Acknowledging Fears

Chapter 17

Miranda studied Brian as he rejoined them. He sat and then Justin moved to sit beside him. Meeting her gaze, he asked, with a lightness that did not fool anyone, "So, Doc, how fucked are we?" So far as jokes went it wasn't his best. But Brian was tired and all he wanted was for this all to go far, far away.

"Well," she began, looking cautiously at him as he shrugged. "You're not 'fucked', Brian. Since you found out about the cancer you've been more distant, right?"

"I'm always distant," he retorted. "Ask Justin."

Justin gave a beleaguered sigh and met her eyes. He nodded. "More so than usual. But in the last couple of days he's been pretty open." Sharing because he has to not from any desire to tell me what's bothering him. Because we all know that if Brian were feeling normal he'd have fucked me into oblivion rather than talk.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's been sharing his feelings. Not pushing me away even when he wants to. This shit is difficult."

"Thank you for not saying hard, honey," Brian drawled, sarcastically. He studied his hands and knew that Miranda was focusing her attention on him. "Because we both know that's not happening any time soon." Okay, I'm being a twat, Brian thought.

Oh fuck, Justin thought. His eyes filled with pain as he looked at Miranda. She met his eyes and nodded slightly. A shared camaraderie and concern for Brian in her eyes. "Brian," she said.

He said quietly, "Yes."

"Look at me," she said, coming out from behind her desk. "Don't just close down."

"But it's so easy. And we all know that I close things off."

Miranda stood in front of him. "Kinney, look at me. Don't do this."

It was all Justin could do not to go to him, but he knew that he wasn't what Brian needed. After all, Miranda was the professional. I'm just the lover, he thought, somewhat bitter. And he doesn't trust me enough to tell me exactly what it is that's bothering him.

"Brian," Miranda said, gently reaching out a hand, jerking back when Brian flinched. She glanced at Justin and saw the realization wash over him with renewed guilt.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I knew the shit with the Pink Posse would come back to haunt us. Miranda looked at Justin with an expression on her face that could only be described as accusatory. "Brian," Justin said softly. "Brian."

"We never talked about the Pink Posse and Cody. We just went on like nothing had happened. Like that night didn't change anything." Brian's voice was haunted.

Clueless, Miranda simply looked at her patient and his lover. "Someone explain what's going on." She said, trying her best to keep her voice even.

"Justin," Brian prompted. "Why don't you tell Miranda?"

He patted his jeans for the pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he closed his eyes as Justin began to talk. He didn't know when Miranda handed him an ashtray. Justin moved the chair away from Brian and said, "You remember when Shanda Leer got bashed?"

Miranda nodded; the news of the transvestite's bashing had hit the newspapers and had even garnered local media coverage. It was the biggest thing since Stockwell's fall from grace. She looked at Justin and he began to speak. "I was pissed off about it. I went to Eric's house, that's his real name, and tried to help him. I made him lunch and tried to encourage him to go down to the station and identify his bashers. He was understandably reluctant and I tried to talk him into it. He asked me when it happened to me what I did." He avoided looking at Brian as he continued, "I told him I'd done nothing. That my basher got off with community service. That I tried to go on as if nothing had ever happened. Only it did."

"Go on," she encouraged him, still keeping a wary eye on Brian. He was much too quiet for her comfort. But this was a safe place for him, she reminded herself. If he fell apart it was better it was here than elsewhere.

"I was changed by that night. Brian and I were changed by that night. I lost a month of time trying to recoup some mobility in my hand and I don't remember that night. That night was so important to both of us." Justin's voice quavered and Miranda gave him a sharp look. He shrugged and continued, "It took time for me to be able to accept anyone's touch, even Brian's. I still remember that look in his eyes when I pulled away from him when he was trying to make love to me."

He glanced at his lover, half-expecting Brian to snap a, "I was going to fuck you," comment at him. None was forthcoming and Justin forced himself to continue. "When Darren got bashed, it brought all those resurgent feelings to the surface. I was still so angry. Brian and I didn't talk about the bashing. Instead we kissed or danced or fucked it away. Most usually we fucked it away because neither of us wanted to face it."

"Brian," Miranda tentatively inquired.

He took a drag and glanced up at her. "So far he's right. About everything. Give him some time, Doc. He needs to do this. We need to do this."

Why now? Justin wondered. Why the fuck does he need to do this now? Is it because of the cancer? But he continued, "I came home one night and was working on some sketches for the new issue of Rage. Brian came over and asked me why the heroes were suddenly the avengers of Gayopolis."

At that Brian shut his eyes. This is too fucking hard, he thought. But Justin continued, "I was pissed and said that someone had to do something because the fags were too scared to do anything. I mentioned the Guernica, how the political statement is in a museum. He noticed my hand was hurting and began to massage it when I pulled away from him. Brian's always been there for me, Miranda. Even when we were separated, Brian paid my tuition. He'd sit in my section at the diner and over-tip me. He hired me to do the posters for the Carnival. He's fixed everything in my life. But this was something he couldn't fix and it made me angry. I told him that he wasn't the one who had been bashed."

Suddenly Brian stood, a violent motion that toppled his chair over with a crash. He strode over to the door and flung it open. "Brian," Miranda said, stunned.

Gathering his famous composure, Brian slowly turned back to face his lover and shrink. He looked at Justin and with agonizing clarity bit out the words, "You weren't the only one hurt that night. I'm the one who cradled you in my arms thinking I was going to lose you. It took everything in me not to beat the shit out of that fucker, not to kill him. But I knew that if I did that and you made it that it wouldn't make a fucking bit of difference. And if you died," he was unable to finish the thought. He righted the chair and sank back down into it. "You want to know why I went to prom."

Silently Justin nodded. "Miranda," Brian said.

She nodded. Clearly the progression of this session had gotten out of her hands. Slowly Brian began to speak. "I turned thirty and all I could think about was how my life was meaningless. I had a job that paid me a shit-load of money; a fantastic loft; a dick that has fucked countless tricks. A son who I had signed my rights away to protect his mother. And I had you. The naïve eighteen-year-old kid who thought he was in love with me. The kid who had gone after a coworker after I nearly lost my career by fucking him. The kid who thought I was worth loving and didn't see me as a fuck-up or a narcissistic asshole. Or at least loved me in spite of those qualities. I bought a Hermes scarf as a birthday present. I lay on the floor in the loft, smoking joint after joint, and drinking the bottle of Beam. My old faithful friend," he said. "I stood a chair in the middle of the room and kept trying to get the scarf over the rafter. So when it did, I unbuttoned my jeans and stood on that fucking chair. I wrapped the scarf around my neck and began to beat off. Autoeroticism, Sunshine. Depriving oxygen flow to heighten orgasm. I was in mid-jerk when Michael ran in and pulled me down. I was pissed. I told him life not worth living if not take risks. I reminded him that I wanted to go out like Cobain or Hendrix or James Dean, always young, always beautiful. And he snapped at me that they'd always be dead. That's when he said that I was Brian fucking Kinney for fuck's sake. I didn't know whether to be grateful to Michael or pissed off. All I knew was that something had to change."

He looked at Justin. "I was scared shitless when I walked into your prom. I saw all those teenagers and knew they were wondering. I fucking outed you in front of God knows how many parents and we shared a dance. A beautiful dance that you can't even remember." It took all Brian's control not to admit that he'd realized he loved him that night. That he was willing to give a relationship an actual try with Justin. That the stalker had turned into something more. "You and I made plans to go back to the loft that night. But you had to take Daphne home first, like a good date."

"Is that when you told her that she looked hot and you'd fuck her?" Justin asked.

Brian nodded. "I made good on that promise, didn't I?"

Miranda looked at her patient. "You fucked Justin's best friend? Justin's female best friend," she could hardly hide that she was incredulous. Since Brian was eighteen, he'd pretty much declared men were his interest. Though, she recalled, I have fallen prey to the Kinney legend myself.

From somewhere deep inside, Brian pulled out his famous smirk. "Yes. And her boyfriend."

"You never told me about this," she said.

"It was a floor show. A bet Sunshine and I made while we were playing Scrabble one afternoon. It was the week after we reconciled. We spent most of Saturday with Gus and then Saturday night in bed. One of the hottest experiences of our lives," Brian said, remembering how it had felt. How it had felt knowing that he and Justin were being watched while they fucked each other. But he forced himself to remember the task at hand, so to speak.

He stopped and looked at his partner. Justin didn't know whether to shout at him or cry. So he settled for an air of indifference that was wholly feigned. "You tried to commit suicide. Did you want to die?"

"Not then. I was kind of ambivalent about the whole thing of life and death. It didn't matter much to me one way or the other. But when I thought I was going to lose you, all I could think about was that bottle of codeine on the top shelf of the cabinet and the straight razor blades that I keep secreted away."

Miranda sent him a sharp look. Flirting with suicide was nothing new for Brian but the fact that he'd had a plan scared the shit out of her. She was terrified for him. "Brian. Do you still flirt with the idea of suicide?"

He turned to face her. "When I kicked you out, Sunshine, I got high. I knew I'd hurt you. That what I had said really hurt you as much as it pissed you off. The thought in the back of my mind was that death would be so much easier. Then I wouldn't have to face this terrible fucking disease that had robbed me of an integral part of my existence. Then I remembered that this didn't have to be the end of my life. So yeah, Doc, it's still in the back of my mind. But it's not something I contemplate on a daily basis. And don't pull out the prescription pad because I won't fucking take Prozac or Xanax or whatever the miracle cure is these days."

She smiled at that. Seemed he was beginning to come back to himself. Stubborn fucker, she thought. Take the blue or the red pill, she thought. One pill makes you larger, the other makes you smaller.

Brian looked at Justin. "Tell her about that night. Tell her about the Pink Posse and Cody and Hobbs."

Justin spared a glance at Miranda. "Miranda, you're not bound to tell any law enforcement anything, are you?"

"Not unless I know a crime is going to be committed, then patient-doctor confidentiality is nullified."

Breathing a little easier, Justin continued on with his narration. He glanced at Brian and was relieved when Brian moved his chair closer to him. "There was a meeting at the GLC. I attended and there was this young kid there who said that the queers needed to stand up for themselves because the straight cops weren't going to do shit to protect us. Cody said we needed a vigilante group. He dubbed us the Pink Posse."

"Seems that'd make you a target," Miranda mused.

Brian smiled at her. "That's what I said. That he was going out flirting with trouble or causing it."

"I was still fucking pissed off," Justin admitted. "I felt that we needed to do something. It's like something just snapped in me. Like a valve that had been shut off just began to geyser; like I was a train that had lost its brakes. So after I told Brian he wasn't the one who'd been bashed, I didn't feel like I could talk to him. I felt like I was alone, that he couldn't possibly understand this rage that had built up inside of me."

You could have come to me, Brian thought. But this was something I couldn't fix. Not even as much as I wanted to. This was something you needed to do for you. But Justin was still speaking so Brian brought his focus back to his young partner. "I went to Woody's and ingratiated myself with Cody and his group. He called me Blondie and was fairly obvious that he didn't think I was truly motivated by doing something. I told him that it was us who needed to do something and I found myself a part of the group."

Miranda pulled out a cigarette of her own and lit one; Brian glanced at her, wryly amused. "Did you talk to Brian about it?"

"Not exactly. He wasn't too thrilled about it. I reminded him that he'd saved our world from an evil politician but Brian said that he'd done that because he was closing down the backroom and the baths. This was something I needed to do I told him."

"What happened the first night you went out with the Posse? Did you have a plan of action or were you just planning on winging it?" She was clear about just how dangerous this had been: both physically and emotionally.

"Winging it," Justin replied. "We were walking down the street and this group of guys started talking shit, asking us if we wanted to suck their cocks. We went nuts, going after the car and pulling the door open. We pulled the passenger's jeans down and then they drove off, with him half-naked."

Brian bit his lip. He'd known it was bad but he'd have had a much different reaction if he'd known just how dangerous it was. He still remembered seeing the red marks on Justin's back. "Is that the night you came home and we fucked each other until both of us were sore?"

"I thought you usually topped," Miranda said.

"That night," Brian said, looking down at his hands, "we fucked each other. That night it didn't much matter what our typical positions were. I knew that he was pretty desperate. He blew into the loft like a hurricane, toeing off his sneakers, and coming at me. I was up for pretty much anything."

"Do you usually start things?"

"Yeah, usually. But a lot of the time it's mutual, us wanting each other so bad we can't seem to wait. Riding a wave of need and lust. Sometimes the need just drives us and it's primal between us. He pulled my belt free of my jeans and nearly took the skin off my chin. Then we were kissing and rocking together. We couldn't seem to get close enough to each other as we fucked that night."

"Justin?"

"I wanted him inside me. I was riding on adrenaline. That sense of power gave me a rush. And I wanted Brian. I wanted to possess Brian that night like he always possesses me."

"Do you feel like you lose your identity when you're with him?"

That stopped them both short. Brian looked at him; Justin was silent for long moments. "Justin," Brian prodded, not sure he wanted to hear this answer.

Justin averted his eyes before answering. "Sometimes I think people only think of me as Brian's pet stud. That I lose who I am as a person because I'm with Brian. Being with a sex god has its downside. But it's me that he pushes up against the wall in the backroom. It's me that goes down on him in the backroom. In that zone, I exist for one purpose to give Brian pleasure. I love Brian. I love Brian's cock, I love his balls, and I love drinking him dry but sometimes it feels like I'm nothing more than a sexual object."

"Brian," Miranda asked. "Are you OK?"

"Give me a minute here," Brian said, fighting for control of his temper. Then he moved his chair so he was facing Justin, pulling him forward until their knees brushed. "Do you really feel that way? Like I use you when we're together in the backroom? Because I seem to recall you pushing back against me, trying to get me to ride harder and deeper. To go faster. And it's not just me that shoots, Justin. How many times have you splattered the wall at Babylon? How many times have you fucked the shit out of me until I'm begging you to make me come? You drive me to the brink, dirty boy. And it bothers me to have you devalue everything we are together."

"You're pissed."

"Goddamn right, I'm pissed. Tell her about the night you wanted to top me. After you'd spent nearly the entire day with that sick fuck Cody at the boxing gym. Tell her about that night and see what she says, Justin."

Justin hesitated. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to go to the shrink with Brian. This was trotting out everything that was bad about their relationship and bringing it to the forefront. "Justin," Miranda said, stunned by the afternoon's revelations. She'd known it was going to be intense but even she hadn't expected this.

"No," Justin said. "I don't want to talk about this. Brian, please."

Brian glared at his lover. "No, we need to fucking talk about this. Because I put it behind me even though every instinct I had was telling me not to. That it was something that I never ever want to experience again. So you tell Miranda what happened that night. Or I will."

"Brian."

"Justin."

Seeing his implacable expression, Justin knew he had no choice. This was bad, he realized. This was worse than when Brian had pushed him away telling him he needed to take a shower. He looked at Miranda. "I got home late one afternoon after spending the morning in the ring with Cody. He was teaching me sparring positions and how to deliver low jabs and right hooks. I've never been that physical, always been more cerebral, but something just came out inside of me. That night I went down on Brian. We were lying in bed and I indicated that I wanted to fuck him but Brian said no. I suggested we fight for it."

"Fight for it?" she echoed.

Justin stared down at his hands, avoiding both her eyes and that of Brian's. "We've always been fairly physical. Throwing me from one side of the bed to the other, that sort of thing. But I wanted something else that night. I pulled him up and we went downstairs. I was feinting and Brian was too. Then I delivered a blow that glanced off his jaw. And Brian, having an instinctive reaction, hit me back. Stunned we sort of stared at each other. We'd never hit each other before. I mean he's spanked me before but that's just in sexual play. And I felt guilty as hell."

"Brian."

Brian looked at his lover. "You forced me into a position that night where I had to respond. I know what it's like to be powerless and have the shit kicked out of you. I experienced that with Jack and I remember what it was like having your father kick the shit out of me. But I never expected you to hit me. After I told you that story about me being four years old and Jack beating me, I never thought you'd hit me. When the loft was broken into, I thought about it. When you came home that night and realized I knew about Ethan, it crossed my mind. But I would never have done it. You backed me into a corner, Justin. I've always worked hard to suppress the violent side of my nature knowing how easy it is to unhinge me. Why do you think I focus all that energy into work and sex? It's because I have Jack swimming through my veins. He may be dead but I'm still his blood."

"What happened next, Brian?"

"Justin went into the bathroom. I stood in the living room for I don't know how long. Then I went into the bathroom. He was staring at himself in the mirror, tears running down his face. I went to him and put my arms around him. I let him sob it out and when he was done I led him back to the bedroom. I lay down and handed him a condom."

"Why did you do that?"

"If he needed to abuse someone or himself I felt it should be me. I'd always rather he focus his pain on me. But I'm not anyone's punching bag. Not even yours, Sunshine. I waited for him to push into me because I wasn't expecting any foreplay. I knew we'd escalated past that point, that something else was driving us and it wasn't lust or desire. Or even the fact that I knew he loved me. I was willing to let him hurt me because I knew he was hurting."

Silent tears coursed down Justin's face. It had never occurred to him just how much damage he'd done to Brian. It had always been him. "What happened next?"

"Justin just lay down on top of me. I rolled us over and propped myself up on my arms looking down at him. I brushed a hair out of his eyes and then I kissed him. I tried to joke with him by asking if he was going to fuck me or not. He was quiet when he said not. He didn't want to fuck me like that. Not when it would be by any means necessary. So instead we slept face to face that night with our arms around each other."

"Justin?"

Justin's voice was raw with pain. "I hated knowing that I'd caused the one person I love the most such tremendous pain. When I hit Brian, it wasn't intentional. I wasn't intending to make contact but I was like a pressure cooker, timed to explode. When he found me in the bathroom, I was in a state of shock. I'd hit Brian. Brian, the person who has experienced more physical violence than anyone should have to. Brian, who held me when the nightmares hit. It was Brian who gave me a second chance after I left him. And, by the way, Ethan showed up again this week. He came by the loft with Claire."

He turned to look at Brian. "I love you, Brian. I can't say that I won't cause you pain again because we both know that's a promise neither of us can keep. But I'll never hit you again."

"Can I tell you something?" Brian asked. "Something that you need to promise me you won't bring up outside of this room."

Justin nodded. Brian glanced at Miranda and at Justin. "When you met me, I was an arrogant asshole who knew he could get any guy he wanted. I was notorious even among tops. Guys fought over me in the backroom. Competing for my dick and balls because no one ever had my ass. But when you walked into my life I felt like I'd met someone who I might, just might, be able to fall in love with. I'm not saying what you need me to say. I can't say it. It's not that I don't want to say it because I do. It's that there is some psychological reason I can't tell you. But when you hit me that night, it reminded me of all the reasons Brian Aidan Kinney doesn't do love. That loving someone causes pain. That it isn't worth it. That I'm not worth it. I've hurt you, Justin. But you've hurt me. If I didn't care, you wouldn't have the ability to cause me to bleed like you do. Not even Mikey can hurt me like you."

"But you were devastated when you and Mikey had that fight after his birthday party. You were at sea," Justin pointed out.

"Did I ever tell you what I did after you left me? How I spent those first nights?"

Justin shook his head. "The night after the Rage party I went home. I lay awake until dawn, with my nose buried in your pillow because it still smelled of you. The clean you not the you that smelled of him. You left a jock and I jacked off into it, feeling somehow closer to you, knowing the fabric had cuddled your cock and balls. I could smell you on the fabric. And, you know what you were doing while I was doing that?"

"No," he said quietly, unable to believe the depth of Brian's pain. And the realization that they'd never talked about this before.

"You, Sunshine, were fucking Ethan. You were moving on with your life. Without me. When you left, you didn't have the balls to talk to me. Instead you walked out on me in front of a crowd of people, basically saying "Fuck you" to me. It fucking hurt knowing that you chose the fiddler over me. Me, who you once said you loved more than your own life. Nobody has ever felt that way about me," he said, raising a hand when Justin started to protest. "Not even Mikey. Because Mikey's love for me is based on an adolescent dream. You fell in love with Brian Kinney, the man. Not the carefully constructed myth designed for the best possible appeal."

"While you were having breakfast in bed with the fiddler, I went on to work and to the diner, knowing that I'd have to face you. But even when you came by to get your stuff you did it when you knew I wouldn't be there. Was that because you didn't want to see me or didn't want me to see you? And that's when I called Midnight Rendezvous, Sunshine. I ordered a 5'8" twink with blond hair and a perfectly formed butt. It didn't have to be a bubble butt but close enough. I paid between $300-$500 bucks to fuck someone else so I didn't have to remember what it was like being with you. And when I shot my load, it was you I was wishing I was fucking. So when I told you that it was none of your fucking business that I had cancer, I was remembering the careless way you left me for the fucking fiddler. I was remembering the nights you'd come in and race to that shower, smelling of someone else. Someone else's cum on your skin. I knew you were strong enough to handle it but did it ever occur to you that I might not be strong enough to handle the thought of you walking out on me again? I get hurt, Justin. And when someone betrays me, I don't forget. I've forgiven you but I haven't forgotten that you left. I held to your fucking rules because I wanted a relationship with you. Yes, I said the fucking word. But you broke the rules and didn't even realize that I had broken all my rules for you long ago. The nights you spent at my loft with me driving you home at 4:00 in the morning were breaking my rules. And when you hit me, it reminded me that once again the person who says he knows me the best doesn't know me at all. That's why I didn't tell you I had cancer. That's why I blew up at you about Ibiza. That's why we'll never get married, if I believed in that. It's because no matter how much you say you love me and I believe you do, you'll still walk out that door because I'm difficult."

"Brian," Justin said, tears coursing down his cheeks.

"Don't say it. Don't fucking say it."

Miranda sat there in stunned silence, knowing that she had long ago lost control of this runaway horse.

Brian wanted to cry but refused to allow himself the weakness. He stared at Justin, saw the pain in the blonde's eyes and was reminded once again of just how young he was. "Why did you come back?"

"Why did you let me come back?" Justin shot back.

Brian stared at him, then stood. He walked to the window looking out at the street and said, "You first. Tell me why you came back."

Justin stood and walked to join his lover. He gingerly wrapped his arms around Brian's waist, half expecting the older man to push him away. Instead, Brian leaned back against him. The subtle move surprised Justin who tightened his arms around Brian.

"I came back because Michael told me that the reason you didn't want me to see you was because you thought you were no longer perfect. That because you only had one ball I wouldn't love you anymore. That I'd forgotten how to read the Brian Kinney Operating Manual. I came back because I love you. I know what it's like to be hurt by you but I also remember how many times I've hurt you. It wasn't easy for me when I went back to the loft to pick up my shit. I remembered you fucking me on the sofa; on the chaise lounge feeding each other ice cream; in the shower; me riding you on the bed; you fucking me up against a wall or against one of the columns. And I remembered the times you let me fuck you, letting me guide the rhythm. How many times you would take the sketch pad out of my hands and just go down on me, slowly working me to orgasm. Sharing my essence with me when we kissed. The memories haunted me. I handled our break-up badly; I admit that. But I didn't come back from that coma the same person I was. I had different needs and I needed things from you that you couldn't give."

"But what about the things I did give you? Like the computer? And the art supplies? The endless hours I spent on that sofa while you sketched me." Brian turned to face him, drawing him closer, so that Justin's head rested under his chin. "Did you forget the times you would pour plum sauce on me and leisurely lick it off my body? Or the times when I would sit there holding you while you had a migraine? Justin, we can't keep hurting each other. I'm no sadist. I need you to be there for me. I need to know that when I'm hurting I won't turn around to find I'm looking for a ghost. If you can't do that, then we're fucked."

Miranda could only watch. The time had slipped away from her and she was no longer worrying about billable hours or the fact that she hadn't eaten for hours. She was entranced. She'd never seen Brian like this. She could only imagine what they were like when they were alone. Then it occurred to her; for all intents and purposes they'd forgotten about her.

"Um, Brian," she began.

He met her eyes and she said, "I hate to do this. But it's way past time. It's nearly five."

"You kicking us out, Doc?"

She reluctantly nodded. "You two have some stuff to work through."

"You think?" he retorted sarcastically. "And this is what I pay you the big bucks to say."

She smiled wryly at him. "If you'd let me finish, I was going to say that I think we have more stuff we need to talk about. And, Justin, I'm willing to continue to see you both in couples counseling. We kind of blew past the whole Pink Posse thing today. It's clear to me that you and Brian have more to talk about on that subject. And the time you two were broken up."

Brian stared at her. Then he returned to his chair, pulling out his checkbook. Slowly Miranda shook her head. She'd made a sudden decision. "No, Brian." She shook her head. "No."

"Well, Doc, it's been an hour and a half. I owe you half a grand. Let me pay you."

"No."

"Miranda," Brian began. "Let me pay your fucking fee. It's not every day that you see me unload like that." Not every day I open a fucking vein.

"Brian, I don't want your money."

He opened his checkbook and wrote out a check. Handing it to her, he kissed her cheek. "It's your choice whether or not you cash it. But I think you've served your time today. You've earned it, kiddo."

Miranda nodded. And it was Justin who said, "Thank you." His tone was so soft, it was almost a whisper.

"Sonny Boy," Brian said, tentatively. "Let's go home."

"Brian," Miranda said. And he turned to her, eyes intent upon her face.

"I think I need to start seeing you twice a week."

Starting to protest, he thought better of it and simply nodded. "Maybe you're right."

Stunned at the too easy acquiescence she merely met Justin's eyes. The blond walked towards his lover and Miranda waited to see whether Brian would push him away or not. Because it was clear that they'd caused each other tremendous pain. Brian wrapped an arm around his waist and Justin returned the gesture. "Thanks, Doc." Brian said.

Miranda watched them go, thinking that the road they traveled would never be easy. And it wasn't because of the age difference, or because they were two men, but because they were who they were. Brian would never be an easy man to love and it was equally clear to her that he was desperately in love with the young blond. Enough in love to forgive an outbreak of physical violence, she thought, still surprised by that little fact.

Miranda sat behind her desk for a long while before pulling her tape recorder towards her and beginning to dictate. She'd long ago stopped taking notes but the session was fresh enough in her mind that it was easy to reconstruct. It was dark by the time she'd finished and she knew she'd have to leave Isabella a note to type up her session notes for Brian's chart and to start a new one for Justin.

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