Wrong Step

With thanks to Sally who's idea this was and Gabe and Cheryl for the medical stuff. Thanks, guys. And Beth, of course.

This story is set approximately one year after Brian chooses Steve over Justin.

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The call came in at around two AM. Steve answered the phone.

"…'H'lo?"…"…Uh, he's right here, just a minute."…"Brian? Bri? Phone. They said it's the ER at NYU Hospital."

"Ummm…Yeah?"…"I'm Kinney."…"Yeah, yes, I am. He's there?"… "When was he brought in?"… "I'm on my way."

He handed Steve the phone. "Justin was brought in, some kind of overdose." He was already getting up, obviously headed to the hospital. Steve got up as well, Brian didn't bother to try to talk him out of it, there was no point.

Within ten minutes they were in the elevator headed down to street level and another minute after that they were in the cab hailed for them by their doorman.

Brian identified himself to the receptionist at the ER and was told, after supplying the insurance information, to please take a seat. The doctor was with Mr. Taylor and would be out when he was done. No, she was sorry, she had no information other than that it seemed to be some sort of overdose. The waiting area wasn't full-it must have been a fairly slow night for them. There were only five or six people waiting for whomever they were waiting for.

One young man, a student from the looks of him, came over to where Brian and Steve had settled in.

"You're here for Justin, aren't you? I heard you talking to the nurse."

Steve answered for them both. Brian looked like he wasn't doing too well. "Yes, this is Brian, I'm Steve. Who are you?"

"Chris. Justin's roommate…I'm the one who found him."

Brian shifted his attention from the curtained off cubicle Justin was in to the kid standing in front of them. "What happened?"

"I went to a movie with a couple of friends, he didn't want to come, just said he had work to do. I walked in afterwards and he was on the floor. I called 911 and they brought him here." He shrugged. That was it.

"Were there any drugs or any other shit around? Do you know what he took?"

"No, I don't. Honest. Justin isn't a druggie. I mean, sure he gets high sometimes, but he's not a big user or anything. He just doesn't do much crap. He's always working, you know?"

Steve asked, "What sort of stuff does he do when he's getting high?"

"Nothing really hard-just like pot and maybe some uppers. He's so fucking afraid that he'll be allergic to something that he hardly does anything." That was true enough-or it always had been true.

Maybe someone gave him something. Maybe he took too much. Maybe he was having a bad day.

"Has he been drinking?"

"He was, sure, for a while, but he cut way the fuck down when they threatened to kick him out if he didn't get his shit together. He's hardly even had a beer in like a month." And Brian had talked to him about his drinking, too. It had seemed to help.

"Did he have anyone over tonight?"

"How the fuck would I know? I wasn't there. I told you that." Maybe he was and maybe he wasn't.

Steve asked him questions gently. "How long ago did you find him, Chris?"

"Maybe midnight. The ambulance was there pretty fast and they did some stuff right away."

"What kind of stuff?"

"I don't know, the usual, I guess-you know. Checked his pulse and blood pressure, put an oxygen mask on him. Gave him some kind of IV. You know." They were quiet for a few minutes while the ER worked on the junkies and the car wreck victims and the sick kids. Behind a curtain they were doing God knew what to Justin.

The doctor, an exhauster intern or something from the look of him, finally came over. "You're here for Justin Taylor?"

They stood up as he stopped in front of them. "It looks like he's going to be alright. We've gotten as much out as we could and given him Narcan and Benadryl and they seem to have done their job. You got him here in time. He'll be groggy for a while then we'll have one of our counselors talk to him in the morning and if they're satisfied, he can probably go home, but someone should keep an eye on him. Is one of you responsible for him?"

"I'm just his roommate."

The doctor turned to Brian and Steve. "If we have to we'll call his mother and see what she wants to do. She lives out of state. If she can't come, we'll look after him for a while."

"Is he under her insurance?"

"No, he has his own policy." He answered Steve's raised eyebrow. "I put him on my policy when we moved here. I never took him off."

Steve wasn't surprised, but he sure as hell wasn't happy about this. Brian may feel guilty about hurting the boy, but he wasn't Justin's nanny, for God's sake. Evidently, Brian wasn't quite ready to completely close the book on this. With any luck Justin's mother would show up and take him home or to his dorm or to Timbuktu-anywhere but their place. Of course he knew that the odds were pretty long against this happening. With Brian switched into his protective mode, all best were off.

"Fine. They're moving him up to a room then in the morning call me at this number", he handed them a card, "Say, after about one and I'll let you know if you can pick him up. You gave the receptionist his insurance information? Good."

"Could we see him for a minute?" That was Brian.

"He's asleep now and he's not feeling so great. You can see him in the morning. And look, if he's released tomorrow let him set the pace. Don't push him." He started to turn to go back to his patients but hesitated and turned around to face them again. "This happens more than you'd think. Kids get upset about something, a failed test, a girl-it happens. Usually they get over it." The sheet-draped figure was wheeled out of the examination cubicle on a gurney, headed away from them to some room. He was still, pale from what they could see and he still had IV's attached to his arms and he seemed to be asleep.

There was nothing they could do right now. The three men started toward the exit.

"Can we drop you, Chris?"

"Thanks but I was going to get something to eat-you want something?"

Brian and Steve exchanged a glance. No, in fact they didn't want to eat at almost four in the morning but they wanted to talk to this kid, see if he knew anything he hadn't told them. They found a diner near the hospital, probably catering mostly to the hospital employees and the local students. It was clean enough and too brightly lit. Brian almost squinted as they went inside. It reminded him of the old Liberty Street Diner and was momentarily and out of proportionately happy about that.

"You and Justin are roommates. Are you friends?"

"We get along. He's OK. We're not best buds or anything, but he's alright."

The waitress took their orders. Chris actually ordered a bacon cheeseburger and fries with a shake. Brian and Steve both asked for decafs. "You know how it is. I mind my business and so does he."

"Did you have any idea that he might be upset enough to try something-do you think he did this on purpose?"

"Shit if I know, man. He was upset about some asshole dumping him, I know that, but he seemed like he was handling it OK. He went to class, did his assignments and all that crap. Like I said, I didn't bother him and he didn't bother me." The waitress brought their food. Chris poured on the ketchup, took a bite. "One of you the asshole, I take it?"

Brian was sipping his not very good coffee. "That would be me."

"And you're the guy he left Justin for?" His interest in Brian seemed mild, at best. He seemed more concerned with his burger.

Chris seemed to gather his courage. "So are you the guy who threw him out?"

Brian didn't say anything, Steve answered. "Brian is Justin's former lover."

"He talks about you, both of you. A lot."

Brian stared at the kid. "What does he say?"

"It kinda depends on what kind of mood he's in."

Brian continued to look at him; he seemed to take it as an invitation to go on. "If he's in a good mood he'll go about how happy he used to be, how fucking perfect his life was before you dumped him."

"And if he's not in a good mood?"

"He tells me about how you're an asshole and all you care about is getting laid, how you never gave a shit about him-that kind of thing." Chris sat down on a plastic chair about three feet in front of the two older men. "It's none of my business, but he's pretty fucked up about it, you throwing him out, I mean. I think-well, he, I think he was really in love with you and you pretty much knocked him into the wings."

Steve looked from Brian to the kid they'd just met, wanting to defend his lover and set the kid straight. "It wasn't an easy thing for any of us to go through."

"You both look like you're doing alright. He's the one getting his stomach pumped and having all that shit douched out of his blood."

It was clear where Chris stood on this one. No matter. "Had he been depressed lately, I mean more than usual?" Steve saw the look the kid gave him at that. The 'duh' was plainly there, unspoken though it might have been.

"A couple of days ago he seemed pretty bummed about something and he told me that he'd just seen you two at that new Childe Hassam exhibit up at the Met. He just said that you looked happy. Then he sort of shut down. Oh, and he said that you", he indicated Brian, "kissed you." He looked at Steve. "He seemed, I don't know, he seemed sad, like you guys have what he wanted."

Brian was regarding the young man, saying nothing though Steve could read the obvious thoughts that were flitting across his partner's face. Guilt, sorrow, depression, self-recrimination, pain and a hint of defiance. There was just a hint of 'he should have understood and gotten over it.'

"You two must have had a few talks."

"You know how it is. You're living in the same room, you get talking about things. You want a fry?"

"Thanks, no. Did he say anything about being upset or any of that?"

"Not is so many words but it was pretty obvious. I mean, he had these sketchbooks with you all over them. Whenever he was stoned or anything you were the only thing he ever talked about." Chris slurped his shake, his eyes shifting to Steve. "The sketches were how I recognized you in the ER."

Steve was watching the exchange, stirring his coffee and trying not to yawn. They were supposed to be in a pitch meeting at nine.

"Y' know? You look like you two should be together. I mean, I could see why you'd pick Jus up-he's a pretty guy- but I couldn't figure out why you'd keep him. He's what? Something like a dozen years younger than you are? Hell, he's just this punk college kid and you're some hot shit company president or something. That's a no brainer, you know? You're gonna end up with someone like-sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Steve Brenner. Pleased to meet you."

"Yeah, likewise. Like I was saying, you two look like you should be together. You and Jus-nah, not for the long haul. I think he knew that and that was what was fucking him up so bad."

"You mean he was waiting for the shoe to drop?"

"I guess."

Brian added sugar to his coffee. It needed all the help it could get. "How fucked up was he? You said he wasn't doing much drinking or drugging."

"Not that I saw, anyway. He was just kinda down, you know. You know how after someone dumps you it takes a while to come back? Well he was still working on it."

Steve was exhausted. He knew this was important, but he's had about enough teenaged angst for now. He'd try to put an end to this, or at least continue it tomorrow. Maybe if they could get some real answers it would help. "Do you have any idea what might have caused tonight? Did something in particular happen?"

Chris took a beat. "He told me that he'd seen you two at that new exhibit at the Met, the one that just opened, Childe Hassam. He tried to make it sound like it was no big deal but he was pretty upset about it. He was saying how he'd heard about the thing being planned like a year or two ago and he'd been looking forward to seeing it with Brian. Then he went by himself and you were there with Steve instead of him. I think it kinda brought home to him that the boat had sailed and he wasn't on it, you know?"

Shit. That had been two days ago. They had taken off early from work. Hassam was one of Steve's favorite impressionists and it was a show he'd been talking about for a couple of months. They were members of the Met; they had gotten in at a special preview showing without the crowds. It had been a good day together.

They had walked through, had dinner at a nice place over on Madison then gone back to the duplex and spent the rest of the night making love.

Sitting there in the diner, it hit Brian that he had mentally called it that. With Justin he had always called it 'fucking'. Brian had known that had bothered the kid, but that was what he called it. He knew, when he'd admit it to himself, that he did it to annoy Justin, to help keep the distance between them.

He didn't do that with Steve, he didn't want to. He and Steve 'made love', they rarely just fucked.

As good as it had been with Justin, it was better with Steve and that was just the way it was. He also knew a lot of people were upset about that-Deb, Jenn, Justin of course and a few others, but he couldn't help how he felt and the simple fact was that he and made his choice.

Justin had seen them at the exhibit. After they had gone through the galleries they had gone over to the sculpture garden, sat and talked a while on one of the wooden benches, looking at the Tiffany windows along one end of the big garden gallery and Central Park outside the big glass wall along one long side.

Justin had evidently seen them together, talking, enjoying one another, laughing at private jokes and occasionally touching. Steve and Brian usually weren't demonstrative in public, but that day they were. They were in New York City in an art museum, for God's sake. They kept contact with one another, leaning together to talk, shoulders pressing, sometimes putting a hand lightly on an arm or back. It was New York. No one cared.

Justin had seen them and now he was in a hospital.

"Did he say anything about it?"

"Just that he'd seen you, but he was upset." Chris finished the last bite of burger. "That was a shitty thing you did. You really fucked with his head; I mean how you dumped him. You could have let him down easy or something, instead he told me that he walked in on you guys going at it. That's a crappy way to find out you're being two-timed."

Steve stiffened. "That's not exactly the whole story."

"Whatever. It happens. You guys just did a shitty job of slamming him, that's all."

"Did he leave a note or anything like that? Did he tell anyone, drop any hints that he might do something like this?"

"I didn't see anything, but if I find something I'll let you know. You have a number?" Brian took out his wallet, handed Chris one of his cards.

"President and Senior Partner of some hotshit ad firm, huh? You must make some good money."

Brian wasn't about to answer that, just glared at the rude little prick.

"And what do you do?" This was to Steve.

"I'm half owner and CEO of the same company."

"That's convenient."

Brian and Steve exchanged a glance. Screw this. "It's late, can we drop you somewhere?"

"Thanks, I'll get a bus. Let me know if you hear anything about Jus, OK?" He scrawled his number on a napkin. Brian shoved it in a pocket of his jeans.

There wasn't anything else left to say. They left.

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The next afternoon Justin was released to Brian's care, or at least that's what they told the hospital. He was given a clean bill of health and the psychologist told him to call if he wanted to talk. He promised that he would and they all knew he wouldn't. Brian signed him out, then got them both into a cab. They got out in front of Trump Tower, the building where he and Steve shared a duplex on one of the upper floors. It was another world from a student dorm.

"Come on."

"I'm not going in there with you. Fuck off."

"You are going in there with me because I told the hospital that you're in my care and if anything happens to you it's my ass, so get in the fucking elevator." Reluctantly Justin did as told, likely only because he probably still felt and looked like shit. Brian inserted a key into the lock for his floor. Silently, they were there in seconds.

Inside, the duplex was the showplace one would expect Brian and Steve to live in, spare in its design but somehow welcoming and with sophisticated warmth. It was a place you could actually be comfortable in while impressing the hell out of anyone who happened to pass through. Justin was shown to the guest room, put his bag down and offered food. He rejected the offer.

The two men ended up, on a late Wednesday afternoon, sitting in Brian's living room on his expensive and imported leather couch with a wall between them that could have rivaled the one that used to stand in Berlin.

Sipping a scotch, Brian broke the angry silence. "So why did you do it?"

"Fuck all you care."

"You're here, aren't you? If I didn't care your ass would still be in the hospital. Piss me off and you'll get the hell back there or back to your mother-you're choice. So I take it that after almost a year, you're still 'coping' with the fact that we're not together anymore?"

"I guess." Spoken with all the surliness of a spoiled twelve year old.

"So were you trying to off yourself or just hoping to get my attention?" No answer, just a stony stare out the windows down to Central Park over sixty stories below and down Fifth Avenue a few blocks. "We've been through this, Justin. You know that I still care about you; you know that I cared about you when we were together. These things happen. Everyone gets dumped and it always sucks, but you get over it and you meet someone else and move the fuck on."

"Yeah, well I guess that's easier said than done." The surly tone was suddenly gone, along with the attitude; honesty and sadness seemingly have taken their place. At least for now. The winds could change in a heartbeat, knowing Justin.

"You can have anyone, Justin-you know that, just about anyone you want. You will." Brian sipped at his expensive scotch. "Besides, you know it wouldn't have worked out, not with the picket fence and the bouquets of roses you wanted. You'd never have gotten that from me and you would have resented it." Brian was accepting at least part of the blame, a fact not lost on Justin.

"I was happy with you here in New York and you were happy, too. I know you were. I…you were. We were happy together. It was good between us."

Another drink of the scotch. Justin noticed that he'd changed to Johnnie Walker, the good stuff. That was probably Steve's influence. "It was good as far as it went. Justin, you have to understand. Look, I don't want to hurt you. Honest to shit, I don't, but you know as well as I do that if it was that good then I wouldn't have wanted Steve. If I was getting everything I needed from you then he wouldn't have mattered."

"…What does he give you I didn't? I loved you, Brian. I did anything you wanted. We moved here for your work, we went to places you wanted to go; I cooked what you wanted to eat. I did anything you wanted in bed, anything-everything-what else does he give you?"

"Justin…" Brian really didn't want to be having this conversation or have to say what he was about to. He didn't, but there was no way to leave it hanging now. "Steve is an adult." Justin looked like he'd been slapped in the face-hurt, angry, shocked. Brian saw it but went on. "We're equals in ways you and I weren't and may never be. There are too many differences between us and there always will be. Steve and I are an easy match. You and I made it fit by forcing it. Steve and I are soul mates. You and I are friends."

Brian knew he'd just handed Justin a body blow, but the boy had to accept the truth of the situation. If he had been hoping for some kind of admission that Brian had made a mistake and that he wanted a second change or that he might change his mind, it wasn't going to happen and he knew that now. Once Brian made a decision that was it-he was a stubborn Mick through and through.

"I didn't try to kill myself. I took some shit I thought was E and-I don't know, whatever the fuck it was caused an allergic reaction. That's what Chris found. It wasn't a suicide attempt or anything like that."

Brian chalked that up in the 'maybe' column. "Get your shit from someone else from now on."

They seemed to have covered everything as far as Justin was concerned. If he'd had any fantasies a few days ago about them getting back together, he didn't have them now. "I'll go back to the dorm. I'm OK and you guys don't need me hanging around here." He swayed slightly as he got up.

"Don't be an asshole. Your choice is to either stay here for a week or two until you're back up to speed or go back to Pittsburgh with your mother and I'll be fucked if I'm going to make that phone call."

"I don't want to be in the way."

"Then keep your crap put away so we're not tripping over it-and you're not moving in here. You're staying here until you get your shit together. You got that?" He was being the big bad again. Justin had seen it a hundred times. He knew it didn't mean anything.

"We're really friends, Brian? Did you mean that or were you just trying to make me feel better?" It seemed like he was grasping at some last hope or something.

Alarm bells were going off in Brian's head. Sure, yes, he cared about the twat, but his life was with Steve and that wasn't going to change because of Justin's little screw up. They had been good together. They had, but what he and Steve had was a different ball game entirely. Brian didn't want to go back and he sure as shit didn't want to lose what he now had and Justin had to accept that.

"Yes, we're friends. But Steve is my lover, he's my partner and that's not going to change. You're clear on that? I'm not going to play any stupid games with you about this."

It couldn't have been clearer if it was printed on a billboard in Times Square. "I get it, Brian. And I won't make any trouble between you two."

He said it simply and honestly, meaning what he said. He knew it was pointless to chase Brian this time. It wasn't like before, when he was seventeen and Brian was still hiding behind his walls. The walls were largely gone, or at least were a lot lower but Steve was with him behind what ever bulwarks were left and Justin knew with certainty that there wasn't either the desire or the room for anyone else being there as far as Brian was concerned.

He turned away from the window. Brian seemed so concerned about not hurting him anymore and about him moving on. Alright, he would. He'd move on, get past this, finish his schooling and all of that. He'd look for a job on the other side of the country when the time came and until then he'd play the game Brian seemed to need.

He'd be just fine-to anyone who cared enough to look he'd be as right as rain, as his grandmother would say. He'd be fine.

Brian seemed to take him at his word. 'Seemed to' because Brian never took anyone at their word. He knew better, knew people always had their agendas. Well, maybe he believed Steve. He did believe Steve in fact, at least most of the time.

Justin had made up his mind. "I tell you what. I could cook one of Debbie's lasagna's for dinner, OK? I'm really hungry, they didn't let me eat much and I've got a craving. Would that be alright?"

Brian looked at him as though measuring how much to believe, but smiled and made a face. "All those carbs?" The atmosphere was about twenty pounds lighter, the heavy stuff either behind them or shoved back in the closet where it would remain.

"Just this once?" It was an old argument between them.

"Just this once, fine. I think we have most of the makings."

Justin stood up, happy to have the subject changed. He'd cook them dinner. Then he could take a shower and sleep for about twelve hours. He would play the game and Brian and Steve would leave him alone. He hated that they were watching him all the time while pretending no to be watching at all.

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Two days later Justin was sitting in the study watching Best in Show, the dog show movie he loved, when Steve came in. He was looking for something in the desk. They hadn't had a real conversation consisting of more than 'Please pass the butter' since Justin taken up the guest room.

"You doing alright here, Justin, you have everything you need?" He sat in the big chair behind the even bigger mahogany desk and started on some kind of paperwork. The desk didn't look like it belonged in the duplex, it was much too heavy and ornate, but Brian had explained the desk had belonged to Steve's grandfather and it was a sentimental thing. It didn't surprise him that Steve would be sentimental about a desk.

"I'm good. I meant to thank you for letting me stay here for a couple of days. It would have been weird going back at the dorm right away." It was also obvious to Justin that Steve would be just as happy if he went up to the roof and jumped off.

"We're happy to do it, Justin, you know that." In a pig's eye.

A somewhat strained silence seemed to come over them, Steve busied himself with bill paying, or whatever the fuck he was doing, Justin pretended to watch the movie while really watching Steve. He was a handsome man, but Justin already knew that. He was intelligent and successful. He was articulate, literate, wealthy and even kind. One of the things that pissed Justin off about the bastard was that he couldn't even hate him.

OK, he subtly made it clear that he would like Justin to take a long walk off a short pier, but it was never anything overt, nothing you could point to or put your finger on. It was just the feeling that, all things considered, he would prefer if Justin ceased to exist.

Oh, screw it. Jump in, why don't you?

"You didn't want me here, did you, Steve?"

He didn't look up from his checkbook. "I want Brian to be happy and he wanted you here. That's enough for me, Justin. He knows his friends are always welcome."

"But you think that I should get over it." It was a statement of fact.

"I think it's time, if you want the truth." He looked up finally, calmly. "Obviously I, we both realize that this has been difficult for you, but it's been over a year now and it must be apparent to you that Brian and I are solid. You're not doing either yourself or Brian-or me either, for that matter-any good by hanging on to something that's finished."

"You think that's what I'm doing?"

"I know it is, Justin. You find ways to keep yourself in Brian's line of vision with invitations to your student shows, with your need for his money. You call him whenever you have a problem that needs solving-or someone makes the call for you. Now you seem to upping the dramatic content of your encounters with a possible suicide attempt." He put up his hand to stop Justin's protest. "I know, your 'accident'."

The color in Justin's face was becoming more heightened. "You think I did this to get Brian's attention?"

Steve gave him a steady look without addressing the comment then spoke with maddening calm. "You say you love him, that he's the love of your life. If that's true then let him live his life as he wants to, not the one you want him to have." He closed the checkbook and stood up. "You can't force someone to love you, Justin. If you'll excuse me, I have a dinner meeting I need to change for."

Arrogant son of a bitch.

Justin was going to follow him into the master bedroom to finish the confrontation but stopped himself before he even got off the couch.

Brian did love him. He did.

Sure, he said he loved Steve and he probably did-in a way-but it would blow over. It was sort of like when he and Brian had first been together in Pittsburgh. Brian had fought it for a long time, but he had finally admitted that he loved Justin. They had moved to New York together, they had been happy. This fling with Steve was a phase and Brian was only doing what Justin done when he had gone off with Ethan.

Justin was waiting it out by just keeping under Brian's radar like when Brian had offered Justin the poster job for Vanguard and when he'd insisted on paying for his tuition and when he'd given him the graphic computer. It was the same thing and in a while Brian would realize that he had been wrong and would think of some fabulously romantic way to tell him that it had been a mistake and they would start over like they had that night in Brian's office when they had made love on his floor.

It was just a matter of time. That was all.

He heard the front door open. Brian was home. Justin decided to see if he had any dinner plans. Steve was going out, maybe they could do something together. He went into the living room because Brian usually headed there first.

Brian was there. His briefcase was on the front table, his coat tossed on a chair. He and Steve were standing with their arms loosely around one another's waists, casually holding each other, talking inaudibly into one another's mouths and laughing, smiling around the kisses, happy to be together, solid, in tune with one another, catching up on each other's day, connected and completely relaxed and at ease with one another.

It was more intimate than sex.

And in that moment Justin knew with complete certainty that he had lost.

He'd stay with them for a few days since that seemed to be a requirement of his remaining out of the hospital or being forced to go with his mother or some crap like that. He'd go back to the dorm after that and do his class work and his projects. He'd graduate and he'd get a decent job.

And he'd leave Brian alone from now on to get on with his life.

It was pointless to live the fantasy any longer.

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