QAF Fiction

[emylye]

Thanks to Gypsybird (Laura), I now know that Hal Sparks is not an evil person, and I regret maligning him with such viciousness. I have to remember that if anyone had a tape recorder, they could make my life a living hell, as I frequently misspeak. So I hereby give Hal Sparks the benefit of the doubt about his 'kissing a dog' comment that it was merely a VERY poor choice of words or a bad joke.

Meanwhile, I had to give Michael an HIV scare after watching only the first 5 minutes of an episode where Michael is actually, to my shock, daydreaming about being infected on purpose so that Ben will love him. I know about bug-chasing, but I didn't expect Michael to fall into it for even a second. So that image shocked me.



Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

Spoilers:

Pairing: Brian/Michael (with Brian/Justin).

Warning:

Rating: NC-17

Notes:

*****

INTIMATIONS OF MORTALITY

Brian yawned and stretched. "Don't drop your uterus, but I think we're done."

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Lovely phrase. And I take it you mean for the moment."

"I mean for the weekend, baby," Brian grinned.

"No," she breathed. "An actual, entire weekend off?"

"Yep. Remember what to do with one?"

"Barely. But I'll struggle through." She was already rummaging through her desk, calling back to him, not wanting to give him the chance to change his mind. "You're sure?" she asked as she raced down the hall toward the elevator and pushed the button.

He laughed to himself. Couldn't blame her. Even God took off on the fucking seventh day, and it was their seventh week without rest. They deserved this. More than.

The five new accounts Brian and Vance were going after were all prima donnas--each one called for more fawning, ass-kissing, and just plain hard work than the next. That was the bad news. The good news was what they could do for the agency, and for the two partners personally. Brian was looking at a bonus that would put his salary firmly in the mid-seven-figure range for the first time ever. He'd wanted that a long time.

His hours had become insane. Instead of coffee at the diner, he had coffee at his desk. Instead of lunch at the diner, he ate lunch at his desk. Dinner was either another schmooze-fest, or takeout while he and Cynthia prepared the next wave of the campaign that would clinch the deal.

Brian hadn't seen anyone who wasn't agency-related in weeks.

It kind of helped with the Justin situation. College and a high-powered career really didn't gel nearly as well as they'd pretended for a while. Justin felt abandoned--screwed, as he put it, out of the fun he deserved to be having in his twenties. Which meant they'd both be happier, in the end, if Justin found someone else.

This crunch period had forced the issue. No way could Justin make it two days without sex, let alone two months. Ordinarily, neither could Brian; but right now, eyes on a prize he'd held in his mind for most of his childhood while listening to his father's drunken rants about how Brian would never amount to anything, he could forego even fucking.

For money. For power. For success.

The only person Brian felt bereft of was Michael. They still talked on the phone (not as often or for as long), but it wasn't the same. But then, it had been different between them ever since Michael had started dating Ben. So this was just an extension of that difference.

Brian had sort of become accustomed to the way he missed Michael--to the part of himself that was gone because he could no longer drop by Michael's unannounced and stay, talking about everything and nothing. No longer drag Michael off to dance any night of the week or scoop him up for a weekend of nuttiness in the loft.

He was happy for Michael about Ben. Mostly. Or, if not, it wasn't as though he could offer an alternative to what Ben gave Michael so freely; the whole Boyfriend Schtick still left Brian cold and probably always would. Permanence was bullshit. Promises were bullshit. And you don't fuck your best friend.

So it was good that Michael had Ben--even though, now that he knew he and Justin would soon be (if not actually were; he supposed he'd find out this weekend if Justin was with someone new) splitting up, it was going to suck not to have Michael around to decompress with. Just as it would suck not to have Michael to celebrate this five-account grand slam with in the next few weeks, when it was locked down tight.

Well, maybe the gods of academia would smile on Brian and whisk Ben off to a month-long convention. Let Brian have Michael all to himself for a change.

Meanwhile, a Friday at seven-thirty, and he didn't feel like dealing with his quasi-home-life even remotely sober, so he was hitting Woody's before he went anywhere near the loft. If he had a modicum of luck, Michael would be out. If not, well, maybe Emmett and Ted would be. And in any case, *some* guy would be.

Seven weeks. He was so fucking horny he could use his dick as a pogo stick. Jerking off just didn't release the tension the way another guy's mouth or ass could.

OK, redirect thoughts, or risk coming in the suit pants, which would necessitate a stopoff at the apartment, where we already established we don't want to go, Brian counseled himself.

At Woody's, he did find Ted and Emmett, but no Michael. "Hey," he said, joining them and holding up a finger to the bartender. "Buy you both a drink?"

"Wow, stranger! Thought you'd moved away," Emmett smiled.

"And left no forwarding address," added Ted, always reliable for the unneeded part of the joke. "Where have you been? Michael said your job's been crazy."

"High stress equals high yield, I hope. Where is he tonight?"

"Inventory at the store," said Ted.

"He *says*," Emmett said.

Brian frowned. "Why would he lie about inventory?"

It was Emmett's turn to beetle his eyebrows. "You have been talking with him, right?"

Brian thought. "Sure... " God, when had they last been able to do more than exchange platitudes? Several weeks, anyway. He shook his head. "Not really. This is the first time I've been out of the office before midnight in over a month. And every time we try to talk on the phone, he has a customer."

"I know," Emmett agreed. "I thought it was hard at the Big Q, when he was in the closet. But now, all his customers are little kids. But you know Ben left, don't you?"

Brian had just taken a big swallow of the scotch the bartender had set in front of him, and Emmett's news made it go down the wrong way. He coughed until Ted pounded him on the back. "Ben broke up with Michael?" he gasped finally.

"Well, sort of. Not really. I guess so. Yes," Ted said.

"That's helpful," Brian told him.

"He got this opportunity to go to Tibet and he didn't stay to be with Michael, and he didn't tell him when he was coming back, so in that sense he broke up with him. But he said he still loves him and he wished he could stay, so sort of not."

"Holy shit," Brian whispered. "When?"

"Three days ago. Tuesday." Ted counted back on his fingers.

"So," Emmett concluded, "between that and the fact that you're never around for him to hang out with, it's not exactly a leap to infer inventory might be another word for depressed and not in the mood to hang out with the blissful couple."

"The day you two are reps for blissful coupledom is the day Martha Stewart is the face of the hetero housewife," Brian snapped, in a not-so-veiled reference to Ted and Emmett's constant bickering. Theirs was not a smooth and easygoing relationship.

Ted colored. "No need to be nasty," he said. "Anyway, I think Em's wrong. Michael's probably at the store, doing exactly what he said."

Brian threw down a twenty to cover his drink. "I'm out of here," he said.

He drove to the comic book store and swore when he saw that Emmett's perception was, as usual, more accurate than Ted's. No navy-blue Metro in the vicinity, which meant no inventory going on. Next he drove past Ben's. His stomach clenched when he saw the lights off, as he thought how devastated Michael must be by Ben's decision.

No matter how much he wanted Michael available, he didn't want him shredded. Michael in pain was one of the few things that could snap Brian's defenses. Always could, even when they were kids. Brian's own pain: no sweat. Michael's was a whole other issue.

And there was the troubling fact that when Michael was vulnerable, he reached out to Brian, and Brian frequently overstepped when he reached back. Brian overstepped a fair amount, especially under the influence of alcohol and/or drugs, but Michael in tears was more potent than any mind-altering substance combination. It was something in the dark eyes that made Brian want to do whatever it took to erase the hurt.

But, what-the-fuck-ever. Knowing that these things happened--even that they weren't good and had the potential to be disastrous--was never going to keep Brian from doing them, because if foresight were 20/20, he'd be someone other than Brian Kinney.

He floored it to Michael and Emmett's apartment building and was unsurprised to see the dark blue compact car. He pulled in behind it and locked his Jeep, then ran up the stairs and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he banged harder.

"Open up, Mikey! I know you're in there," he called.

The door opened and Michael appeared in black sweats, his face flushed and eyes bright, hair damp. Like he'd been working out, or... no way. Had a trick over? Good for him. "Am I interrupting something--or someone?" Brian asked with a grin.

"No, and I'm not hiding, so what's with 'I know you're in there'?" Michael asked. His voice was nasal, sounded like he'd been crying. Dammit, Emmett was right: heartbreak. Looked good on him, though. Brian felt like a shit for thinking it, but it was true.

"You told Ted and Emmett you were doing inventory."

Michael shrugged. "I told them that at five, when it was the plan. At seven, I felt like shit, so I exchanged one fun-filled night for another. Come on in." He turned, with Brian following, and returned to the sofa, where he sat and pulled a blanket around himself. Another explanation occurred to Brian as he dropped onto the the sofa next to Michael.

"You're sick."

"You're quick," Michael said mildly. "Yup. Coming down with something, and no, I'm not being a hypochondriac, and no, going to Babylon and doing drugs will not make me feel better."

Brian rolled his eyes, although both of those were replies he'd given in the past. "I wasn't going to say that," he said. He put his hand on Michael's cheek. "Fuck, Mikey. How high is your temperature?"

"Why, so I can report in to my mother?"

"So you know if you need a doctor, wiseass," Brian said. "I thought you were just hibernating over Ben leaving, but you're burning up."

Michael sighed. "I was going to tell you about him. But you and I haven't... " It suddenly struck him how extraordinary Brian's presence was. "How'd you get away from work?"

"Break in the action. Temporary, unfortunately. Just the weekend. I went looking for you, found Ted and Emmett. They thought you'd told me about Ben." Brian put his arm around Michael's shoulder. "I'd've made time for that," he said softly.

"I know you would. It just... " Michael closed his eyes, shivering. "He got the offer two months ago, and he told me about it right after you started working nonstop. So most of this time, he's been considering it, talking to me about it. I didn't tell you because it looked like he wasn't going to go. And then he changed his mind."

"Ted said Tuesday."

"He decided a week ago. Resigned his teaching position and gave up his place."

"He's not coming back, then."

"No."

"Guess we'll be single together," Brian said, moving so none of his weight was resting on Michael but they were pressed together.

"Why? What's happening with Justin?"

"I've barely seen him in the last month. Last time we talked was a week ago, and he was pissed. I suppose I'll find out if any of his stuff is still at my place." Brian bent his head to Michael's. "It's not important. I just meant if you need me, I'll be around. The minute we land these five asshole accounts and I get my life back, I'm yours."

"I'll take you up on it. But wouldn't this be the worst possible time in the universe for you to get sick?" Michael said, moving away, still shivering so much despite his sweats, the blanket, and the warm apartment that his teeth were chattering.

"Yeah... "

"So you should get out of here. I'm just going to bed, and I don't need a babysitter."

Brian snorted. "Since when?" he asked, which was a fair question. Over the years, about the only times he'd let Michael see his kinder, gentler side was when his friend wasn't feeling well. Michael had never objected to the caretaking before. Some guys were lone wolves--if Brian got sick, he'd be that way--but Michael had never been one of them.

Something felt all wrong about the breakup between Ben and Michael. The speed of it, or the timing, or Michael's reaction--lack of reaction?--to it, maybe. Brian wasn't sure. And it was impossible to pin down when it was overlaid with the fog of fever that Brian couldn't help feeling Michael was using to mask emotion.

Plus, no matter how busy Brian was, how could Michael not have told him Ben had left? What the fuck was up with that?

Everywhere he looked there were things that didn't fit.

Jesus H. Christ. Brian had done nothing but strain his brain for the last two months. He didn't have the required intellect to unravel a piece of licorice, let alone a mystery. "Spill, Mikey," he said. "Why do you want me out of here?"

"I don't," Michael said.

It was a lie, and Brian knew it, but short of calling him on it, he didn't see how to open the subject to discussion. Besides, he'd gotten what he needed. "So I'll stay. I'm starving, going to order Chinese. Want me to get you something?"

"I'm not hungry, just tired."

"Not even won-ton soup?" At Michael's headshake, Brian shrugged. "Maybe later. Oh, hey, you take anything for the fever?"

"Cold stuff since this afternoon when my head started hurting," Michael said.

"Did you take your temperature?"

"No."

"Well, let's." Brian stood, pulling Michael up by his hand. "Your doctor's office has hours tomorrow, right?"

"No, it's closed on Saturdays." Michael went into his room while Brian headed into the bathroom.

"Useless. Why do you go there? Damn, where is it?"

"I don't know. Emmett recommended it. They're nice enough. Where's what?"

"Mine's open. If you've still got a fever, you can go there. The fucking thermometer, what do you think?"

"I don't... no. I want to wait until Monday, go where I usually do." Michael came and stood behind Brian, looking through the medicine cabinet with him. After a minute, he pulled open the drawer in front of them and found the case. He took rubbing alcohol and wipes out of the cabinet and cleaned it, then stuck it in his mouth and leaned against the sink counter, holding it in place.

Brian hated waiting. It wasn't like the old kind, where you actually felt your fingernails growing, but it was still a pain in the ass. As soon as Michael fell asleep--well, and after Brian *ate* something, because, fuck, he was ravenous--he was going to run out to that drugstore that was open late and get one of the one-second thingies like Lindsay and Mel had for Gus.

It beeped and he took it out of Michael's hand, earning a weak scowl. "A hundred and three," Brian frowned. "You aren't waiting till Monday." Michael started to argue, and Brian shook his head. "In bed. I'll get aspirin. We can fight in the morning." When you'll lose, he added in his head.

As soon as Michael was asleep, which was almost the minute his head touched the pillow, Brian called Emmett's cell phone. "Emmett, it's Brian."

"Hi, Brian!" Emmett sounded well-lubricated and surrounded by people. "We still haven't seen Michael tonight. 'Course, we're in the same spot we were in when you left us, so it's not like we were on a scavenger hunt with Michael as the prize."

If Emmett was bombed, Ted would be keeping himself sober to drive them home. For the first time, Brian gave thanks for Ted's predictable, MADD-sanctioned behavior. "Yeah. Put Ted on."

"Teddy, sweetie, Brian wants you. Ooh-hoo, that sounded baaad... "

"Hi, Brian. You'll have to excuse Emmett. He's sort of drowning his sorrow. Barbra cancelled her tour dates for the area."

"I'm weeping here, too," Brian said dryly. "I'm at Michael and Emmett's."

"Alone?"

"No, with Mikey. He's asleep, though."

"Oh. Shit. Em, you were right. So, he's having a hard time with the breakup?" In the background, Brian heard Emmett giggle about the word 'hard' and rolled his eyes. Surely he was wittier than this when he was blasted? Jeez, if there was a god, he was.

"No. Well, maybe. That's not why he's sleeping, but that's why I'm calling." Brian realized with a start that he sounded as unclear as Ted had earlier and wondered if Michael had barely talked to anyone about Ben. "How much did Michael tell you guys about Ben's decision to go to Tibet?"

"I think, as usual, he talked to Emmett more than me, and you more than Emmett," Ted said, and caught himself. "Except you didn't know. Well, actually," he added, "Michael hasn't been around much in the last--how long, Em, since we've hung out with Michael?"

Emmett came back on the phone, a little less silly. "He's been keeping to himself lately," he told Brian. "And we've been on our own a lot, too. You know how it is." He giggled. "Well, of course *you* don't have any idea, but most people know how it is. Sometimes you just want to be off by your twosome." He sighed, remembering the topic. "Anyway, after he told me Ben was going to leave last Wednesday, I figured he needed his space, to get over the pain. He's always come to talk when he needed me. When you find him, tell him I'm still here, and I have two strong shoulders."

Shoulders that sounded like they would fall over if the slightest weight rested on them, but whatever you say, Brian thought. "Sure, fine. Put Ted back on."

"Brian? What did you mean the breakup's not why Michael's sleeping? At eight-thirty at night?"

At least someone was listening. "He's got some flu-y thing. High fever, and he looks like... " Well, actually, he looks amazing, but it's too perverse/perverted to be attracted to your best friend when he's sick, so Brian wasn't going to think it one more time tonight, let alone say it out loud. "Anyway, he's not saying much about the Ben situation, but it's probably because he's pretty out of it."

"Oh. You need us to come help with anything?" There was a pause. "Or me? I guess Em could... well, stay out of our way."

Brian laughed. "No, you take care of your delirious partner and I'll take care of mine. Emmett stays with you most nights, right?"

Ted's voice was a little strangled. "Yeah, pretty much all the time. But if you need us, just call."

They hung up, and Brian's next call, to the Chinese restaurant, was less fraught with concern. Just as he turned on the TV, he retroactively heard his own words to Ted and understood the reason for Ted's weirdness. He'd referred to Michael as his partner. The way Emmett was Ted's partner.

Talk about a slip of the fucking tongue. Why had he said it?

Because they were best friends whose lives were more incomplete without one another than without their various boyfriends. Because lately, when Brian thought about what, or rather who, let him breathe easier, deeper, freer, the answer was always Michael.

If only he didn't always run a thousand miles an hour into the brick wall: Brian didn't do boyfriends. Michael did. That was an unworkable disconnect.

And *that* was a tortured metaphor, which just proved how hungry and beat he was. His award-winning mind, which spun words and images into commercial gold, couldn't come up with anything better.

Brian needed about a week of sleep, followed by a week and a half of sucking and fucking with the best of Babylon's back room--although, crap, he must be getting old finally, because what sounded more appealing was an actual massage session. By a woman, even.

Pathetic.

His food arrived, and Brian found a sophomoric movie he'd seen in college to watch while he hoovered it down. He stuck the won-ton soup he'd gotten Michael in the fridge and foraged through the cupboards for dessert. The pickings were slim to none--since Emmett and, until recently, Michael had boyfriends with bigger places, they clearly weren't stocking cookies and chocolate the way Brian used to depend on. Finally he scored a bag of Pepperidge Farm milanos with only a few missing and he took it back to the sofa.

The road trip part of the movie, which was at least funny and had hot guys, had ended; to the movie's detriment, they were going for charming and sweet in the hetero romance department. Brian stuck a finger down his throat in the general direction of the TV and started channel-surfing again.

He wasn't big on romance movies--gay, straight, or transgendered.

In general, his favorite were espionage movies and murder mysteries. Though they usually cluttered those with shitty subplots about love, too. Or you had a perfectly good spy who fucked up his whole mission and went against the character as written because he tasted pussy. When anyone could tell he had a hardon for his partner that he'd never do anything about.

Well, sometimes you had to add your own queer vision to the ultra-straight movies, Brian always thought. Either that or you could stop watching movies completely.

But Michael adored movies. No cynicism whatsoever, not even about the dearth of gay characters. Every now and then he'd express some wistfulness, or be overly excited about a movie just because it was about gay people... but mostly, he loved them so much he didn't have to rewrite them in his head.

Brian had asked him once why it didn't bug him more, and Michael had given him one of those oddly penetrating looks, the kind that reminded Brian that Michael really, really should have gone to college. "Well, you focus on the ways you're different from everyone, and I concentrate more on the ways I'm like other people," he'd said, smiling. "So I find a little bit to identify with in all the characters. And yes," he'd added with a little laugh, "even the female ones."

Whoa, he'd eaten the whole bag of cookies. Brian grimaced. One drink, no drugs, two Chinese food dinners, about ten cookies, and no sex at all. The proportions of this night were so fucking out of whack. Instead of driving to the drugstore, maybe he'd walk off the calories.

*****

In the drugstore, after choosing the thermometer he wanted--and that was easy; being in the ad game, Brian knew to pick based on price, because often you *did* get what you paid for--he was kind of at a loss. He saw strips you put on your forehead. They looked stupid, but fuck it, if they worked, who gave a shit?

Finally he just threw anything with the word 'flu' on it into his basket and took the thing up to the front of the store.

"You're not feeling so great, huh?" said the clerk. "Too bad."

Brian looked up, about to dismiss him, and met sea-green eyes with blue flecks regarding him with intense appreciation. "Stuff's not for me," he shrugged.

"I thought you looked way too sexy to be sick. Your boyfriend?" the clerk said, lowering his voice and licking full lips. Brian followed his tongue with hungry eyes. God, how long had it been?

"Don't do boyfriends," he said through a suddenly dry mouth.

"I have a break coming up in ten minutes."

"Make it now and I'm in," Brian said with double meaning, as he looked the guy over, top to bottom.

"My car's in the lot. Heats up fast," said the clerk, jerking his sandy head in the direction of the back of the store.

"I don't have too much time," Brian said. He threw a package of condoms onto the top of the pile.

"That's cool. Gary, take my register," called the guy--'Chad,' according to his nametag. He led the way. Brian preferred to initiate, but, as he'd said, time was the issue, and besides, he didn't know which car, so he followed.

Until, that is, Chad unlocked and started the ancient tan Audi. Then Brian took control, bending Chad down into the back seat and pulling up his shirt to kiss and lick his muscled chest.

It had been too fucking long, that's how long it had been.

When they were done, Chad had that fucked-by-an-angel look Brian was so addicted to. "Can we exchange numbers?" the clerk asked, running a shaky hand through his sandy hair.

"Sorry," Brian said, not in the mood to be cruel. "I don't do that, either. It was fun. See you around, maybe." He zipped up, grabbed his bag, and headed back to Michael's apartment, feeling about a thousand percent less tense.

That lasted all of two seconds; the sounds coming out of the bathroom were anything but soothing. Dropping the bag, he raced to Michael, who was retching into the toilet. At least he knew what they were dealing with now, Brian thought. And he hadn't gotten a damn thing for upset stomachs at the drugstore. Shit.

"Easy, Mikey," he said, coming up behind him to put a hand on Michael's drenched back.

"Get away from me!" Michael cried, bucking him off so violently Brian fell backwards into the wall of the small room. "Don't touch me. All the blood."

What the fuck? "What blood?" Brian got up and looked in the toilet. Yeah, gross, but definitely puke. Not blood. The sink was clean. He gave Michael a closer inspection. His friend's eyes were wild and unseeing, his face wet with tears as well as the sweat that had soaked through his clothes. "Hey, Mikey. It's me." Brian moved to touch Michael's face, and again Michael shied away as if contact would scald him.

"No! I was standing in it. It's everywhere. Don't get it on you... " Michael's eyes aimed crazily over Brian's shoulder, toward his own bedroom.

Brian didn't know if he wanted to reassure Michael or himself, but he found himself going in to check the bedroom--which was, of course, exactly as he'd last seen it when Michael was sleeping, exactly as he'd known it was: clean, not morphed into some grisly scene from a horror movie in his brief absence from the apartment.

"Mikey, there's no blood. What are you talking about?"

"It's there. Huge puddle. He cut himself and it just flowed everywhere." Michael choked on a sob and gagged again. "I was standing in it. Up to my ankles. Like a river."

"It was a dream, Mikey. A nightmare," Brian said, getting it. "Ben's not here. He didn't cut himself, and there's no blood." Jesus, he thought, if anyone wonders whether there's trauma associated with dating someone HIV-positive, here's an answer. He had no idea Michael had had these fears. He'd never told Brian.

They'd discussed and dealt with Ben's steroid abuse (although Brian hadn't considered himself on Ben's side... more like just behind Michael's left shoulder, ready to knock Ben out cold if he did anything, *anything* bad to Michael as a result of his fucked-up choices). But the HIV, Michael had been pretty silent about, other than worrying about Ben's health.

Of course, Debbie hadn't, and maybe Michael had felt he couldn't talk about his own ambivalence since she was expressing the negative side of things so stridently. Michael, instead, had set himself the daunting task of protecting Ben's feelings about the topic.

Now Michael was letting Brian step closer, not backing away, and Brian could feel heat coming off him like a hibachi.

Great. While Brian had been getting sucked and fucking Chad in an Audi with a broken tail light, Michael had been hallucinating a scene from Nightmare on Elm Street: The HIV Version, thanks to a skyrocketing fever. Brian was the shittiest friend ever.

"Come on, Mikey. You need more aspirin and a lot more sleep."

"I can't go in there," Michael whispered, the hysteria fading.

"Yes, you can. I'll show you, there's nothing to be scared of." Brian helped Michael stand and gave him some water, then handed him his toothbrush, which Michael appeared to use automatically.

After a second, he blinked at Brian. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a slight frown. "And why is it so cold?" he added, starting to shake.

"Some dry clothes will help." Brian put his hands on Michael's shoulders.

Michael looked down at himself. "I need a shower. Hot."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Brian shook his head, watching as Michael went back to the sink and turned on the tap. "What're you doing?"

"I told you, I'm freezing." Michael filled the plastic cup with hot water and drank it down, then did it again.

"Slow down, that's not going to go well," Brian murmured, but Michael was already on his second cup, gulping steadily in an effort to stop shivering. Oddly, there was no trace of the nausea of just a minute ago, which left Brian free to worry about whether hot water would raise Michael's temperature even higher than it clearly was already.

He went to the kitchen and got the new thermometer from the bag, then wrestled with the plastic encasement for a few profane seconds. Finally he bit down on it and tore with his hands. There was a sharp pain in his bottom lip, and the thermometer flew across the room and landed near the sofa. "Ow, fuck!" Brian licked his mouth and tasted blood. "Shit, ouch, fuck." He added some choice descriptions of the people who designed the packaging and took the thermometer into the bathroom. Michael was still slugging water hot enough that a cloud of steam rose in the sink. "Mikey, stop," Brian urged. "You're gonna make yourself barf again."

"It helps," Michael insisted, holding the hot cup with both hands as if it were a mug. "Just not enough."

The behavior was bizarre enough, especially coming right after the delirium, that Brian wasn't shocked to find that Michael's temperature had gone up again. But not being shocked wasn't the same as not being scared. "Hundred and four. Fuck, Mikey, this is the fever that won't quit. OK, you're drinking, so you can take more aspirin," he spoke softly to himself as well as Michael, "and I've got those weird-ass cold-strip things that might work. You have two hours before I call Emmett and Ted--well, Ted, anyway... Emmett's pretty fucking useless tonight--to come help me. Or your mom. Bet you don't want her over here, pinching your cheeks and worrying. So got it? Good."

As he talked, Brian was getting Michael out of his damp sweats and into dry ones. He felt a warm trickle on his chin and swiped at it, then saw a streak of red on the back of his hand and remembered his torn lip. "Ugh," he commented, licking the blood away. "See what I do to myself for you? Hope you know I wouldn't mar this beauty for just anyone. How're you doing?" he added, as Michael opened his eyes and caught Brian's gaze again.

"I can't get warm."

"One-track mind," Brian teased. "I know. I'm doing what I can." He put Michael in bed with extra blankets he found in the linen closet. Thank God Emmett was a stereotypical queen and kept a well-stocked linen closet, Brian thought. There was even an extra pillow, which he swiped for himself.

"Sleep with me?"

"Sure." Brian helped Michael sit up and take the aspirin, then settled him back in under the blankets with one of the adhesive gel strips on his forehead. It made Michael look younger even than when they'd first met. "Give me a second, though." Thanks to the interlude with the drugstore clerk, *he* did need a shower, and in any case, he couldn't go to sleep until he was certain Michael's temperature was on its way down.

As he stood under the hot spray of water, he tried to picture Chad giving him a truly skilled blowjob, rather than Michael convulsing over the toilet and freaking about HIV-positive blood. He failed.

But Ben was gone now, and soon that particular nightmare would begin to fade for Michael.

So instead, he pictured Michael as he'd looked at the door, before Brian knew it was fever making his eyes so glittery. He'd never take advantage of his sick friend, but he could appropriate the image. What was so wrong about that? Phantom-Mikey dropped to his knees in front of Brian in the shower, and Brian's eyes closed as he reached for his own cock, stroking it hard...

Brian turned off the faucet and stepped out of the tub, reaching for Michael's towel as he realized he hadn't thought to get a clean one from the closet. Not a good time for you to get sick, Michael had said, and he was right. Brian didn't dry his face with the towel.

He went back into the bedroom and looked at Michael, still rendered baby-faced--more than always--by the silly fever-reducing strip of gel-foam stuff. Brian touched it and found it was no longer cool but burning, as if its function were to pull the heat from Michael's head. Without waking him, he held the thermometer to Michael's ear and relaxed when he saw the numbers were two degrees lower than before.

Fucking wonderful gel-foam stuff. A product that does what it says it will. What a concept. Brian would call them and offer to write all their ad copy. For free.

Now he could sleep, too. He got into the bed, forgetting to care about keeping himself isolated from germs; it was Michael, and the way they fit was spooned together, at least to start.

Brian wondered for a half-instant which one of them needed the comfort.

*****

Brian was in a car on a racetrack. He stomped his foot down hard on the accelerator, forcing the engine to rev faster than it was capable of, and felt a surge of power under his ass that almost burned. He'd been driving forever. The finish line was around the next curve... or was it?

A soft trilling caused him to slam on the brakes, there was a screeching sound, and then he was awake.

Michael was on the phone. "Yeah, he is." He handed the phone to Brian and leaned to look at the clock beside him. "Oh, shit. My head is killing me. What's this?" His fingers found the gel strip and peeled it away, and he looked at it, bemused.

"Yeah?" Brian grunted into the mouthpiece.

"What are you doing at Michael's? It's bad enough I never hear from you, but now you're not even sleeping at our place?"

"Hi, Justin," Brian said heavily. He sat up and scrubbed his hand through his hair, trying to remember why he was where he was. "And what's 'our place'?" he asked, but not nastily. "Last I knew, it was my place."

"You know what I mean. Cynthia said you guys didn't work last night from six o'clock on. So how come you didn't come home to me?"

Home to me. Brian didn't like the way that tasted. Or maybe it was his morning mouth that tasted like crap. Either way. He cleared his throat, aiming for a light tone. "I planned to, but Michael's got the flu--hey," he added, as Michael started to leave the bed, "where are you going?"

"Shower? Work? Ring a bell?"

"No way. Hang on, Justin," Brian said, putting the phone down. He closed the gap between himself and Michael in a few steps. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a mack truck, but I still have a store to run," Michael said.

"You were running a fever of a hundred and four last night. You're not opening the store," Brian said.

"Saturday's the busiest day," Michael said.

"Uh huh. I have to talk to Justin. Go shower and then we'll finish this. And yell if you feel funny."

"Funny ha-ha?"

"Funny like you're in imminent danger of ending up face-down on the floor," Brian snapped. "Did I mention you had a high fever all last night?"

"Damn, you're cranky in the morning," Michael muttered as he went into the bathroom.

"Justin, you still there?" Brian returned to the phone.

"Never mind, I heard. Was he really sick or was that for my benefit?"

Brian sighed. After all this time, if Justin thought he played games like that, he didn't know him too well. "He was out of his mind, literally. And he doesn't know it yet, but the only thing he's leaving the apartment for today is to go to the doctor. Which means I have to find someone to run his store."

"I could do it."

Brian smiled. Then again, Justin kept showing why he'd become an instant member of the group that night. It wasn't because he happened to be there when Gus was born; it was the way he would jump in and help any one of them, anytime. Good kid. "Better you than me," he said gruffly. "You're closer to the little bastards' ages."

"I don't have the keys, though. I should swing by and get them before you guys leave for the doctor's office."

"OK, I'll see you when you get over here. And thanks."

Maybe the two of them could still have... something. Beyond just staying friends, which of course they would, now that Justin was inextricably entangled with everyone. Brian frowned, thinking about how that had happened. Both quickly and gradually. In a weekend--the one where he met Lindsay and Melanie, supposedly by coincidence--and over time, as he became part of their lives.

Maybe Michael would feel better tonight, and he and Justin could explore the possibilities in the loft later. Inch by golden inch of Justin. Mm, yeah. Entangled was good.

Michael came out of the bathroom still clothed, and Brian snapped his brain away from carnal plans. "Are you OK?"

Michael shook his head. "I need to lie down."

"I told you to yell," Brian chided, jumping forward to wrap an arm around Michael's waist. "Still think you can stand behind a counter all day?"

Michael's pale face and closed eyes were the only answer. Brian guided him to the bed, seeing that sweat had beaded on his temples and jaw. "Feel like you're going to throw up?" Brian asked, and at Michael's tiny nod, he pulled the wastebasket over.

After a few minutes, Michael sat up again. "I have to get these off," he said.

"What's wrong?"

Michael gulped. "They're Ben's."

No wonder they were way too big. "God, sorry. I had no idea, and you were in no shape to tell me last night." Then Brian glowered. "You mean, getting faint in the bathroom--that was a drama queen moment? Jesus Christ, you scared me," he said disgustedly.

Michael ignored him, shucking the clothes quickly and grabbing different ones out of the dresser.

"Wait," Brian said. He pulled Michael back onto the bed in just his boxers and handed him the ear thermometer. "Are you feeling better or not?"

"Than last night? I don't know." Michael looked confused. "Why are you even here? I know you came by, but I thought I asked you to leave."

"Yeah. Shortly after I got here, you stopped making any sense. So I didn't listen. Use it," Brian added, gesturing at the thermometer.

"No, I'm OK. It's just a cold." Michael sniffed in an illustrative way.

Brian took the thermometer from him and pushed the button, revealing the last two temperatures stored. "See why I stayed? And there was a fairly spectacular upchucking demo, too. You wouldn't have done so well on your own."

Michael didn't reply. Instead of looking at the digital readout, his eyes were locked on Brian's mouth. "What... " he rasped, then drew a deeper breath and tried again. "Did I do that to you? I don't remember anything."

"Stop changing the subject," Brian sighed. He took the thermometer from Michael's unhelpful hand and stuck it in his ear, pushed the button. "This is why you're going to the doctor instead of the store," he explained patiently. "A hundred and two first thing in the morning is not good, Mikey."

"I... have to shower."

"Leave the door open," Brian said. His fingertip went to his bottom lip. It wasn't very swollen. How bad could it be to mesmerize Michael like that? Brian was used to people, Michael included, taking in his lips with a more lascivious gaze. Michael had looked... aghast.

Brian wished he hadn't bitten Michael's head off. Yeah, he'd flipped about having Ben's sweatsuit on, but the breakup was only a week old, and he was sick. He'd earned the right to be a little, or even a lot, overemotional without his best friend giving him shit.

He went to make sure Michael was all right; with the water running, he couldn't tell. The door to the bathroom was closed but not locked, and Brian opened it. Michael knelt on the floor, vomiting into the toilet, shoulders shaking. Brian felt his own stomach churn sympathetically, but he went in and put his palm on the back of Michael's neck. "Mikey, damn."

"I'm... all right. Just... let me... do this... alone," Michael gasped in between heaves.

"You don't get to do anything alone," Brian told him. He went and got a wet washcloth and turned off the shower.

Michael took it from him, sat back on his heels. "Please," he said. "I'll be OK. Just give me a minute to myself."

"You sure?" Michael nodded. "I'll be right outside the door." Michael nodded again, and Brian left reluctantly.

Yeah, so maybe he and Justin wouldn't get to play tonight. He wasn't leaving Michael, even if he was only allowed to lean against the wall next to the bathroom. Fuck, Brian thought, was there even anything a doctor could do for the stomach flu? Because he had to go back to work on Monday--and, oh, shit, he hadn't asked Justin why Cynthia had called him, but it couldn't be good news.

Brian knew Michael had handled bugs on his own before; he was an adult, however much he might at times resemble the kids who bought comic books from him. But nobody should have to go through a breakup and the flu at the same time. That's just adding injury to insult. Besides, last night had been scary. The nightmare...

He heard Michael heave again and the toilet flush and spared a selfish thought for his Jeep. How was Michael going to make it all the way to the doctor's office? And how the hell had he drunk five cups of boiling water and not barfed it up, but now he was losing it all eight hours later?

More shit that didn't make sense. Brian hated it.

The doorbell rang, and Brian went to let Justin in. He hadn't realized how tightly knotted his upper arms were until they hugged and he felt them unkink.

Justin rubbed his back lightly. "I missed you," he said, nuzzling the top of his head under Brian's chin. "I've been missing you for a long time now."

"Mm," said Brian, deciding nonverbal was the better part of valor. "That feels good."

Justin backed up. "What happened to you?" he asked, tapping Brian lightly on the lip. "Piss off the wrong guy?"

"Ha ha," Brian said sarcastically. "No, I had a fight with the package the thermometer came in. I lost."

"Does it hurt?"

"Nope." Justin kissed it, but when he tried to deepen the kiss, Brian changed the angle of his head. "Wait'll I brush."

"OK," Justin said agreeably. "Where's Michael?"

Brian pointed at the bathroom. "Throwing up."

Justin made a face. "Oh, yuck. I hate the stomach flu. How long has he been sick?"

"I'm not sure. Like I said, I got here last night, and he wasn't coherent most of the time."

"I haven't seen him in a while. He hasn't been around the diner much. Debbie's been in the shittiest mood because of it," Justin said. "I mean, even before Ben left. She's just not herself when she doesn't see Michael every day. And she takes it out on me."

Join the club, thought Brian. It was a good way of putting it. He was more himself when he spent at least a little time with Michael every day. He frowned and detached from Justin. "I'm going to check on him and brush my teeth so I can say hello to you properly. You want to make coffee while I do?"

"I live to serve," Justin smirked.

"I know. Put that diner experience to work," Brian grinned. His smile fell when he returned to the bathroom and found Michael in the same position he'd left him. "Not going away?"

"No, it is." Michael stood up and went to the sink. Dark eyes and hazel ones met in the mirror, and Brian saw Michael glance at his mouth and sway.

"Mikey?" He turned and grabbed him, holding him up. "What's wrong? You think you hit me when you were hallucinating last night?"

"Oh, my God, tell me I didn't." His voice muffled in Brian's chest.

"I know you feel lousy, but it wouldn't be the end of the world if you clocked me by accident." Michael's breathing got frantic, and Brian changed tacks. "But you had nothing to do with it," he said. "You were asleep when it happened. I cut it when I was trying to get the damn thermometer out."

"Oh. OK." Michael pushed away. "Sorry I got weird. Like you said, I feel lousy, and I'm not thinking straight."

Brian regarded Michael in the mirror. "Why start now, right?" he said with a quirk of his lips, and after a moment he got back a small smile.

"I heard Justin out there. You trying to give everyone my germs?" Michael said, picking up his toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it, his movements slow enough that Brian could tell he was still fighting dizziness.

"Justin's your savior--or, in comic book talk, your superhero. He's going to handle the store for you today."

Michael finished brushing his teeth and looked up, surprised. "Wow, he'd do that?"

"He offered," Brian said, feeling that strange spark of pride that made him cramp up. Ever since that miserable day when Jennifer Taylor had called Justin his responsibility, there had been this dual inclination toward Justin. It made Brian queasy to realize that one of the sides could be parental. It was weird enought to feel fatherly about Gus. About Justin... it was beyond creepy.

"Nice of him. I... Oh." Michael went completely white, and Brian caught him as his legs buckled. Together they went down hard onto the floor of the bathroom. Michael's eyelids fluttered, and Brian slapped his face lightly.

"Mikey, hey!"

Justin appeared in the doorway, shocked. "What happened?"

"He passed out."

"Do you need help carrying him?"

"No, just get one of the blankets off the bed. I'll put him on the sofa."

Within a few seconds, Michael's dark eyes opened and closed again in embarrassed resignation. "Shit, did I... ?"

"Yup. Feeling any better?"

"Can I get you something?" asked Justin.

"Yeah, Boy Wonder. Actually, that's probably the problem. No food." Michael's cheeks were still two shades lighter than usual, but he was smiling, and that made Brian smile, too.

"Start with something light," he suggested.

"Like toast and tea?" Justin asked.

Michael made a face. "What else is there?" He started to stand up.

Brian held him down. "Don't even think about it."

"Um, there's coffee cake. Sara Lee." Justin said, opening and closing doors.

"Perfect," said Michael, just as Brian said, "Bad idea."

Brian glared. "It's the front seat of *my* Jeep."

"I won't puke in your car," Michael said. "And I need sugar."

"Bri, you want coffee?" Justin put in quickly.

"Yeah, thanks. I didn't brush my teeth yet." Brian left them, trying to stop the scowl he felt on his face. He knew it wasn't his best look; that was studied indifference, or maybe drugged lust, he wasn't sure.

But he was pissed. He wasn't going to fucking give up his one free weekend in months to take care of Michael while Michael sabotaged his efforts. He couldn't upchuck violently one minute and eat coffee cake the next.

Or maybe he could. Because he was. When he got back to the living room, Justin and Michael each had a huge slab of pastry on a plate and were eating with their fingers as they discussed store operations. Michael was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt and looked... well, good. His usual cute self. Color was beginning to come back to his face as he talked about his favorite thing.

"Want a piece?" Justin asked Brian.

"Tell me that's not coffee," Brian growled at Michael. He threw a look at Justin. "You got him coffee?"

"With extra cream and sugar," Justin chirped.

"You're going to clean my Jeep by hand," he warned Michael, only partly angry about the potential ruination of the hand-tooled leather interior. Mostly he was pissed because he couldn't understand the night-and-day-ness of Michael's illness, and he didn't like his own confusion.

He sat down next to Michael with his coffee and a slice of cake and put his hand on his friend's forehead. Shrugged. "I don't fucking get it."

"Get what?" said Michael, wiping crumbs off his mouth.

"You. This. What's going on," Brian snapped, losing his composure after too many scares and, conversely, too much acting like nothing was wrong from Michael. "How you can be sick as a dog in the bathroom and chowing down out here."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "I have a cold and I'm a drama queen, like you said. No big deal. So you don't have to stay with me, I don't have to go to the doctor's office, and Justin doesn't have to take care of the store. In fact, everyone can get the fuck out and leave me alone."

"Bullshit. Don't put words in my mouth," Brian replied, his own temper flaring. "I didn't say you had a cold. I'm the one telling you to go to a doctor."

Justin continued to take bites of his cake, looking between Brian and Michael as if watching a ping-pong game. His blue eyes were speculative, but that was nothing new; when the three of them were together, Justin spent most of his energy trying to figure out the relationship between the two friends. It must be strange for Justin, looking in from the outside at a bond that had existed as long as Justin himself had been alive.

Something Brian didn't think about much, because it made him feel, well, revoltingly old.

"I don't need a doctor!" The crack in Michael's voice was closer to the surface than anything Brian had heard. It made him want Justin out of the apartment.

"Justin, if you have the keys, you should take off," Brian said, not looking at Michael as he did. "We'll call you later."

Justin no longer followed Brian's orders with the alacrity he had when they'd first met, but Brian's set jaw and Michael's shiny eyes made him leave fast.

At the click of the door, one tear ran down Michael's cheek. Seeing it, the fist of anger released, but where it had been in Brian's chest, fear flowed in, thick and fizzy, like a swarm of bees. He couldn't think; there were too many separate thoughts vying for his concentration.

Michael was lying about something. Related to Ben, to the breakup and Ben leaving for Tibet--that's why he hadn't told Brian when it happened. Related, too, to being sick and not wanting a doctor.

Related to something that gave him feverish delusions of standing in Ben's blood. Afraid to be touched.

God, oh Christ Jesus God fucking no. There was nothing but the buzzing in Brian's head, and he hoped he'd set down the mug because it wasn't in his hand and he wouldn't be surprised to find he'd dropped it.

"Mikey, oh my God," Brian breathed, unaware he'd moved until he felt himself fold around Michael, his arms enveloping the heated body, trying to still the shaking limbs. "Tell me I'm wrong, tell me I'm insane to even ask." But Michael was sobbing as if he'd shatter, and that wasn't the right answer.

*No*. This couldn't be happening, because Ben loved Michael and would never hurt him. "When?" he murmured into Michael's hair.

"Two weeks ago."

"What happened? Did he cut himself?"

"No," Michael choked. "In bed."

"Yeah, but... Why? How? Were you drunk or high? Or--Christ, Mikey, did he force you?"

Michael pulled back, his face perplexed for a second before it cleared. "He didn't... we always... It fucking *broke*. An accident. We didn't notice till it was too late."

"After oral?"

He shook his head. "Fucking," he said. His breath caught and his hand came up to his mouth as if he were going to be sick, but he got control and added bitterly, "We just might've discovered the key to abstinence. The place in Tibet Ben's going? Is a monastery. And I don't think I ever want to... " He swallowed back nausea again. "Even if I'm not. Which I can't find out yet. I mean, the first test can't be for another week."

"We'll handle it," Brian heard himself say. He wondered where the calm voice came from, but he guessed it was the same part of him that kept from crushing Michael in his embrace, that kept the hug gentle. Good thing, too. It was Ben he wanted to roar at and strangle with bare hands, not Michael.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought if I just waited another week... " Michael's voice trailed off. "Or until after your work situation got back to normal, if the results weren't, um... " He couldn't say it. More tears raced down his cheeks. "It seems like I shouldn't be this wrecked. Like I think it's worse I have to consider it than that Ben and Uncle Vic already have it. And it's not, I know it's not."

Bullshit, thought Brian. It's infinitely worse. I don't even like Ben. And Vic got a whole lot of years first. And fuck everyone else. This is you, and it's worse because it's you.

Just because.

"It's not," Brian echoed, but he didn't mean 'it's not worse'--he meant 'it's not possible,' because that was still all his mind could process. This isn't happening. God, he thought wildly, as much of a shithead as David had been, he could never have made Michael sick. Maybe if Michael had stayed in Portland...

"Brian?" Michael asked, his tears subsiding as they clung together. "You weren't lying about your lip, right? About how it got bloody?"

"You didn't do it," Brian assured him. "That's why you freaked when you saw it," he said. "And Ben's clothes. You don't have the stomach flu, huh?"

Michael started to shiver again. "I kind of hope I do," he said. "Or, you know, something everyone else has."

Brian ran his hand up and down Michael's head, feeling the the short hair brush against his palm. "It takes years before anything happens. There's no reason this would be anything but some common bug. How could Ben just leave? Right after putting you at risk?" Brian wasn't aware that he'd spoken the last part out loud until Michael answered it.

"If you think I'm going nuts, you should've seen him. He didn't even look like himself. Well, sort of like during the worst of the steroid shit. His face was all twisted and closed off. And he wouldn't talk except to apologize. Over and over, like it's something you can apologize for. Which it isn't. But we couldn't get past it. Every time we touched, I saw us, it... Oh, fuck." Michael jumped off the sofa and ran to the bathroom. "At least your Jeep is safe," he said when Brian joined him. "One of these days I'll be able to think about it without throwing up."

"This is why you've been avoiding everyone."

Michael nodded. "At the store, I don't think about much of anything. The kids are great that way. All the questions, and they're so noisy… it works for me."

"What do you do after work?" Brian asked quietly, afraid of the answer. Michael still didn't know Brian had gotten a glimpse of his night terrors.

Michael finished brushing his teeth, smiled a little. "Watch a lot of movies. Read a lot of comic books." He shrugged. "I haven't been sleeping much. Ben and I tried to talk sometimes. He couldn't sleep, either. We did a little better in the middle of the night. Then he decided he needed to travel a new spiritual path, as he put it."

"Decided to run the fuck away," Brian snarled.

Michael hugged himself. "The stress was hard on him. He felt so guilty--nothing I could do would convince him it wasn't his fault--that he wasn't going to take care of himself. He'd always been so good about his health."

"Except for the steroids," Brian pointed out dryly.

"Well, yeah." Michael pointed to the living room with his head, and they returned to the sofa. "Anyway, seeing as I was sort of the problem--or at least the cause of his depression--I sure wasn't going to be part of the solution. And I'm going through enough of my own shit. I can't take care of both of us. Don't get me wrong--it's not like Ben and I were only talking about him the whole week, because we weren't. It's just that there was nothing physical to talk about with me, you know? I was still fine."

"Not now, though, right?" Brian said, his hand falling on Michael's shoulder. "It's bringing up fear about 'what if'. But you're not, Mikey. It was one time, and nothing happened to you." He tried to smile, but it slipped off his face. "In a week, you'll get tested, and then we'll go out and dance all night."

"Three months for an all-clear," Michael said. "If not longer. You know that."

"Yeah." Could you lose your mind in three months? Brian bet you could. How the fuck were they going to make it that long? "Meanwhile, they're saying it's a bad year for the flu, and if you get to a doctor early enough, you can get something that shortens it by, like, a week. So I say you go."

Michael closed his eyes. "I haven't talked about this with anyone but Ben and now you."

"You're going to get your first test in a week. How much tougher can it be to say it today? And maybe it'll be easier with a doctor you've never met than to your own." He ran his hand down Michael's arm, squeezed his hand. "I know you can do it."

Michael looked a little green, but he nodded. "When I first saw all the meds in Ben's bathroom, I chickened out. The first night. I almost didn't start seeing him. Because of it. The disease. But there was something about him… I just thought…" His eyes filled with tears. "It shouldn't matter, you know?"

"I know."

"But it does. Because I would never want to make someone feel the way I've been feeling for two weeks. Let alone make someone upchuck the number of times I have lately," Michael added, trying to grin. He wasn't much more successful than Brian.

"Whoa, you're getting way ahead of yourself," Brian said, frowning. "We agreed that for today we're just going to deal with the flu. And, in the interest of you keeping something down, let's not talk about the other thing for the rest of the day."

It was a calculated hazard; he hoped Michael knew he'd listen to anything he had to say. But the degree to which Michael was traumatized astounded Brian, who sublimated all negative emotions--from rage to loss--with drugs; he'd never seen anyone like this, let alone Michael.

And on a practical basis, he didn't see how Michael could fight even a regular flu without nutrition, which he couldn't get unless he stopped throwing up.

"I'm going to have to... "

"Yeah. After the doctor's office." Brian felt a wave of panic sweep through him at his own innocuous words, and he forgot to reign it in when he pulled Michael into his arms. He only became aware that he was holding Michael so tightly his muscles trembled when Michael began stroking Brian's back and murmuring reassurance in his ear. "Shit," Brian said, gasping a little. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No. You OK?" The dark eyes regarded him searchingly. "It's fine if you freak out, Brian. Just do it when I'm around. Not alone."

"What, you mean the way you've been doing for the last two weeks?" Brian snapped, out of humiliation at displaying such a loss of poise, frustration to think of Michael going through nightmares like the one he'd had last night, and rage that this was happening at all. Michael blinked, hurt flashing on and then quickly off in the brown gaze. "I didn't mean that," Brian added quickly.

"It's OK if you did. But... how was I supposed to tell you, Brian? Drop by the office? Tell you on the phone in one of our two-minute hi-how-are-you calls? Jesus, you've seen what I do when I talk about it. Maybe I should've told you somewhere public?" The sarcasm was raw, cloaking more anguish underneath. "I feel so fucking stupid. The obvious reply is 'what the fuck did you think would happen'--and even if no one says it, I know they'll think it." Michael shuddered. "I know my mom will think it."

"She won't be angry. She'll just," Brian began, before he realized Michael already knew that.

Michael bent over as if gripped by pain, and the sound that came out of him was like a howl. "I can't do this to her," he keened. "You've seen her with Vic. We can't tell her. Maybe we won't have to tell her. Oh my god!" He slid off the sofa and curled into a tiny ball, pressing his face to his knees and wrapping his arms around himself.

Brian followed him onto the floor and rubbed the part of Michael's back he could reach, making no attempt to unfurl the coiled body. He realized that, apart from Michael, there was no one in the world whose life would be destroyed by the news that he was sick the way Debbie's would. Michael was right. They couldn't tell her.

Michael was still talking, and Brian leaned in to hear his words. "I actually thought about it, about getting infected on purpose. Because Ben talked about leaving me for being negative. I thought he'd love me if I were positive. I never thought he'd leave me because he infected me. I never thought about telling everyone I love. Oh my god, Uncle Vic is going to be so sad," he sobbed.

What must it feel like to be so loved, Brian wondered. To know that people would care, would hurt for you, would grieve? He frowned, recalling that Michael's reason for not telling Brian had been timing and opportunity.

Then he heard Michael speaking again, and again he rested atop him to listen.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid. I never wanted to leave you, Brian. I didn't think... I loved Ben, but not enough for this. I just wasn't smart. Didn't think ahead. Never have been able to do that, and now I'm going to pay by losing any chance, ever, to..."

"Hey," Brian gathered Michael up, still curled tightly, and held him in his arms. "Stop talking like this. You are fine. You're going to be fine. You have the flu, and you had an accident, and they're not related. So just stop."

Michael unbent enough to lift his head. "That's not what I read."

Brian leaned his so it rested on Michael's to conceal the cold fear that rose in him at Michael's quiet words. He preferred sobbing and self-recrimination. Something to push against. "What?" he asked simply.

"Sometimes, two to four weeks after exposure to HIV, a person gets flu or mono-like symptoms. Fever, fatigue, body aches, swollen glands, etc. Then there's still usually a period of ten years or so before symptomatic AIDS. But it's conclusive proof of infection."

"And sometimes the flu is just the flu," said Brian finally. "Right?"

"Yeah."

"And you have about a hundred kids a day coming through your store, right?"

Michael sighed. "Yeah."

"And you've been living on how many hours of sleep a night since it happened?"

"About three."

"And I know you've lost a ton of weight, because I spent most of the morning looking at your half-naked body. Not that you're not hot, Mikey, but you are in serious need of food. It's not like you had anything to lose."

A little laugh. That was better. "I know."

"Who the fuck wouldn't get the flu under those conditions?"

"No one."

"Right." Brian put his arm around Michael, and Michael relaxed fully, falling bonelessly onto Brian's chest. "I can't fucking believe he left." Again, it wasn't meant to come out aloud.

"You've always been too hard on Ben. He's not a saint."

"You talked about him as if he were." Brian's voice was mild.

"I was falling in love," Michael smiled. "But I didn't really think most of what I was saying. It was just, you know, babble."

"Pathetic, Mikey."

"He did the best he could."

"Not anywhere near good enough."

"You never think anyone is."

"What?" Brian said, not sure he wanted to pursue this.

"Good enough for me. I think you want me single for life." Michael's voice was quiet, unaccusing. "You just might get your wish."

"Shut up!"

"It's a possibility." Michael pulled away, sitting up. "And one I guess I have to think about." His face tightened. "I just... I know I'm not the brightest guy in the world, but... fuck! I can't believe *this* never occurred to me. I mean, there were a number of ways it could have happened, too."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, even if Ben hadn't ducked out"--Michael met Brian's eyes steadily, admitting yes, he was angry at Ben --"he could have infected me and then gotten sick and died. I just can't believe when I said love was the only thing that counts that I didn't think about everything else that counts as much or more."

"Like?" Brian couldn't breathe.

"Like time. Growing old, getting gray hair and arthritis. Earning the right to be a crotchety old guy playing checkers in the park and yelling at pigeons."

Brian laughed. "That never appealed to me."

"Like options. Like chances." Michael's voice was pained, but he kept his eyes on Brian's.

Say it, Mikey. Fuck it. He'd say it. "With me?"

"With anyone."

There was no guile in the gaze directed at Brian, and he couldn't believe how much the words stung. Michael wasn't thinking of him, of them, even now, as part of what he couldn't have? That was just wrong... because... because why?

Because Brian had *always*, ever since they met, thought of Michael and him together as something he didn't get to have. Would never get to have.

He knew Michael adored him, that the bond of love was as true and deep on Michael's side as on Brian's. That the sexual attraction was there and always had been. That all it would take was one night of one or both of them not pulling back fast enough, and the line would be crossed.

And then they'd lose everything. Not just the chance at romance--because who cared? Brian didn't believe in it, anyway. But what they already had, what other people made fun of and had silly names for, was perhaps the only thing in life he did believe in. And that he could not lose. Michael he could not lose.

"Hey," Michael said, "don't cry." He took Brian into his arms and rocked the larger, stronger frame gently, stroking broad shoulders as if they were a child's, easily reverting to long-