For Love of Justin

I'll Be There for You, Like You'll Be There for Me

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The trip to Rome was quiet. Ben and Brian had opted for a train in order to give the kids who hadn’t been to Europe before the opportunity to see more of the countryside. It had meant traveling to Lyon the night before, but they had thought it worth the extra time for what it would provide in the way of experience. At least, that had been Ben’s position and Brian hadn’t strenuously opposed it. Of course, Brian said sarcastically to his fellow coach as they ushered the quiet sextet into their private coach, that he had made his concession before the group began reenacting their own version of a Hitchcock movie.

Ben chuckled despite the very real tension among the runners.

“Oh come on, Brian. I hardly think this is quite as bad as ‘Lifeboat’.”

“Easy for you to say. Wilson doesn’t have lucky running shorts to go missing in the first place!” Ben’s face turned an interesting shade of red despite his best effort to look as casual as possible under Brian’s sudden scrutiny.

“Ah, but he does have something that he considers lucky, I’m sensing! Now what could it be? Not shorts, we’ve already established that. Hmm, a teddy bear? I bet it’s a teddy. He seems to like the type.”

“I’m hardly a bear!” Ben’s expression was so priceless as he realized he’d revealed himself to be George’s lucky charm that Brian lost his composure and laughed loudly enough to be heard throughout the compartment. The runners all looked over, the glumness lifting somewhat at the infectious sound.

Ben decided to ignore his embarrassment and instead capitalize on the moment. He clapped his hands loudly, not that he really needed to do anything to get the runners’ attention. They were all staring forward at Brian and him. His flush deepened as Brian’s smirk broadened.

“If you’ve looked at your ticket, you’ll have noticed that we make a transfer in Milan. We have just twenty-five minutes to make the connection so please do not linger in making the transfer. We’ll arrive in Rome at 6:45, which will give us plenty of time to get to our hotel and then eat and do some exploring before we need to be back in for lights out. In the meantime, you’ll be able to enjoy the lovely scenery as we pass through the countryside.”

“In the rain,” Daphne noted. “The lovely countryside in the rain.”

“Consider it picturesque,” Ben advised.

“Could be worse,” Brian called over to her from his spacious seat at a table. He was already opening up his laptop to work so Justin had taken his seat with George. He was the one who asked, “How could it be worse?” It was his gear bag that was missing – the one holding not only his racing flats but his lucky shorts – both pairs! How could he race in Rome without his shoes or his special shorts? Either of them?

“We could be looking at the rain in Pittsburgh,” Warren Pilcher volunteered in a quiet voice.

“Exactly!” Ben smiled approvingly. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. It would be better if the weather were cooperating, and we could see more, but....”

“But at least be glad we aren’t in a plane where we would have zero leg room and terrible food and be unable to move around half the time due to turbulence making the seatbelt sign go on – so cheer up, buckaroos. Here you’ll actually get a very good breakfast, which I know you’ll enjoy, Taylor and Wilson, and if I get my work done, we’ll let Isgerate play Hercules Poirot on the Orient Express and determine what happened to the missing gear bag.”

The runners all laughed, the tension finally easing and the normal chatter beginning to pick up. Ben saw that George was talking with Joe and Justin in one of the spacious four-seaters, and the girls had their heads together, looking over some guidebooks, so he walked down the aisle to where Warren sat alone.

“Mind if I join you?”

Warren looked up and Ben saw surprised pleasure in his eyes before his more customary guarded expression dropped over his face.

“I’m fine, sir. Don’t feel as though...” Warren flushed suddenly, then his expression hardened. “As I’ve already explained to Coach Kinney, I do not know where Taylor’s missing bag is.”

“I never thought you did, and I’ll take the lack of objection as a yes to my sitting here,” Ben said, smiling agreeably. It didn’t show in his expression, but Ben was a man on a mission. Ever since he and Brian had spoken with Warren in his room and the boy had challenged them, Ben had been uncomfortably conscious of his neglect. He had been friendly to Joe Johnson and had made an effort to get to know the young man despite the fact that he hadn’t been part of the “Four Musketeers” as Brian called the four runners with whom they’d grown especially close. Joe was an easy-going, confident twenty-one year old who mingled comfortably with the Musketeers as well as runners from other teams. He’d have been the clear choice to be Warren’s roommate, even if Justin and George hadn’t been so clearly not the right choices. And he’d been cordial to the other runner, as far as Ben could tell. The trouble was, now that he was paying closer attention, Ben could see that Joe wasn’t doing anything to help Warren fit in with the others.

Ben knew that he couldn’t make the others befriend Warren, although he was fairly sure that if he asked George to do something, the kind-hearted young man would, even if only to please Ben. But that wasn’t how Ben wanted Warren to be accepted, based on his order. He thought Warren would reject such overtures and it also might cause friction between George and Justin. No, he hoped to be more subtle than that and lead the Musketeers to making the right choice on their own, by helping them see that Warren Pilcher was a basically nice guy. A nice guy whom they were ostracizing due to his sexual orientation and their pre-judgment based on his former associations.

Noting that the conversations among the Musketeers had quieted sufficiently to indicate a certain degree of eavesdropping, Ben continued to Warren, “I see that you’ve been faithful in your postcard writing. I’m always bad at that – at best I end up sending them all from the last airport before heading home.”

Warren smiled shyly. “And what would be the worst, then?”

Ben laughed. “I don’t remember to mail them until after I’ve been home a week, so they have Pittsburgh postmarks on them.”

Warren grinned. “My little sisters would never accept that! They’d probably make me fly back and re-mail them!”

“Ah, sisters, they can be tough,” Ben agreed, returning the grin, noticing how Warren’s harsh features were transformed when he spoke of his little sisters. He looked like a different person, much less severe.

“Mine are the best,” Warren said proudly. “Smart as anything. They’ve been reading all about the countries we’re competing in – not just those, actually, but all the countries that the other runners are from as well. They can tell you all about Kenya, Nigeria, Switzerland – you name it!”

“How old are they?” Ben found himself becoming genuinely interested and forgot his ulterior motive in engaging Warren in conversation.

“Annie is seven and Susie is five. But they seem a lot older, they....” Warren fell silent suddenly, his head down as he looked at the postcards on the table in front of him.

“Warren, is everything okay?” Ben kept his voice low and gentle. He realized suddenly that perhaps there was some confidences that the others didn’t need to hear. He felt sure of it when he saw Warren brush his arm over his eyes. Wiping away moisture?

“I’m fine,” he answered in a slightly husky voice. “Just hit with a little homesickness, I guess. And worried about my sisters. They’re so smart, I forget sometimes how little they are. And when I remember, I worry about stuff, like are they remembering to brush their teeth, are they eating right. You know, all the usual stuff.”

Usual parent stuff, was what Ben was thinking. He remembered that Pilcher lived at home, with a father; no mother had been listed as part of the household. The father had refused to fill out forms for the boy’s financial aid request for the trip but Ben and Brian had managed to work around it. Once again, Ben was hit with a wave of guilt. First Justin and now Warren. He’d been so wrapped up in his own life this past year, he’d neglected his students and runners. He vowed that would never happen again. Rather than offer empty platitudes to the worried boy, he tried to think of some practical help.

“Are there any friends back home who might check in on them? Anyone you could contact just to reassure yourself that they’re okay? I’m sure they are,” he rushed to add, “but I know I always feel better with my mother, for example, when I give a call and hear her voice. Maybe you should call your sisters?”

Ben was surprised to see Warren’s face pale beneath his tan. “Oh no! I couldn’t call! My father would...” He caught himself short. “It wouldn’t be a good idea. But thanks. I’ll mail these postcards when we make our transfer. Mrs. Hobbs is very good about looking out for the girls; they go to her house when their day camp lets out.” His face reddened. “I know you don’t like Chris...and I don’t blame you...but his mom is a really sweet lady.”

“Warren, I have never met Mrs. Hobbs so I’m not about to make any judgments about her,” Ben said gently. “I’m glad you have someone you can rely on to watch over your sisters.” He turned the conversation to an anecdote about his mother, and soon had the young runner smiling again.

Ben was correct in thinking that some eavesdropping had taken place on the other side of the high backed seats. Set up as roomy four seat areas, with two club seats on each side of a wide table, with the backs of one section set against the backs of the seats behind it; Daphne and Justin were placed in the perfect position for eavesdropping without being seen. Kelsey and George, who sat opposite, tried to keep up a conversation with them, but after a while, gave up and just talked to each other.

Eventually, when Justin got up to go to the restroom, George followed and Kelsey shifted around so that she was sitting next to Daphne.

As soon as Justin exited the water closet, George pulled his friend into the next car. Justin looked at him in surprise. George was frowning, which was usual enough to warrant the surprise, even without the manhandling into the next car, Justin realized, and held onto his own quick temper.

“Why’d you drag me in here? What’s up?”

“That’s what I was about to ask you! What are Ben and Pilcher talking about for so long? You and Daphne had your heads together like it’s national security secrets being discussed. Is Ben doing the right thing and kicking Pilcher off the team after all?”

Justin stared at his friend in shocked amazement. Good-natured, confident George was acting jealous – of Warren Pilcher?

“Ben and Warren were just talking, George. Regular stuff, families and being away...sending postcards, you know, stupid stuff like that.”

George drew his brows together suspiciously. “Then why did it have you and Daphne looking so pathetic there for a while?” On one level, he knew he was behaving stupidly, but his relationship with Ben was still so fragile, and so important to him, especially with his family being so distant, that George felt very vulnerable. Seeing Ben sit down with the other runner, especially after the difficult time they’d had calming Justin over Pilcher being seen with Hobbs, George felt threatened. He worried that Ben would decide once more that they needed to cool things off, and he knew that he couldn’t handle that. Not now, not when his family had rejected him and his friends and he were the targets of some crazy vigilantes.

George loved Ben, but he also needed Ben. He watched closely as Justin sighed and leaned against the door of the water closet in the adjoining train car.

“Pilcher has little sisters for whom he seems to be the main caregiver. He sounded, I don’t know, different, when he talked about them. There’s something funny there, he didn’t come out and say it, but he was almost panicked when Ben suggested he call home. Daphne thinks the Dad must be one of those strict types. She’d heard something to that effect from someone in one of their classes. Pilcher isn’t twenty-one yet. He’s just finished his junior year, like Daphne.”

“And that makes a difference how?” Even as he harshly asked the question, George was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“I miss my little sister,” was all Justin said before pushing past George and reentering their car.

George leaned his head back against the door that separated the two cars and sighed. Justin didn’t need to say any more. George understood completely because he missed his little brothers so much it hurt, a real, physical pain in his gut that never really left him except when he was running. Knowing that Warren Pilcher had little sisters at home that he worried about made him...a person. They would no longer be able to cruelly ostracize him as one of the “enemy” without at least giving him a chance.

Ben Bruckner was a hell of a lot sneakier than they gave him credit for being, George thought admiringly. Then he went back inside his own car.
 

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“Daphne! Hurry up! What part of only twenty-five minutes to make a transfer did you not understand?” Brian growled as he grabbed the runner by the elbow and rapidly dragged her through the crowds at the train station in Milan.

Once they reached the train, he pushed her on at the right entrance, where Joe and Kelsey already waited. Ben and George, however, who had been in the car when he left to hunt down runners, were now gone.

“Where the fuck are George and Ben?” he demanded of Kelsey. A glance at the wall told him they had five minutes.

“I don’t know! They said they would just do a quick circuit of the gift shops here on the platform and they disappeared.” Kelsey’s frustrated face made it clear what she’d thought of that idea.

Brian cursed. “Great! We’re losing more than we’re gaining. I won’t head out again or I’ll come back to find all three of you missing,” he decided, following Daphne into the air conditioned seats. “Someone find me an attendant and get me something to drink asap.”

“What about Justin?” Daphne asked worriedly.

“If Justin can get me a drink, he’ll do,” Brian replied before lowering his cap over his eyes and folding his arms over his chest. This babysitter was off-duty, his body language said. Beneath the cap, Brian was anxiously counting down the seconds, wondering why the hell Justin was not back on the train, and why Warren Pilcher was the only other runner unaccounted for.

Meanwhile, Warren Pilcher was trying to purchase the correct stamps for his postcards to his sisters and get them mailed so he could then dash back in time to make his transfer. But his few words of Italian were not sufficient to the task.

“Si, scusi....Um,” He searched his brain for the right word for mailing. He saw a display with the stamps and pointed to them and then to his filled out postcards.

“I think you might do better to say it in English,” an amused voice behind him said. Warren whirled around. Justin Taylor stood there, a slight smile on his face, but, he realized in time to stop the angry words that came bubbling to the surface, it was a friendly smile. Not a mocking one such as Chris and his other old friends always seemed to direct toward him. He grinned sheepishly.

“I tried that. No one here seems to speak it.”

“Brian taught me a few phrases for this type of situation,” Justin told him, then, to the bewildered clerk, “Vorrei mettere queste lettere in posta. Quanto costerebbe per piacere ?”

The clerk beamed in relief, named the cost and Warren’s errand was soon dispatched.

“Thanks,” Warren said, “that was impressive. I didn’t know how I was going to get that done and I really wanted to mail them before reaching Rome.”

“No problem, but we’d better hurry. We have only a few minutes to get to our train,” Justin reminded him after glancing at his watch.

“God, you’re right. We’d better hurry.”

Exiting the small shop, they were focused on each other and didn’t notice the three tall men standing outside. Justin bumped into one of them and lost his balance. He would have fallen if Warren hadn’t reacted quickly, grabbing his arm to steady him.

“Isn’t this sweet! You’re now cuddling up to the queers just like the Coach, huh, Pilcher? I told you guys this is now like, a fucking requirement at my old school. You gotta be a fucking faggot or faggot lover to get anywhere on the team,” Chris Hobbs proclaimed in a loud voice. “Tell me, Pilch...which are you?”

The other two with Hobbs laughed. Justin flushed bright red as he excused himself to the man he’d walked into. He tried to pull free of Warren’s steadying hand but the taller man held fast to him as he faced down the other team.

“I’m a member of a team – which stands together, Chris. Something your teammates might find out you have trouble understanding. So get out of our way or I’ll have to move you.”

Hobbs’ shocked expression was so amusing, Justin couldn’t help laughing. It was Hobbs’ turn to flush, but it was not the red of embarrassment, but the deep purple of fury. He reached for Justin, but Warren grabbed him first.

“I said I’d move you, Chris, and unlike you...I don’t bluff.”

Warren was as tall as Hobbs and a good bit more muscular across the chest and shoulders. He also was a good bit more determined, which enabled him to take Hobbs and the others by surprise when he picked Hobbs up and tossed him aside like a sack of potatoes.

Landing heavily, on his ass, Hobbs swore while his friends nudged each other but bit back their laughter. Justin was probably as surprised as Hobbs was that Warren really did move his former friend.

Warren turned to Justin. “Come on,” he said mildly. “We’re running a bit late and we’d better not miss the transfer.”

“You’ll be sorry you did that, Pilcher! Just wait till your daddy hears about that stunt and how you’re best friends with a faggot now!”

They were walking away, briskly, but the ugly words followed. Glancing to the side, Justin thought that Warren’s face paled.

“Thanks,” Justin said shyly. “I hope you don’t have any problem, um...you know, back home, because of what you did.”

Warren looked over his shoulder quickly, almost reflexively, Justin thought, before saying, “No, not at all. We’ll have plenty to worry about right here if we don’t make that transfer.”

“We’ll make it,” Justin assured him cheerfully. “It isn’t like they’ll leave without us.”

Warren broke into a jog and looked at Justin meaningfully until he started running beside him. Maybe they wouldn’t leave without Justin, he thought, but he wasn’t all that sure they would hold the train for him.

They were over five minutes late when they reached sight of the train. Brian was standing by the door of their car, an engineer next to them, gesticulating wildly while Brian stood calmly, his sunglasses over his eyes, his arms folded over his chest. Justin’s heart flipped over at the sight. Brian was just so gorgeous.

Even when he was angry.

Kind of especially when he was angry, actually.

Warren slowed to a walk and was afraid to go any closer. He didn’t know about gorgeous, all he saw was one angry Coach. Who looked up just then.

“Get your asses on the train,” Brian said in a soft voice. He placed his hand on the engineer’s arm.

“We can leave now – whenever you’re ready.” Turning, he followed the two runners up into the train, shaking his head ruefully at Justin’s laughter. At least the kid was no longer worrying about his missing bag, Brian reasoned.
 

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The race in Rome signaled a break-through for the team. They ran their best, Warren helping to muscle the way through the tough European runners. Justin finished third, behind Abraham Chibii of Kenya in the 5000 meter, with George and Warren in fourth and fifth respectively. Joe took fourth in the 800m, where every runner in the field turned in a fantastic race, running sub 1:45. Kelsey dropped down to run the 800m again, and managed to pull off an upset, taking third, right behind two of the battling leaders in the circuit, Maria Mutola of Mozambique and Jolanda Ceplak of Slovakia. She then ran as rabbit for Daphne at the 5000 meter distance, and helped her hold onto a third place finish in a very competitive field. Daphne was thrilled with third, considering that she ran a personal best, and Meseret Defar of Ethiopia, not only won, but set her only PR and a Meet record to boot.

That night, the runners celebrated for hours in the restaurant Brian treated the team to, where they consumed a mountain of food with enough appreciation to make the chef bless them six times over and caused the manager, the chef’s son, to bring them several bottles of surprisingly good house wine, with his compliments.

“Should we let them drink?” Ben asked Brian.

“Sure,” Brian answered lazily, taking a long swallow from his glass, which held something stronger than the house red. “Most of them are old enough and training can be relaxed for one night.”

The team was entered in only one more race of the Golden Circuit – Berlin, on August 10th – before they were scheduled to return to Pittsburgh. This almost month long break between Rome and Berlin gave them a wonderful chance to both train and enjoy the sights. Joe was flying home in order to spend time with his family before his senior year started, so this get-together was the last time they would be together like this for awhile –maybe ever. Ben had asked Warren if he could stay for the Berlin race but the young man was unsure. He was concerned that his father might want him home.

“If it would help for me to talk to him,” Ben had offered.

Warren had looked at him anxiously. “You won’t call, sir, will you? I mean...” he’d looked down. “It’s nice of you to offer and all. It’s just that my father doesn’t like talking to strangers.”

“Of course,” Ben had agreed. “But if I can help in any way, please let me know. The funding came through from Brown Athletics so money is no concern.”

Warren had nodded and that had been the end of the conversation. Watching him now, seeing how Daphne was teasing him and he was shyly teasing her back, Ben was struck by what a difference the friendship of the group was making in Warren. He held himself straighter, looked people in the face now, instead of looking at the ground. And he had a smile that changed his whole appearance. Who would have guessed? It wasn’t a brilliant one, like Justin’s, which lit up a room, nor was it infectious, like George’s, which simply forced you to smile along with him. No, Warren’s smile was a shy, quiet one, but it transformed his dark, almost craggy features, and made them, well, ruggedly engaging. In a Gary Cooper sort of way, Ben decided. Whatever it was, it was working with Daphne.

Yes, they had all earned the right to relax, and it was good to see them all taking advantage of it, Ben decided, before heading over to sit next to his favorite runner.

It was quite a while later when Brian led a tired but happy Justin back to their hotel. The others had taken a cab but they had elected to walk – Brian hoping that the slightly cooler evening air would revive the younger man enough for his intended activities when they reached the hotel. He’d already arranged that Ben would go to the boys’ room and he would take Justin back to his and Ben’s.

Hand in hand, they walked down the street, occasionally passing other couples. Justin looked up at Brian, his blue eyes shining.

“Isn’t it great?” His smile was as bright as the moonlight that was reflected in the water of the fountain that sparkled nearby. Brian couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“Yeah, it’s all great, but what in particular do you mean?”

“This,” Justin said, holding up their entwined fingers. “Walking together, holding hands. It’s...nice.”

Brian chuckled; Justin’s speech had the overly articulated sound of someone who knew they were slightly drunk and was trying to compensate. He found it...endearing.

“Yeah, it’s nice and great. But we’d better get you back to the hotel. And then we can do other great things. Unless you fall asleep on me.”

“I love you, Brian. You know that?” Justin spun around so that he held Brian by the waist, standing next to the fountain.

“I love you too, Justin, now let’s....” Brian spoke cheerfully, pulling on Justin while he tried to walk backward. Justin dug in his heels – figuratively and literally.

“No! Not like that! I really mean it. I love you. You don’t believe me; you think I will outgrow you or change but I won’t. I love you, forever and ever.”

Brian stilled. He raised a hand and touched it to Justin’s cheek. “I love you too, Sunshine. Only, I’ll still remember this in the morning – and I’ll still feel the same way, fuck me. But will you?” With that, he bent his head and kissed Justin, a slow, lingering kiss to seal his words or to stop Justin from saying any more. It could have been either, or both. It didn’t matter. All that mattered to Justin at that moment was that they loved each other and were kissing. Brian was there for him and he was there for Brian and he didn’t see any reason for that to ever change.
 

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An ocean away, two little girls huddled together in one bed and prayed. Prayed for their brother’s safety. They heard their father talking to the other man. Their brother was going to be ordered to do a bad thing. He was going to have to do it or he’d be in really big trouble. Even bigger trouble than he was now. And he was in bigger trouble now than he’d ever been in before.

“Pray,” the older sister hissed when the younger one’s tears made it impossible for her to pray. “We gotta pray for him so he doesn’t get hurt. By Papa or anyone else. Stop the foolish crying, you know it doesn’t help.”

But, because her brother would want her to be kind, Anna pulled Susie closer in a hug that belied her harsh words and began again the Lord’s Prayer that he’d taught them both so long ago. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those, that trespass against us,” the small voices whispered as the voices below grew louder and angrier.

“And God, please protect Warren. Amen.”
 

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