The slamming of the door was like a physical slap to Justin's face. He took another step backwards and found himself against the wall. He was glad of the support as he half slumped against it.

He couldn't believe that Brian had told him to fuck off and then had slammed the door on him. Brian must be in a worse state than he had thought.

He stepped forward and knocked on the door again. There were no sounds from within.

"Brian," he said. "Brian, please, open the door. I need to talk to you."

He waited hoping Brian would listen. When no sound or movement came from within he tried again.

"Brian, please," he begged. "I want to talk to you. You have to let me in. Don't do this. Don't block everything out, including me. Don't go back to your old ways."

He waited again. Suddenly he heard the lock slide back and saw the knob turn. The door was yanked open. Brian's arm came out grabbing Justin by the wrist and dragging him inside the room. The door slammed shut behind them.

Justin turned to look at Brian. What he saw in front of him sent a shiver of fear up his spine. This was not the Brian he knew and loved. This was a wild man, an animal, a stranger. He had no idea of what to say to this man who looked like his lover, his partner, but who seemed so remote and different from the man in whose arms he had slept only hours before.

"Brian…" Justin began unsure what to say or if he should say anything.

Brian raised his hand to silence him. "You think I'm going to revert to my old methods? Well, Sunshine, you are absolutely fucking right. The only problem is that I've already done that. You're too fucking late to save me from myself this time."

"What … what do you mean?"

"I mean I've drunk two bottles of Beam and fucked the bellhop into next week. I would have fried my brain with drugs but I've let all my contacts lapse and it's not so easy to get the necessary chemicals to do that."

"Brian…"

"You keep saying that. If you don't have anything better to contribute, I suggest you get the fuck out."

Who was this stranger, this cruel man in Brian's body? Justin was truly at a loss. He didn't know what he could do or say, but he knew he had to try.

"I heard about Angela," Justin said staring into Brian's eyes.

Brian's glare faltered at his words. Justin knew that he had hit at the crux of the matter.

"So! Who cares about some fucking homeless woman who didn't have enough common sense to come in out of the fucking cold?"

"You."

Justin heard the little hitch in Brian's breathing and knew that his words had gotten through.

"Just go home, Justin. Leave me alone."

"I can never leave you alone. Don't you know that by now?" Justin asked hoping that a little humor might put Brian in a better frame of mind.

"You think this is fucking funny?" Brian railed.

"No … no, I don't, but…"

"There are no buts. I'm not coming home. I don't want to talk to you or anyone else. I'm staying here."

"But what about your job? You're the mayor."

"Fuck the mayor!"

"I have been … and I will again as soon as he comes home."

"I told you I'm not coming home, so forget it."

"Brian, you can't stay here indefinitely."

"Who says I can't?" Brian demanded belligerently.

"But…"

"Unless you want to suck me off, get lost!"

Brian turned and opened the door indicating that Justin should leave. Even at his worst early in their relationship Brian had never talked to him like this. He had been angry when the apartment was robbed, but even then he hadn't been this mean and crude.

Justin took a few steps toward the door. He turned to look at Brian seeing an emptiness and a coldness in him that he had never experienced before. He could think of nothing to counteract it.

Suddenly he felt Brian's hand come up against his shoulders. He hoped for a split second that the man was going to take him into his arms and allow him to make everything all right. To his surprise he found himself being propelled out into the hall. The door closed with a slam behind him and he heard Brian putting the locks back in place.

He stood in the hall for a long time trying to think of what to do, of how he could convince Brian that Angela's death wasn't his fault, of how to get Brian to come back to him, of how to retrieve the good life they had had just yesterday when Brian had made him dinner and fucked him so hungrily afterwards.

After many minutes he glanced at the door wondering if Brian was looking through the peep hole to see if he was still there. He thought he probably wasn't. Slowly he began walking down the hall. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he wasn't going to find any answers standing in that hallway.

-----

Brian leaned against the door, his head resting over the peep hole that he had been staring through. He had watched Justin standing in the hallway trying to figure out what to do. He had seen the pain he had caused flash across that beautiful face. He wanted to go out there and take him in his arms. He wanted to tell him that he would try to fix things. He wanted to let Justin hold him and comfort him and tell him that everything would work out. But he knew it wouldn't. Justin was better off without him.

Now Justin was leaving, leaving for good. And that was for the best. He wasn't going back to being mayor. That held no appeal for him now. He wasn't going to have any job at all. He would have to leave this hotel eventually, and he had no idea where he would go when he did. It would have to be somewhere else where nobody knew him.

Justin could have the loft. He could live there and start a new life. What happened to him was important. Nothing that Brian could do now could change what had happened. Someone was dead because of him. He would never be able to face that.

He lifted the bottle and drank hungrily, in need of solace from this source since no other offered itself. He made his way to the bed, took the last drink left in the bottle and threw himself onto the mattress. He would have to make some hard decisions soon, but not right now.

-----

Justin sat in the Corvette wondering what on earth he was going to do. He knew Brian was not going to talk to him anytime soon. He had made that abundantly clear. He couldn't just leave Brian up in that hotel room alone and hurting, but what other options were there?

He felt a stray tear make its way down his cheek. He wiped it away defiantly. He was not going to cry. He was going to figure something out. He had to help Brian whether he wanted his help or not.

He started the Corvette and slid into traffic. Slowly he began to make his way back to the loft. He was almost to Liberty Avenue when a thought hit him. He turned onto Liberty and drove slowly along the street wondering if this was the right thing to do. He wasn't at all sure as he pulled into a parking space, but he knew he had to try something.

The tinkling bell over the door to the comic shop startled Justin as he was trying to figure out what he was going to say.

"Hey, Boy Wonder," Michael said cheerfully.

"Hey," Justin said less than enthusiastically.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked noting Justin's demeanor. "What did he do this time?"

Justin sighed. This was probably a big mistake. But he was here now, so he might as well take the plunge. "Something's happened," he said softly.

"What?" Michael asked suddenly worried by Justin's statement. "Was Brian in an accident?"

"No … no, nothing like that," Justin said quickly. "Did you hear about that homeless woman who died yesterday?"

"Yeah, it's all over the news. Why?"

"Brian took it pretty hard that someone died while he was mayor."

"People die every day while he's mayor," Michael said sensibly.

"I know, but not people that he was trying to help and protect."

"Shit!" Michael said getting the drift of what Justin was saying. "He thinks he's responsible." Justin nodded. "So what has he done?"

"He'll probably kill me for telling you this, but I didn't know what else to do. He's in the Biltmore Hotel downtown. He's been drinking and fucking and he's a total mess. He slammed the door in my face and told me to fuck off." Justin managed to choke out the last part fighting the tears that threatened to flow. "I don't know what to do to help him, Michael."

Justin felt Michael come close and then he was being hugged by this man that had always seen him as a rival for Brian's affections, by the man who wanted to replace him in Brian's life, by the man who had a big heart that could feel the pain of others. Maybe that was what he and Brian really had in common, that unbelievable capacity to love others deeply when they allowed themselves to. Brian did it secretly and Michael did it openly.

The tears flowed for a few minutes until Justin pulled back and wiped them away. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "I … I'm so scared. I've never seen him like that. He was like some cold and heartless stranger."

"He has that persona down pat," Michael observed. Then he hesitated and said, "I take that back. He used to have that persona … before he met you." Michael knew it was time to say that to Justin because it was the truth and he felt the boy needed to finally hear it … from him.

"Can you help him, Michael?"

"I … I don't know, Justin, but I'll try."

"Here's the keys to the Corvette. I'll watch the store for you. He's in Room 618. He probably won't want to let you in, but you have to get through to him. You have to."

"I can't promise that I can do that, but I'll give it a shot."

"Thanks, Michael. I really appreciate it."

"Of course, I'll try to help him. He's my best friend."

For once those words didn't grate on Justin. He knew that Michael would try to be Brian's friend, would try to make him see his way back. He prayed that Michael would be successful as he watched the Corvette pull away.

-----

Michael pounded on the door to Room 618. Nobody was answering. He continued to pound. He said nothing, didn't call Brian's name, just pounded.

Finally he heard the locks being turned and the door opened a crack. He looked at the bleary face of his lifelong friend.

"Let me in, Brian," Michael said evenly.

"Go home, Mikey. You're not needed here."

"I beg to differ," Michael said and pushed against the door forcing Brian back and out of his way along with the door. He carried his packages into the suite which was dark and dismal looking. It reeked. He set the stuff he had brought down on the desk and went to the window. He threw back the drapes and turned on the air conditioning hoping it would take some of the stink out of the room.

"Michael…" Brian began, squinting his eyes against the onslaught of the winter sun.

"Don't bother, Brian. I'm not leaving. I brought food. You're going to eat if I have to force feed you. Then you're going to tell me what the hell you think you're doing."

Brian sighed. "I need a shower," he said hoping to put off the inevitable.

"You'll get no argument from me on that count. Go."

Brian turned and headed into the bathroom locking the door behind him. He knew Michael would leave him alone for a few minutes anyway, but he might need longer than that to figure out how to get rid of his "best friend".

Michael set the food out on the desk and turned off the air conditioning. It was getting a mite nippy. It had at least cleared out some of the smell of alcohol and sex that had bombarded him when he had first entered the room.

He heard the shower go on. He hoped Brian was actually getting into it. If he was that was a good sign. Michael knew that Brian had gone to the bathroom to try to figure out how to get rid of him, but that was okay. If he took a shower while he was in there, it would sober him up a bit and maybe help him to get a better view of what he was doing. No matter what plan Brian came up with to get him to leave, he was having none of it. He could be as stubborn as Brian … when he wanted to.

The shower went off and Michael waited wondering what Brian had decided while he was in the bathroom. The door opened and Brian came out wrapped in a towel. Michael felt his cock twitch. After all these years and despite the fact that he loved Ben and they had great sex together, there was no one like Brian. There would never be. Michael shook his head driving those thoughts somewhere deep inside where they would always live and would never see the light of day.

"You look a little better," Michael said.

Brian snorted. "I don't want to look better. I was perfectly fine before you got here. If you don't like what you found then leave."

"Is that the best you've got?" Michael asked with a smirk. "I'm not going anywhere."

Brian grimaced. He knew he wasn't up to snuff. His sarcasm meter was malfunctioning probably fried by the two bottles of Beam that he had consumed. Thinking of Beam made him thirsty. He looked around for the bottle that he had been drinking from.

"It's empty," Michael said picking it up from the nightstand and waving it in the air.

"Fuck!" Brian reacted.

"I'd say you've had enough for a while," Michael observed.

"Who the fuck asked you for your evaluation?" Brian sneered.

"No charge."

"Fuck off, Michael."

"You really are in bad shape if you have to resort to telling me to fuck off to try to get rid of me."

"So what will it take to get rid of you?" Brian sneered again.

"If you eat something and tell me what you're doing here, I'll consider leaving after that."

"You drive a fucking hard bargain," Brian said grabbing a chicken leg from the KFC bucket. He took a bite and immediately wanted to throw up. The grease and the feel of it was too much. He tried to force himself to eat some more of it thinking that he might get Michael to leave if he could eat the leg.

Suddenly he ran back into the bathroom and the chicken and a lot of the liquor still in his stomach came up. He heaved and heaved until there was nothing more to throw up. He slid onto his butt and rested his head against the bathroom wall while he waited for his stomach to settle down. A cold, wet facecloth swiped across his lips. Michael sat down on the floor beside him and handed him the facecloth. He wiped his lips again and then accepted the glass of water that Michael held in front of him. The cool liquid tasted surprisingly good. He drank it all.

Michael took the empty glass and reached to set it on the counter. He slumped against Brian when he sat back giving him a little bump in the shoulder.

"Tell me," Michael said.

He felt Brian's body shiver and then the silent sobs began to wrack his body.

"It's all fucked up, Mikey. I can't do it anymore."

Michael pulled Brian into his arms and hung on. The man cried silently refusing to make any sound. Michael could feel the sobs that shook his best friend to the core. All he could do was ride it out like the night Brian's father had died or the night Justin got bashed. They'd find their way through it … somehow.

Neither knew how long they sat that way. Eventually Brian's sobs started to subside and he seemed to be regaining control of himself.

"This is about that homeless woman, isn't it?" Michael asked. He felt Brian nod. "It's not your fault. There was nothing you could do."

"Everything's always my fault. It always has been."

Michael paused. He found that hard to argue with. Everything did get blamed on Brian. He was an easy scapegoat when things didn't go right. His mother was the prime one to blame Brian when something happened with Justin. Even he was quick to blame Brian when things went south with Dr. Dave. Brian always accepted the blame and then seemed to slough it off. Obviously he must have taken more of it to heart than any of them had realized. It probably started with his fucking parents who always blamed Brian for not being perfect and silent and no bother. Michael shook his head realizing what he had unwittingly done to his friend over all these years.

"Brian," Michael said softly. "I'm sorry."

Brian pulled away and stared into Michael's face wondering what the man meant. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I've blamed you for a lot of things over the years. They weren't always your fault."

Brian blinked away the remnants of his tears. "Mostly they were."

"No, you're wrong. You made it too fucking easy for us to blame you for things. Most of the time it was our own fucking faults."

"Well, Angela Dubkowski was my responsibility and I failed her."

"Is that the homeless lady?"

Brian nodded. "I failed her and she died."

"You can't control everyone's lives. You can't fix everything."

"But I should have done more."

"Like what?"

"I … I don't know. Something."

"Listen to yourself. You can't be responsible for every citizen in Pittsburgh. If that was true why haven't you stopped all the crimes that keep happening?"

"Stockwell," Brian said with a little grin.

That was a good sign. Humor. Michael chuckled. "Now that's someone who should have some blame layered on him. I can't believe he's still walking around free."

"It cost him his job though."

"Yeah, thanks to you … and Justin."

"You just complimented Justin," Brian said in amazement.

"I know … and I meant it."

"Did he tell you I was here?"

Michael nodded. "He loves you, Brian. Don't you think it's time to go home to him?"

"I don't think I can go back."

Michael didn't like the sound of that statement. There was something final about it that worried him.

"Come on, Brian. Let's go sit on something soft, eat some chicken and talk about going home, because that's where you belong."

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