden rays of light across the buildings and the people. Justin looked around, and headed to his favourite place to sit, a bench across from a row of little mom and pop bakeries and restaurants full of delicious smells and teeming with life. Usually he would bring his sketchbook and a myriad of pencils, charcoals and watercolours, but today he just needed to sit, to be somewhere that he felt even remotely comfortable, somewhere that he didn't have to worry.

He flopped down against the warm metal of his favourite bench, breathing in the smell of freshly baked bread, kettle corn, tomato sauce and many more delicious flavours and scents of the street. He raised his face toward the dropping sun and took a big breath, eyes closed. He felt himself relax a fraction. Opening his eyes, he looked around him, and immediately tensed up again, going still, his breath quickening. A dozen or so feet away, a young man in a blue tank top, brown combat pants and a shaved head stood gesturing wildly as he argued with some acquaintance on the street.

It had been a long time since he'd had a panic attack in any form besides a sudden tenseness in his spine. Now he felt paralyzed, unable to run or attack or do anything but sit frozen on his bench, breathing quick shallow breaths of hyperventilation and looking around for somewhere, anywhere to hide. He knew what he was feeling was stupid, that his reaction was ridiculous, but the rational part of his brain was being ignored as he began to go into full panic mood. He imagined the person across the way was Cody, that he was getting ready to hurt him, to hurt his friends and his family, that he had a gun at the ready. His fingers searched numbly in his pocket for his cell phone. He pressed speed dial and held it to his ear with gripping, trembling fingers.

"Kinney," Brian answered, business-like and efficient even on his cell phone, obviously having not looked at the caller ID.

"Brian—" Justin managed to gasp out, and he practically felt Brian's attitude shift through the phone.

"Justin." Brian's voice was suddenly soft, calming but commanding. "Justin, are you listening? Justin, you're going to breath in with me, okay? Ready, one, two, three…" They breathed in together, Justin curled tightly on the bench. "Alright, Sunshine, now let it out. Breath again, one, two, three…Now let it out. Are you okay?"

"I-I will be now."

"What happened?"

"I saw someone on the street that looked like—like Cody. Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you stay with me 'til I get back to the apartment?"

"Yeah, Sunshine, I will."

"Thank you. Just-just keep talking."

"I know." Brian began to talk, his voice low, telling Justin about Kinnetic, about Emmett's latest crazy clients, about Mikey's last comic book rant. Justin listened intently to the sounds on the other end of the line keeping him calm as he walked the streets back to Laura's.

He shut the door to his bedroom quickly and locked it, sighing as he sunk onto his bed. Brian had fallen silent and Justin knew that his lover was listening to his breathing slow. He put the phone down and pulled off his clothes before sliding into his bed.

"You okay, Sunshine?" Brian asked gently after Justin had picked up his phone again.

"I think I will be."

"Justin, listen. I know I should be the last person to say this, but maybe it would be good to talk about it? To talk about that time and how you felt, just get it all out?"

Justin was silent. "I don't know."

"It's okay. I'll just stay on the line until you fall asleep."

"Thank you."

For many minutes they were just there, listening to the other breathe, Justin only slightly aware of the sporadic gentle tapping of Brian on his computer. After a long while, Justin took a deep breath and began to speak.

A month and a half. That's how long it had been since Lindsay had called him. He'd called them a few times, but each instance he called, Gus was in bed, or taking a bath, or Melanie had taken him out to the park, and so on and so forth. Brian was getting frustrated. He knew that a young kid created a hectic schedule, and two even more so, but he wanted to talk to his son. He'd said that he didn't want Gus to forget him, and he meant it.

"Hello?" Lindsay's voice tumbled down the line.

"Hey, Linds, it's me."

"Oh, hello, Brian."

"How's my son? Can I speak to him?"

"He's almost done eating dinner. I'll give him the phone once he's finished."

"Okay. So, when's a good time for me to come up and visit? I was thinking in a week or two, maybe."

"Oh, Brian," Lindsay's voice was a little worried, a little sympathetic. "Mel and I talked, and we were wondering if you could postpone coming out here for a little while. Gus is still upset about coming here and he hasn't adjusted all the way yet. We were thinking you could wait until he starts school and starts making some friends before you visit, so he doesn't think you're coming here to bring him back to Pittsburgh."

Brian wanted to call bullshit, but he had to admit that Lindsay did sound very sincere and that her argument did make some sense. He didn't want his son begging him to bring him home. He wouldn't know what to say to that. So he nodded even though Lindsay couldn't see him.

"All right. But I will come up in another month to see my son. I said I don't want him to forget me. I still want to be part of his life."

"Uh huh. In a month or two, Brian. Thank you for understanding our decision."

"Can I talk to Gus?"

"Yes, he's done now."

A bit of shuffling, some clunking, scuffling noises and clinking silverware and then Gus was on.

"Hi, Daddy!"

Brian grinned at the bright voice of his son. "Hey, Sonnyboy. How do you like your new home?"

"It's kinda small. But I get a room with slant-y walls and a round window!"

"Really? That's great!"

"Yeah. But I don't know any of the other kids yet."

"You'll make friends, Sonnyboy. As soon as you go to school and meet all the kids in your class, you'll make friends."

"Really?"

"Gus, I'm sure of it."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Sonnyboy?"

"Are you and Jus going to visit me?"

"After you start school, Gus. I promise I'll come visit you and see your room and your round window."

"Okay, Daddy. Mommy wants me to give the phone back."

"All right. Gus, listen…" he cleared his throat nervously. "I-I love you."

Gus's voice was clear and sure when he answered, "I love you too, Daddy. Here's Mommy."

More shuffling and clunking as the phone changed hands. Lindsay's voice, her words muffled as she told Gus something.

"He's taking his time getting used to living here, Brian." she said once she was on.

"I know. I just want him to be happy and safe, you know that."

"I know. So come up here in another month or two and you can see him."

"I will. Linds, I promise I will be in his life more often now. I care about him, he's my son. I want him to know his old man."

"He will."

Lindsay spoke a little about wanting to know how Justin was doing, and Brian told her that he didn't know and why didn't she call Justin and ask him herself? She said she'd do that sometime soon and advised Brian not to let Justin come back to Pittsburgh for a while, because it will make him want to come home. Brian called bullshit on that one, told her that Justin could make his own decisions, he wasn't a kid. They talked about Michael and then about Debbie, steering very clearly around the subject of the holidays. Then it was time for Gus's bath.

"Give him a kiss for me."

"Will do. Bye, Brian."

"Later."

Brian leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. He wanted to see his son badly, but even more than that, he didn't want to do anything that might fuck up his Gus's childhood, or make him unhappy. He didn't want Gus to grow up in any way even remotely similar to the way he had.

He sighed and thought of Justin in New York, the memories Justin had told him only a couple nights ago of the Pink Posse and his dangerous, violence-filled encounters. He hoped he was doing the right thing, for everybody.